Chapter Text
The morning of the reaping began with a nightgown soaked with sweat. I’d had another nightmare, though I wasn't particularly shocked - I’d been having them every night leading up to today.
I rose from my mattress, aware of the stickiness that followed. Emmie snored peacefully beside me. At 12 years old, today would be her first reaping. I smiled at the little ones sleeping in a pile nearby, Hunther, Maisie, Silo, Winnie, and Flax. They’re too young for the reaping, at least today is just a holiday to them. It took me far too long to remember all of the kids' names but at least I can rattle them off now. I’m the teacher, their caretaker, the oldest child in the orphan’s house. There aren’t too many of us but enough.
I quickly got dressed in my standard overalls and snuck out. The reaping was soon but if I was lucky and productive, I might be able to meet somebody beforehand
I run, the morning air cooler than usual but still pleasantly warm, the only time in summer that I don’t feel like melting and staying inside. I don’t have school today as it’s reaping day. Honestly, I think I’d prefer having school on a day like this. Maybe I’m just odd like that but there’s something soothing about the uniformity of it, like there’s something normal to hold on to.
I’m first, no surprise there, only I would be so crazy as to do my job before the reaping. Whatever, the sooner I load all this grain I cut yesterday into the storage bins, the more time I have with him. Its weight on my back, tickling the back of my head, the morning sun rising, almost like a normal holiday which we don’t have much of.
That is to say these “holidays” are all related to the Hunger Games anyways.
Harvest, the other kid from the orphan house who’s old enough, joins me, loading her grain. We’re not close though I do wave at her before running off, having logged my work in.
While most of the land was occupied by concrete buildings with paint flaking off, granaries, and plentiful fields not for us, there is one meadow with sunflowers growing, the one glimpse of beauty in a place with so little.
I see him the moment I get there, the same person who makes me laugh without trying, the same person who barely remembers his own birthday but remembers anything I told him.
Thorn.
He’s smiling but in an odd way such that I know he’s hiding something but trying not to reveal it so early. “Nice to see you’re still alive,” I say, my way of saying tell me what it is already. “Wouldn’t have guessed it for you considering how late you are” I flush at his teasing, and decide to be blunt, my impatience winning out, “Oh come on already, some of us have work, what are you hiding?” He grins even wider before pulling out a small package. “Happy early birthday, I know it’s really in 7 days but I couldn’t help myself.”
I untie the scraps of rope holding it together to reveal a small brass ring, something so simple and so beautiful. “You.. it’s beautiful.. How did you?” as I put it on.
“Lets just say working in the forge in all my free time sometimes amounts to something”
“You’re acting like I say it amounts to nothing”
We’re just there, talking, teasing, smiling at the world together. It’s not something we do often, he being 2 years older, officially apprenticed instead of school so all we have is stolen moments like this. It doesn’t help that he’s a town boy through and through, having never had to haul grain, learn to use a scythe, or worry about tesserae the way I have to.
His mom would never approve of somebody like me with her son. In fact, she most clearly dislikes me as a person. But right now, laughing in a field of sunflowers, we lose sense of everything weighing us down and we’re just two people, loving each other with our whole hearts.
A giant bell rings and the screens around the entire district light up, signaling that the reaping is in 30 minutes. Oh god, 30 minutes. We both get up on our feet and promise to see each other here later today, a promise that we wouldn’t be reaped underlying.
I rush back, painfully aware of the limited time I had to make myself presentable. The dress draped on the chair across from my bed, soft grey cotton rippling and cascading downwards. Poetic, I think, smiling slightly before heading to take a bath, the water cold from the time I spent dilly dallying.
Lydia, the head matron, scolds me for arriving so late, so little time to fix myself up she says. Why on earth it mattered I had no idea, pretty or not, someone's dead either way. Today's reaping was just like the rest, in my eyes.
I help her with dressing the other young ones quickly, we’re all required to attend no matter if we’re participating or not. Emmie’s so nervous, the way she bounces around and who could blame her? The chances are low for a first reaping but never zero. Out of the young ones who aren’t in the reaping, only Flax and Winnie understand the reaping. All the others know that it’s a ceremony punishing the districts for rebelling against the mighty Capitol.
We all walked together, quiet, solemn as the occasion told us to. Blood drawn to mark attendance, and finally we reached the square. We’re a large district but most of us actually live quite close together since most of the land is used for factories, silos, and fields of grain.
Everything from that moment was a blur. My heart was pounding in my ears, Thorn clutched my hand for as long as possible before having to break away and join the other boys, our eyes still on each other. Before I could spiral further, microphone feedback startled me out of my stupor. The escort, Claudia with her giant neon yellow heels and amber necklaces faced the crowd. Combined with her hive-like hair and netted veil, she gave off the impression of being a bee keeper. We would laugh if she didn’t symbolize death.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the reaping for the 69th annual Hunger Games! And may the odds ever be in your favor.”
She smiled, pausing for applause that they had never once received in all their years of hosting the reaping. Our victors, Jonah Wong, Otis Walther, and Emmer Rose stand on the side of the stage. Out of the 3, only Jonah has remained without medicating. Otis’ sunken eyes and yellow skin show his use of morphling and Emmer’s consistently drunk, often passing a bottle with Haymitch and Chaff.
“First, as always, the ladies!”
Blood rushed in my ears. The collective breath the crowd was holding threatened to suffocate me.
They selected the white slip. Broke open the seal with a deafening ‘pop’. Unfolded it delicately.
My heart dropped, and before they even spoke a word into the microphone I knew.
My name, called. The name that was supposed to be somebody else, that had always been somebody else, just another person’s name, now mine. Mine. Mine. Mine…
Just like this morning with my sweat-soaked nightgown, my name was the one bouncing off of every surface and body in the square, all eyes turning to me. Except this time, there would be no waking up.
I wasn't really sure how I made it to the stage; my legs were trembling and my eyes had turned so glassy that I could barely see two feet in front of me. I fumbled with the loose thread on my dress.
They had called the male tribute's name, Rye Sparrow, a little 13 year old who kept to himself. He had 4 older siblings, a brother and 3 sisters, but they’ve all aged out of the reaping. Despite me being on that stage, I can’t help but feel relieved that it’s not Thorn. His last year in the reaping and he’s survived. There’s shame there as well, that I’d rather a 13 year old die.
Those thoughts disappeared as I was trying desperately to keep my tears at bay and keep my chin up. Lydia would have my head for slouching in front of so many people.
I was losing track of time, moments coming to me in fragments filtered by my fear. Wake up, I thought desperately, just wake up and this all will be over.
The doors opened and I stood. When did I sit down? Where was I?
Lydia.
It’s awkward for a moment because we were never really close. She just depends on me for help. That’s all there is to it.
She reassures me that they’ll be fine, that she’ll manage without me, even as her tired frame slouches slightly. I know I’m needed and that thought nearly breaks me. I hadn’t even finished my chores from this week, I had to go back and finish them.
Emmie comes next, clutching my skirt and sobbing at them not to take me away, to stay for them.
This is echoed in Flax and Winnie’s pleas for me to come back, for the Peacekeeper to leave their big sister alone.
The younger ones, the ones who don’t understand yet now do, now have to accept that I may leave them. They all rush in at once, crowding around me, shaking their little fists.
When their time is up, it’s a jumbled mess as they try to herd them all out at once. The last wish shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does, it’s to win. To come back as Victor. To do whatever it takes to come home.
The door opens again revealing Thorn as he walks in.
I don’t know what comes over me but the moment I see him I throw my arms around him, matching each other breath for breath before he pulls away for a moment to say, "Don’t you dare give up on life yet. You’re fast, just run for the hills. And nobody can match your skill with a sickle. The Hunger Games isn’t just a matter of brute strength, don’t you ever forget that.” His words come out quick and jumbled, his nervousness clear.
“Oh you know me,” I start, about to joke, to ease the worry on his face but my throat closes up, sobs racking my body.
“If I don’t make it,” I choke out, “No.. I probably won’t make it, please just please take care of them, in the house.” “I will, but I won’t have to, please, just promise me you’ll come back.” That single promise ends my most prominent worry, my shoulders sag slightly in relief before he pulls me in again. The kids, they’ll be alright. Thorn is clever and strong willed enough, the kids will adore him and soon forget about me. The pit in my stomach grows but I brush it off.
For what seemed like an eternity we just stayed there, our arms wrapped around each other, listening to the other cry and breathe softly.
The doors swung open again.
“Time’s up,” he said.
I panic, we both do in fact, and at this moment I whisper the words that I haven’t said before, I never knew when it was right, but now I don’t care. They slip off my tongue with the knowledge I may never get another chance, “I love you” Three words that get repeated back to me like a prayer before our meeting ends as they drag him out.
The Peacekeepers lead me to the train station along with Rye. His eyes are puffy and red showing the tears that were probably shed. The tears that had dried on my cheeks came back again, and once they started I wasn't sure they would ever stop. Was that the last time I would ever see them again? I had so much more I wanted to say - so much more I wanted to do. Didn’t they know?
It seemed that they either didn’t know or didn’t care, for regardless I found myself on a bullet train with a one way ticket to the Capitol - and more likely, my death.