"I'll need more nim berries Paris."
Said my mother, a midwife. Bianca had been on the bed since 5:00 that morning with her baby on the way. I could tell the contractions were getting progressively worse as the groaning was getting progressively louder.
"Be back in 15 minutes and check the snares while you're out there." She instructed. I gave her an okay, grabbed my rucksack and stepped out into the dreary place they call outside. I truly admired my mother. How she could always take control of a situation. Even when the birthing mother is thrashing and crying and groaning and whimpering mine is calm and controlled.
It's funny how the sun never shines on the reaping days. I know I'm always too scared to breathe until it's certain no one I recognize has been chosen. Right. 15 minutes. Nim berries. Rabbit snares. The forest of district 7 was pretty empty today. I remember I set the snares in the northwest forest, the one due for clear cutting next week. If you think about it, might as well hunt all the animals before they're driven out of their dens anyway. The trees stood tall and strong, ready for harvesting. As usual, the snares were set on the same trees, all but one of them untouched. The last one had a rabbit dangling helplessly by one hind leg. I flipped open my pocket knife and gave a quick thanks to rabbit for being my dinner tonight. Luckily we won't be going to bed hungry because I needn't sell the rabbit. We'll have the profit from mums work today. I slit its throat and left it to bleed so I could look for nim berries. The wind picked up and I swore as it cut into my face bitterly. It's been 10 minutes. Better hurry.
Finding the berries wasn't really a problem, them being so common in district 7, as long as you knew where to look. Nim berries are black and firm, and grow in bushes. They were mutated several decades ago for medical purposes. Nim berries are remarkable pain killers – if prepared correctly. While the skin has numbing powers the inside juices can cause hallucination, vision problems, dizziness or in serious cases, death. My mum showed me how to extract the juices and clean the skin properly recently. I will probably be a midwife too when I grow up.
"Hey Paris. Wuzzup?" said Marleen as she passed by.
"Hey Marly." I replied. I was surprised Marly was in such a good mood. Well, better than before. Two months ago, her twin brother, my best friend, was carried off by peacekeepers after starting a riot at the town square. Jackson was my partner in crime. We used to hunt in the restricted forests. Always so headstrong, with a big voice and determination to make a difference in the world. To be a leader. To be remembered. We were supposed to do it together. But Marly was hit by a loose shingle when it fell off a roof and bled badly. By the time I reached the town square it was too late. All I saw was Jackson being dragged away and rebellious crowd being fired at by peacekeepers.
"Sorry I gotta go. Bianca's probably howling."
I walked in the door to be greeted by a very angry Bianca.
"Where have you beeeeen!!?!?!? The pain's unbearable!!!!!How could you be so selfish as to keep me waiting!!!!!!
"Thanks Paris." Sighed mum, obviously weary after 6 hours with Bianca.
Bianca named the baby boy Pierre, which apparently means pebble. It made me think of what my own name meant. Dad tells me Paris used to be the "city of love" before it was destroyed by an atom bomb centuries ago. He also said Paris used to be a boy's name. This I didn't believe. Who ever heard of a boy named Paris? Ridiculous.
Since dinner is caught and our daily profit is made, I have the afternoon to myself. But of course there's the reaping at 3:00. I keep telling myself to relax. I'm only 14. And besides, district 7 is bigger than many other ones, with more children thus lessening my chances of being chosen. Even then I still have bad anxiety, so I refer to my best stress relieving pastime.
The sound of the river was quiet. It didn't take long to find my usual target rock. It was big and had a sharp edging across the side that faced the running water. My favourite childhood game commenced. The idea was to hit the sharp boulder with a river shore stone hard enough for it to break. The stone of course, not the boulder. You'd need a pretty good arm for that. Not to brag, but I hit the boulder 99% of the time and broke the stone 50%. Just something random I feel special about. But while searching for a well sized rock I came across one dark grey stone that was incredibly smooth from years of water erosion. It was almost perfectly circular, so I shoved it in my pocket for safe keeping. It could be my lucky stone or something.
"Why don't you wear this one? It used to be my reaping dress when I was your age." Explained mum.
"Perfect..." I should have had a better reaction. I loved it. It was faded green that matched nicely with my faded red hair. There was a bow at the back and a lovely forest green flower print all over it. Two pockets were placed around where my thighs were. While mum found a dress for herself, I reached for a piece of charred wood from the fireplace and scratched a little happy face on my lucky stone.
"Welcome to District 7's 60th annual reaping!" announced Flora Goodwell. The mayor stepped up to the podium to give the speech we all had practically memorized. He gave us the usual lecture on why 23 children get slaughtered every year as punishment for what happened more than half a century ago. Honestly! Our great grandparents got a little upset, stood up for themselves and it got out of hand. Get over it! You'd think after 60 years people would be capable of forgiving and forgetting.
"Thank you Mayor Sanders! Well now, here we go! Ladies first!" Flora danced over to the ladies bowl quivering with excitement to find out who's going to die this year. She dug her hand into the bowl. Every one drew a collective breath and held it. Flora smoothed out the paper. I hear a baby cry. (Probably Pierre)
"Paris de Clair"
Huh? Who's Paris de Clair? I'm only fourteen so it's not me. The boy standing next to me gives a very unsympathetic push into the isle. Luckily I'm able to stay on my feet. Barely. I kind of waddle up to the stage. But why? I'm fourteen so the odds are in my favour. I can't have been chosen. Wait, did I accidentally volunteer? Then why did that guy push me? I catch Marly's eye. She's a white and green hue. So am I probably. Ohhh..... dammit my name is Paris de Clair. That...sucks. I shook uncontrollably but managed to hold off the tears.
"Congratulations!!!" squealed Flora. "Now for a gentleman!" She hopped over to the men's bowl and grabbed the slip on top.
"Marcus Black"
The boy who pushed me fainted. Karma much.