Reaping Day

I can't say I've exactly been looking forward to this day since the moment I was selected to be the male tribute for this year's Hunger Games. Coincidentally, these Games are right before a Quarter Quell, so in terms of the arena and its twists, it isn't going to be anything special. I should be fine, right? But in 24 hours, I'm not going to wake up in my bed. I'll wake up in a bed three times larger than this one, in an entirely new world.

Any attempts I have made to accept my situation have been spoiled by my parents. Mom and Dad have warned me of the many underdogs that will gleefully usurp my position as Victor. Their concern of that may have been intensified when the small sixteen-year-old girl from District 6 in last year's Games pretended to be mute but turned out to be a silent, deadly killer who preferred head-bashing as a means of elimination. We're always taught to make deaths bloody for the audience, but at least to make them swift to end the human suffering. I've never really had it in me to extend the agony of someone who never stood a chance.

I wasn't expecting to be this nervous on the day of the Reaping but ever since I woke up three hours before the sun rose, my heart has been dangerously fast. I guess reality is finally setting in. Having the popularity of being the male tribute was pretty cool while it lasted, but I'm sure that'll diminish if my face be in the sky of that arena. Everyone will forget my name once I'm buried along with the other decomposing District 2 tributes who had everything it took to come home alive, but ran out of luck. You could be as prepared as anyone, but you just never know what they'll throw at you once you rise out of the Launch Room.

After being seemingly unable to stand for hours, I finally rise out of my bed, settling at the foot of it. My eyes catch the blue dress shirt and black pants hanging in my closet. I asked my older sister Allie to pick out my Reaping outfit for me. It seems a little strange for me to have my clothes chosen for me since I'm eighteen, but it was only for today. I want her to feel like she is involved in this journey, since she never showed any interest in the Hunger Games, preferring horseback riding by far. I'm glad she went down a different path, because becoming a tribute is not for the lighthearted, and my sister probably wouldn't hurt a fly.

I slowly get dressed into my outfit, cringing at the bright blue of the shirt, making my own blue eyes seem gray in comparison. I don't opt to wear vibrant colors very often, but Allie said I needed to stand out from the other Alpha Careers and even the occasionally more popular Beta Careers. I don't plan on being a stereotypical District 2 Career who has to do everything by the books, because as the last twelve years as proven, that doesn't really work out. We haven't had a Victor since Chloe Furnstahl from the 137th, and she was just that. She only seems to act upon what she believes will preserve her honor, and that includes immersing herself in the Academy to the point where she doesn't really have a life outside of training Careers. It's a little sad, but whatever floats her boat, I guess.

Heading downstairs, Allie squeals as soon as she sees me.

"Look at my little brother. He looks like a grown up!" Allie says in a baby voice, rushing over to me and hugging me tightly.

"I totally am a grown up, Al, I'm eighteen now!" I tell her, playfully punching her in the shoulder.

"You punch like a twelve year old, little brother," she jokes, delivering a somewhat rough punch to my gut. I laugh her attack off, but she actually may have given me a nasty bruise.

"I'm saving my strength, I'm gonna need it." I reply, resisting the urge to hold my aching side. I look around for my parents to see me off, but they seem to be missing. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

"They had to be extra security at the Reaping today. Sorry I didn't tell you, but when I went into your room, you were asleep," she admits. Well, I know I wasn't, because I remember hearing my door slowly open around an hour ago, but I assumed it was Mom or Dad to give me a lecture about Bloodbath strategy one last time, so yes, to Allie, I was "asleep".

"Oh, it's fine. I'll see them at the Justice Building," I say casually, hiding my excitement at not having to deal with them for a least another hour. At least their Hunger Games rants will only be for an allotted amount of time while they're saying goodbye.

"I got you a token, by the way," Allie chirps, pulling a small package out of her pocket. She eagerly hands it to me, smiling from ear to ear.

I open it without hesitation, and it reveals a bracelet made from dark rocks.

"It's some rocks from your old collection, remember? You had given me some of the ones you didn't want anymore so I decided to make them into jewelry." Allie seems proud with her work. She has a right to be proud; her amateur bracelet making skills have come a long way to the point where she could make quick cash off of selling her creations.

"I just thought, what better way to remind you of home?"

I hug my sister, fighting off makings of tears.

"It's perfect," I whisper, rubbing the smooth stones of the bracelet. Diorite, granite, and marble are the main stones all woven into a teal rope. Teal is Allie's favorite color, so I suppose that's a way of reminding me of her, too.

After we head to the Reaping, Allie says farewell and heads off to the spectator section, since she is twenty and free from the Reaping. Not that she was in any danger of being in the Games, anyway.

I make my way to the eighteen-year-old section, everyone grinning at me because they know what's to come. My whole life has been leading to this moment, I should be glad that my years of hard work were going to pay off. I should be more than glad, I should be happy, right?

"Elisa Shayle!" our escort cries out, having pulled another meaningless slip from the glass bowl.

"I volunteer!" a high-pitched voice declares, and soon enough a tall, slender girl with black hair prances towards the stage, smirking deviously.

"Name?" the escort asks the girl, who seems to be eyeing me in particular.

"Cascadelle Greyson," she purrs, causing the crowd to go nuts. I ruled out sex appeal as one of my main traits years ago, because I'm not really cut out for it. At least, that's what my parents told me.

Without delay the escort chooses a name from the male's bowl, but I don't really hear it. All I can hear is the sound of my own voice pounding throughout my head as I shout two fateful words.

"I volunteer!" I shout, slinking out of the crowd and plastering a fake, confident smile on my face. As a climb onto the stage, my adrenaline wears off, and I'm left with a very conflicted, confusing feeling.

Dread.

This is just a little companion story for Innocent Youth, showing how last year's Victor, Myron, won his Games. It's going to be solely from his POV because, well, you already know that he won.