Chapter Text
I wake up. A chill ripples through my body. I can only feel the breeze on my skin. Goosebumps follow soon after. Slowly sitting up, I flinch at the slit of light that peaks through the tattered curtains. Removing my legs from under the fleeting warmth of the blanket, I let my feet dangle off the edge. Everything feels so quiet. It’s almost sickening. Our house is never quiet. I don’t even need to check what day it is. Something deep within me already knows. I don’t even dare to mutter the words, an omen of bad luck as mama always said.
The air brushes past my arms, causing me to quiver as the soles of my feet touch the freezing wooden floor. I instantly scramble to look for a pair of socks, or a shoe or something. Despite being born in twelve, I was never a fan of the cold. Occasionally, in the middle of summer, the weather peaks up and the sun shines. It’s my favourite time of year. All our cousins around the lake, playing in the cabin. Whilst scurrying around my room, I see a piece of fabric peak out the cupboard. The door was still hanging off from the top. Papa hadn’t managed to find the correct bolts to fix it, so from the top you could see into the cupboard.
Carefully opening the door, making sure it doesn’t detach, I look in. I see mama’s dress. The one she had worn on the day papa and her had got married. It’s simple. It’s pretty. It’s bursting with colour, oranges and pinks, yellows and traces of purple too. As if it were a beautiful landscape. I wonder when was the last time she had worn it. My two dresses hang sadly next to it. I had had a third one, but it had ripped when papa had taken me and Jonny Clay fishing. The silence breaks me out of my own thoughts. Normally, the house is bursting with sound. Mama’s singing, or the cousins playing up and down the corridors. There’s not a creak. It’s unsettling.
I reach into the cupboard and take my dress off its hanger. It is the nicest thing I own. It’s colourful too, but not as colourful as mama’s. It has a trace of orange. The tiers were uneven in a charming way, stitched by mama. The colour shifted from soft ivory to a red. It reminded me of the wildflowers near the willow. I threw the dress on, sliding it on with ease. On my way out, I snatch the ribbon I assume mama had wrapped on the edge of my bed. I carefully unravel it, and use it to pin up my own hair. Normally for reaping day, I put it into something fancy. Today, I decided not to, a simple ponytail will do.
I bounce down the stairs, the creaking of the stairs echoing up and down the rustic walls. I call out, hoping for a response. There’s not one. Normally, that would have me worried. Except I can smell smoke floating around the house. I let out a small giggle, and slid down, walking into the kitchen.
There is mama, baking a fresh tin of bread. She looks unhappy, though who could blame her. Standing next to her is papa. His hand lays on her back, he’s smiling at her. I always hoped I’d find a love as pure as theirs. They had been together for nearly twenty years, and had never even bothered to look at anyone else. Especially papa. A wash of sadness comes over me. Would I ever be able to experience that? No. I must not think like that. Today will change nothing. I would not be reaped. Not if I could help it.
Mama turns, almost as if she can feel MY presence. Her eyes shift up and down, looking at me. She lets out a tender smile. Papa soon follows her gaze. They share a similar look. A warm sort of smile, backed by pitying worry.
“Don’t you look beautiful my little dove?”
Mama speaks with such softness in her voice, I might start crying if she spoke any softer. She reaches for me, gripping my hand with all her love. Papa does not say anything, though I can feel his mood drop. I can tell they’re doing their best not to cry. A good thing, because I don’t think I would be able to handle their tears. It makes the day more tragic than needed.
“Eat up, we must go off soon.”
I nod. I place myself in the corner of the room, watching as mama removes the bread from the fire. For a moment I lost myself. That returning sadness comes over me again. I hate reaping day. I think to Maudlin Brass, to Jonny Clay. They both must be feeling how I am feeling. Or maybe not. Maudlin Brass was always much stronger than me. She used to gut the squirrels without second thought, skinning them with such accuracy. I used to squirm, the sight of blood makes me full with unease. It just reminds you of the fragility of your own life.
Mama interrupts my thought, handing me a piece of bread. My finger tips grow hot as I bite into it, letting my tongue get slightly scorched. I let out another giggle. I swear mama grows more sad every time I breath, it’s devastating. I attempt to ignore her pain altogether. Not because I don’t care, but because I might start crying any moment.
Papa checks the broken clock that hangs off the wall weirdly. He gestures to us. It’s time to go. Though I have never been hesitant in my life, I suddenly feel anxious.
A breath, in and out. It’s time.
We march in a row. As slowly as we can without alerting attention to the keepers who are watching the crowd move toward the town square. Mama and papa both gripping each other’s hands. I simply trail next to them. We watch as families emerge from their houses. Wails and endless displays of grief are heard softly throughout the crowd. The mood on reaping day is endlessly depressing. Ever since the mockingjay, district twelve had been punished above any other district. Though the capitol wouldn’t admit it, it’s obvious to anyone who lives here. Obvious to anyone anywhere.
Parents begin to be separated from their children as we approach the peacekeeper stations. You can hear sobs from young children, comforting lies from their parents. My mama takes hold of my hand, kissing it softly on the back. We do not dare to look at one another as I get slowly shifted away, losing the warmth of her touch entirely.
The peacekeeper asks for my name. I don’t even remember saying it before she pricks my thumb for blood. In front of me, I see Maudlin Brass. Her ginger hair pokes through the crowd. I attempt to speak to her, but am instantly shoved in the other direction by a peacekeeper. I try to protest but, what’s the point? I shouldn’t put my family in danger. Or myself. I’ll speak to her after the reaping. I’m sure of it.