#kerry fforde

The bus came to a thundering stop just outside the town's main square. Soft cries, which had begun once the engine revved on, were still coming from the back of the bus while everyone else tried to ignore it. Angus was having a hard time doing so. He remembered his first Reaping two years ago. He had been a terrified teary mess and nothing had calmed him down, not even seeing his sister for the first time in years. His big sister who, as soon as she spotted him, had pushed her way through the crowd of locals to stand right behind the wooden barricade. Tara stayed within Angus' sight as both tributes were chosen, and after the future fallen were escorted into the Justice Building she gathered him into her arms refusing to let go until it was time to board the bus back home.

A shudder went through his body and he swallowed thickly, trying to push away the fear that had slowly crept into his chest. The cries continued as the teens of Roan Bay filed out and lined up for registration. Angus bowed his head as he stood, taking a swift look over his shoulder to see his classmate, Cavy, consoling her crying younger brother. He looked away to give the siblings some privacy, knowing that either or both might not make the return trip home.

He smeared his blood onto the registration page, grimacing at the sting still left behind. All around him, teens from every corner of District 10 were chatting quietly, trading new herding techniques or complaints about feed distribution. It still amazed him how, even in the face of the worst part of the year, his district would take this day as an opportunity to learn as much from each other as possible. It was the only thing they could look forward to.

"Uncle Angus!" He turned at the sound of his name and watched as a young girl with a heart shaped face and long brown hair ran toward him. Brandy may be his niece but she was closer to his age than any of his siblings. She had turned twelve in the middle of calving season and this would be her first Reaping on the other side of the barricade. She stopped just in front of him, a strained smile on her face as she reached over to kiss his cheek in greeting. "Uncle Angus, good luck today."

Angus copied her slightly worried smile and pat her gently on the shoulder, "It'll be fine. The Cooper luck's gonna strike again and pass right over you to someone else."

"I hope so. Last year's Games was... It was horrible." Angus wanted to say more to reassure her, or even hold her close, but the sad truth was that he didn't know her well enough to be comfortable with it. While Angus lived in Roan Bay, further east and closer to the district's border, Brandy was born and raised here where his sister Tara, Brandy's mother, and her husband had been assigned to live after their wedding. The Reaping was the only opportunity they had to catch up, but the few minutes spent together before the main event didn't necessarily mean that uncle and niece knew each other well.

Angus just nodded his head and squeezed Brandy's shoulder, "You should get in place. It's gonna start soon."

With a final shaky smile and a peck on the cheek Brandy quickly moved to the back of the crowd where the younger kids stood. Angus stepped in line with his classmates and waited nervously for the opening video to start.

The next thing he knew, the mayor was up on stage to introduce the Capitol escort, a young woman -at least, she looked young- with tattoos peeking out from beneath the sleeves of her dress, curling around her biceps and down to her hands and fingers. She looked just like someone from the Capitol should: colorful, well fed, and absolutely gleeful that the Games was upon them. When she smiled down at the congregation of District 10 children in front of her, Angus saw a wolf in her place staring down its next meal. As the escort's hand dipped into the girl's Reaping bowl, Angus' fists clenched. He hoped more than anything that the Cooper luck would continue onto the next generation and that Brandy wouldn't be chosen.

Please don't let her be chosen.

A delicate, tattooed hand held up a pristine piece of paper, "And here we are! This year's female tribute will be... Kerry Fforde!"

Instant relief.

No one stepped forward at first, but after the escort called the name once more a tall blonde stepped out from a group of older teenagers Angus didn't recognize. Her polished leather boots clacked loudly on the steps as she ascended to the stage, head held high and no sign of anxiety or fear in her movement. She certainly made a good first impression. The escort grinned, dark and hungry, as Kerry Fforde stood beside her. The second bowl was wheeled forward and a slim hand reached in.

"And now, District 10, this year's male tribute will be," The paper gave way to a sharp fingernail, "Angus Cooper!"

As the girl from District Two slaughtered the love of his life on live TV, his knees buckled and he fell crashing to the ground. The sound he made was not one that he recognised, and everyone stepped away from the spot where he stood in the square, leaving him plenty of space. He didn't need any of it, head buried in his knees, tears soaking through the sparse fabric of his trousers.

She had been so close. So, so close to coming home and he would wrap her in his arms and he would never let her go.

And now he had no chance to do that. She would never come home. 

He would never wrap the curl of her hair around his fingers. He would never feel the hardened calluses of her hands in his. He would never feel her warmth as she leaned her head on his shoulder. He would never hold her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her.He would never hear her voice telling him that she loved him. He would never kiss her, her lips, her forehead, her hands. He would never sit with her and watch the people go by. He would never laugh at her jokes meant just for him. He would never marry her. He would never hold their children in his arms.

Never.

The rest of his life felt like an awfully long time without Kerry by his side.

They all climbed into the bus, exactly the same way they would any morning for school. But this was no ordinary day, and they weren't going to school.

Kerry, at sixteen, sat near the back of the bus, beside her boyfriend, Jersey, on the bench seat that held both of them. She leaned her head on his shoulder as the children around them prepared for the Reaping.

Jersey wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he whispered back, and kissed her lightly on the head.

Further up the bus a girl was braiding her friend's dark hair into hundreds of impressively thin braids. An older boy held a sobbing twelve year old girl in his arms, his shirt darkening with her tears. A small group in the back joked about cows and goats, the kind of thing that only District Ten could do. A few other couples were swearing promises and sharing kisses. Most of the bus, however, was silent. There would be time enough for talking later.

The bus ride was a long one, and in many cases, the longest one they would make in their lives. It was nearly three hours later that they arrived in the biggest town in District Ten, and they all filed off of the bus. Each of them registered with the Peacekeepers, stamping a pinprick of blood into the registration book, and filed into the square. That alone took hours as buses came travelling in from near and far. As soon as one bus had been registered, another emptied its passengers and the process repeated.

In other districts, the square was tense before the Reaping, but District Ten was different. The Reaping was virtually the only connection from one town to the next, and was an opportunity they couldn't afford to pass up on. Families that had been divided after siblings got married and moved towns would sneak minutes to talk, passing on family news and meeting cousins for the first time. Amongst the others, stories spread about new herding or ranching techniques, new ways to milk, new proportions of feed. Everyone, from the twelve year olds to the eighteen year olds, mixed freely and talked quickly, committing the rumours and formulas to memory. District Ten had long ago learned to make the most of the unfortunate day, and Jersey and Kerry were some of the best at it, working in perfect tandem. Kerry started off the conversation, bright and cheerful, virtually always ending up with the other cattle farmers, as if by magic. Once she had it going, Jersey got the information they wanted and passed on what they had, and Kerry kept up a steady stream of questions, prying more, getting the details that would tell them what difference it would make.

They were on their fifth of the crucial conversations when the Mayor and the Capitol's representative ascended to the stage. The crowd quieted quickly and obediently.

"Greetings one and all," the Mayor began, and the ceremony was underway.

The format was the same as it always was, to the word. The Dark Days, the rebellion, the Hunger Games as a reminder. Introduction of the Victors, who always looked so ruined, all four of them. And then, after a flattering introduction from the Mayor, the Capitol representative took centre stage.

"It's a privilege to be here today," she said, beaming around the square. It was packed with kids with their names in the bowl more times than they had years, with a narrow band of local adults around the edge, none of whom shared the sentiment. The children stared up at the Capitol woman - Agrippa, the Mayor had introduced her as - wishing it could all be over soon, and praying that they had managed to do their job properly and gotten all of the information that they needed until next year.

Kerry squeezed Jersey's hand and glanced at him with a brave smile, which he returned. "We can do this," it said, "we'll be fine."

"Ladies first," Agrippa chirped, and dramatically dipped her tattooed hand into the reaping bowl.

She lifted the slip of paper high into the air, breaking the seal with an over-long fingernail. "And here we are! This year's female tribute will be -" she paused for dramatic effect - "Kerry Fforde."

Silence hung over the square. District Ten reapings were never prone to dramatic wailing of loss from the audience. There were only ever maybe twenty people in a sea of thousands who recognized the name, and never parents who always took it so much harder. She had a moment before all of the attention found its way to her, and Kerry seized it. She pulled Jersey in for a kiss, hard and desperate. It hurt more with every second, but Kerry knew that she needed it.

"Kerry Fforde, if you would please come to the front," Agrippa repeated, and Kerry broke off the kiss, squeezing Jersey's hand one more time, before she pushed her way through the crowd.

Kerry sat next to Jersey on the bench in town. It was the first free time they had been able to get together in a month. They watched the passerbys, greeting them cheerfully as they walked by, knowing everyone they spoke to.

She rested his head on his shoulder. "We'll get married, won't we?" she asked, as Foie, 25 and now almost certainly permanently single, passed them with a sad smile on her face.

"Of course," Jersey replied, absently twirling her curls in his fingers. "The day we're both nineteen we'll register and get our placement. And then we'll have the most beautiful babies in the District, and it'll be perfect."

Kerry smiled. "I love you, you know."

"My name is Kerry Fforde," she told the audience of Gamemakers, "and I come from District Ten." She bowed her respect, and then turned to the open room, and sprang into action.

It wasn't choreographed, but Kerry had a plan and she went with it. First she tied a series of complex knots that were the main pieces of traps and snares, ending with a lasso that she swung around before throwing it around  a dummy's neck and pulling sharply, bringing it crashing to the floor.

Kerry paused for a moment, and went to the spears table, selecting a narrower but longer one. She span it elegantly, and then performed a series of gradually more complex figures that she had learned in the staff station the previous day. She then stabbed one of the nearest dummies through the stomach, to show that she could get her head into violence if she chose.

There were still about three minutes remaining, so she went to the center of the room and stood facing them. She smiled at them like she had a secret she wanted to share, and started to talk. "I can't say that I'll have impressed you with that, but here's the thing. I can cobble together healing poultices out of almost anything. Big animals don't scare me, and I'm fast. But really what I want to say is this. I can't impress you now because I don't have the right tool. I tried, and I showed you the kinds of things I could do if I had the weapon I want, but I could do them so much more easily. Put a goad in the arena, and see what I could do."

It was a risky approach, to be fair, but it couldn't possibly hurt. It there was, then they had accepted her challenge, and if they didn't, then she would make do.

"Thank you for your consideration," she finished, and bowed again. The Gamemakers nodded, and one gestured to the door. It was an exit that she gladly took.

Her costume was massive on her. The skirt was fine, if a little short, and the boots were brilliant - comfortable, hard-working style, even if they were new and delicately decorated. The problem was entirely in the top. It was a huge contraption, a horned cattle head that her stylist had apparently authorized, with a wire frame to give it shape covered by painted fabric. It didn’t even look especially like a cow, Kerry thought vindictively.

That didn’t matter, of course. She doubted that anyone outside of District 10 had even seen a cow, or a pig, or a sheep, or any of the other animals that were so much a part of what she considered everyday life. That was what the district system did, after all.

The first chariot, with its glistening occupants, left the stables, starting the tribute parade. Kerry stood uneasily near the horses that would carry them around the arena, but didn’t dare touch them. She didn’t want them to sense her frazzled nerves and get spooked. That was the last thing they needed. Angus, on the other hand, had no such concern, and was patting one of the horses on the nose, smiling. His mentor stood beside him, trying to encourage him back to where Kerry was, behind the chariot. He didn’t want to move.

All too soon, they were in place on the back of the chariot, standing side by side, and then they were moving.

The crowd rumbled with noise constantly, but a roaring wave followed each of the chariots. The Capitol cheered loudly and dramatically, sound rising from every corner of the parade route, and Kerry fought the rising urge to flee or vomit or both. She gripped the chariot, and forced herself still. Jersey wouldn’t want her to show fear.

The thought only made her feel homesick. She loved him, and the thought that she might lose him was impossible, and yet almost certain. She knew she had to be looking awful now, but she knew just as well that she couldn’t afford to; this was her chance to impress. She looked up towards the crowd, and pictured Jersey smiling at her, and blocked out everything else. From there she could hold a smile - half real, even - plastered on her face. The chariot’s movement was smooth, the horses un-spooked, and she felt secure enough to use just one hand to hold her up, and one to wave at the adoring crowd.