Blood.

Blood everywhere was all he could see until the second he awoke. The dream was terrifying—so terrifying that Jimin woke up with tears in his eyes. Even after he awoke, the butterflies persisted, violent, and ugly, and nauseating. He was so incredibly nervous.

And he had every right to be.

Today was the reaping. What an odd word to use, wasn't it? A word to define the action of harvesting crops or gathering rewards. Jimin didn't fully understand why they chose to use the word.

Because in this circumstance, the term wasn't talking about wheat, or corn, or possessions of any kind...it was talking about children.

It was an inhumane word—a word that just further provided insight into what The Capital thought of the districts of Panem. They were products—their time, their labor, their people, were all products. The Capital was to reap the rewards (children—as in human beings that hadn't reached full development yet) they still so obviously deserved from the unruly districts.

After all, the districts disobeyed authority, revolting against The Capital. Sure, it was so many years ago that hardly anyone who went through those events was even still alive, but the districts still needed to suffer regardless. It was good for them! It boosted the economy, and provided hope to the districts in a time of hardship! Why wouldn't they want The Games to go on?

And so, The Hunger Games continued on. Not really to teach the districts a lesson anymore—like The Capital still seemed to desperately want the citizens of Panem to believe—but more because the residents of The Capital love it oh so much. As the name suggested, it was simply a game to them. They weren't in danger, they couldn't possibly know what it was like to see their loved ones, friends, even just people they saw in the halls at school, being ripped away from them.

The Hunger Games was an annual event, where the twelve districts of Panem send two tributes each—one boy and one girl—to the country's capital to fight to the death until a lone victor remains. Children as young as twelve get thrown into a warzone for The Capital's viewing pleasure. No one in The Capital ever bets on the young ones—they almost always die before they even get an idea of what is going on.

This was Jimin's last year in the reaping. He was eighteen years old, on his way to take his father's place running their livestock farm. Being from District 10 meant their main area of business was in livestock—providing meat and other animal-based resources for the entire rest of the country. Well—more like for The Capital. If it were up to District 10 to feed the country, they had more than enough resources to keep the entire country alive at least—not to mention a whole other district whose economy was fueled by their agriculture. But those in The Capital wanted to live a luxurious life, so feeding the districts simply wouldn't do.

Jimin's family was doing pretty well—all things considered. But Jimin still made sure to put his name in for tesserae—voluntary food rationing—for his father, his mother, and his little brother Jihyun, who was sixteen. If having his name float around a few more times within the thousands of paper slips meant his family could eat better, it was more than worth it to Jimin.

Jihyun insisted on doing the same, but Jimin scolded him. He shouldn't risk putting his name in anymore—Jimin was the soon-to-be head of this family, he alone was going to provide for them. But every year like clockwork, extra food shows up under Jimin's watchful eyes. His brother goes behind his back to make sure Jimin gets rations too. And the older hates it. He hates how his brother risks his life in order to show Jimin he loves him.

Jimin heaves himself out of bed, body feeling heavy. This Hunger Games will be different than any he had ever experienced, even before being in the age range of the reaping. For this year was the 100th Hunger Games, meaning this year was the Quarter Quell.

The Quarter Quells of the past had been ruthless—more than the usual annual slaughters, if one could believe it. Jimin wasn't alive during any of them, but he had seen the clips. It was a wonder he wasn't desensitized to the brutal murders repeatedly broadcasted to teach district children of the fates of their peers. But Jimin still cringed every time he watched a child of the past die on screen.

No one knew the twist for this year yet. President Eira Snow hadn't yet told the districts. The thought of there being a dark surprise on this solemn day made him even more nauseous.

He dresses in his nicest clothes—a blue button-up denim shirt and black jeans. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was the best he had. He walks down the stairs with lead feet, finding his mother, father, and brother waiting for him in the kitchen. His mother smiles at him, but that smile only rests on her lips. Her eyes, on the other hand, pool with negative emotion—sadness, fear, many other things Jimin couldn't name. It pained Jimin. The likeliness that one of her sons would get chosen tribute is unlikely, seemingly, because of all the other citizens within the ages of twelve and eighteen in District 10. But it certainly was not impossible.

"You look so handsome, Jimin," His mother walks up to him and fixes his collar.

"Thank you," Jimin smiles at her with fake warm eyes before walking up to his brother.

Jihyun was sporting a worried face as well, eyebrows furrowed deeply. Though Jimin was older, Jihyun was slightly taller, and often made fun of his older brother's height. But not today.

He looks up at his little brother.

"Hey, don't frown so deeply, you'll develop wrinkles by the time you're twenty-five," Jimin tries to joke, in hopes of cheering him up. It was his job as the older brother to try to make him feel at ease.

"I'm scared, Hyung," Jihyun whispers.

"You're not going to get picked, Jihyun," Jimin hugs his brother tightly. "I won't let you."

"I don't like the way you worded that..." Jihyun's eyebrows crease further.

"You know what I mean," Jimin pulls away. "And it's not like you'll get picked anyways, so don't worry about the exact wording of the things I say."

"Still," Jihyun sighs. "Don't say things like that."

"Fine, I won't, I promise," Jimin looks him in the eyes one last time. He'd say anything to ease his brother's mind.

Jimin's father was silent—however, that was how he always was, really. The only time he ever spoke was when he had something to say worth listening to. He was wise—Jimin wanted to be like him. But he was no good at being silent. He almost always had something to say, his tongue moving faster than his mind even could.

Jimin's mother was about to make another remark to the two boys when the dreadful sound of the reaping call blared. This was it; it was time to go. Jimin exchanges one more glance with his brother before the four of them walk out the door.

*That Same Day*

Jungkook looks away as the stifled cries of the cow silence. He didn't necessarily like it, but his family was in charge of slaughtering cattle and preparing the meat for sale. It was his job, and would be his job for pretty much the rest of his life. All he was doing was completing a task.

A little blood didn't scare him, it never had. Well—animal blood didn't anyways. He was used to it; he knew no life different from this one. It was just what he grew up around.

"Jungkook! Come get ready. I'll get that cow cleaned up for you."

Jungkook doesn't look in the direction of his father's voice. Because the second he complied, he was forced to acknowledge the reality he was in. "I don't want to."

His father's voice softens. "I know it's hard for you, Jungkook. It's hard for all of us. But they'll kill you if you don't go. I can't lose you like that. Not after losing Junghyun."

Junghyun...Jungkook's older brother. He got reaped when Jungkook was only twelve years old. He remembered the following days, weeks, and months like it had happened yesterday. Staring at the television, hoping and praying Junghyun just might make it, his heart racing every time there was a close call.

He remembered sobbing into his mother's chest after watching his brother—only fourteen years old—get caught and murdered by the older, stronger careers after thirteen days of agony. That night the Jeon family cried an ocean's worth of tears. Even his father—whom he had never seen cry—sobbed along with them.

But that was five years ago. He was seventeen now. He wasn't the tiny, fragile Jungkook he was when he lost his brother. He was bigger, stronger, taller, and carried his brother in his thoughts every single day with fondness instead of only grief.

He had always looked up to Junghyun—he still does, in a way. His thoughts of his brother were rarely laced with the debilitating sadness they used to be. But, when the reaping came around each year, it always got a bit harder for him and his family. The memories they wanted to suppress so badly always bubbled to the surface of their minds around this time.

Right now, Jungkook wanted to cry, but he couldn't. He couldn't look weak in public—with a red puffy face and watery eyes. He was known at the school for being tough—both mentally and physically strong. Kind, but unapproachable. He only had one friend, and that wasn't on accident.

He knew he had to give into his father's order—well, the government's order—eventually, so he did. He leaves the axe he used to kill the cow on the ground by the dead animal, and walks out of the barn they slaughtered them in.

Axes weren't the most conventional way to kill animals, but it was what Jungkook's family had done for generations. Their guns were taken away in the war, now a century ago, so they resorted to what they had, and made the best of it. People praised them for the way they did it, how clean their cuts were despite the technique they chose. A rumor started that the meat tasted better because of the method. So they continued to do it, to appease the consumers and to make more money.

His outfit was already chosen—the night before, actually. He puts on his button-up shirt—a bright yellow one—and tucks it into some light blue ripped jeans. He rolls up the shirt sleeves to his elbows, trying to look as mature and sophisticated as possible. After all, there would be many eyes watching him within the crowd. He wanted to be someone that made his family proud, even in the darkest circumstances.

A knock wraps against his door, the person on the other side opening it before he could respond. It was his mother. At the sight of him, she tears up.

"Oh no, Mom, don't cry!" Jungkook practically runs to his mother, giving up a few small tears as well. He couldn't help himself, seeing his mom crying like that.

"I'm sorry, Kook. It's just," She pauses for a second, staring at him with desperate love in her eyes. "You look just like your brother."

"Oh Mama," Jungkook couldn't hold it in. He just holds his mother and cries for a bit, forgetting about his image, just for a moment. But, in the back of his mind, he knew this couldn't last forever, he knew this moment would end all too soon. The reaping call reminded him of that—that loud and terrible noise, and he was forced to cease his tears.