I honestly don't know if anyone will read this but this is something I've been working on for a long time. Warnings for literally just about everything: cussing, nudity, sexual references and descriptions, self harm, suicide, prostitution, death, gore, violence, and basically everything else!
"Getting' heavy with the devil, you can hear the wedding bells"
~The Pretty Reckless
For my whole life I've loved silence. I've always believed that silence is so much more important than words, because when there is nothing else but the beating of your heart and the wind through your hair, there is an illusion of peace. I know that it's an illusion; but is it so wrong to savor the lie when the reality is impossible? That's all we get- a fantasy of happiness and peace when the rest of the world is trying so hard to rip it away.
The sun is peaking over the tops of the pines when I wake. Immediately my chest tightens, heat pulsing up through my throat. Today is the reaping- a celebration as the Capitol calls it. Every year we are killed for sport. And every year President Snow, Caesar Flickerman, Seneca Crane- everyone, cheers as we die. Each year I feel more and more helpless as I watch the children die. But no matter how angry or sad I get, there is nothing I can do. But even if there was, I have too much to lose.
Rising to my feet I make sure not to wake Lily. I make no noise pulling on day clothes and slipping out the door. Although I want nothing more than to crawl back in bed and sleep until the day is over, I know I still have work to do despite the events. I chew on my lip, keeping my mind distracted as I work through some basic chores.
Placing a small pile of logs into the old stone fireplace finally snaps me back to reality. I stare down at the metal washbin before setting about filling it and heating the water within. The water feels good against my sore muscles. I've worked hard the past few days making sure there is extra of everything- firewood, food, money- just in case I don't return today… I shake my head to myself and squeeze my eyes shut. It's like what Vinny said, "it's not going to happen, so don't worry about it." He's right, and I guess that's what friends are for but I still can't shake the feeling of dread that he might be wrong.
I have as good a chance as anyone to get picked. In fact, I probably have a greater chance with all the tesserae. But whenever I say so, Vinny always makes me feel better. He's probably the only person able to talk me out of my fear. We've known each other for years, our friendship blossoming as an alliance when my mother and brother, and his father died together. We've gone through periods where our relationship has gotten more intimate before we drift back into friendship. But despite any feelings either of us may have had in the past, he's the only person I can imagine spending the rest of my life with. Whenever I begin to panic or lose myself he always brings me back down. Without him I'd be lost.
Before I even finish washing my hair I hear the creak of the wooden floor. I wait, my head turned towards the bedroom door where Lily and Cam are both sleeping. When no footsteps follow the sound, I quickly finish, roughly pulling on my clothes before Cam pushes the door open, rubbing sleep out of his face.
His golden eyes are wide as he glances around the room, finally landing on my face. "You're up early," he mumbles even though this is the latest I ever sleep and he knows it.
I give him the kindest, most encouraging smile I can muster. "You just slept in," I say, keeping my voice quiet and gentle. We generally don't tiptoe around each other. There are no secrets and there is no awkwardness in our family, not that there could be any in such tiny quarters. That's how I know he's terrified.
Pulling my gaze away from him pinched face I replace the water in the tub, getting it reheated in time for Lily to get out of bed and join Cam on the old couch. The two of them take turns bathing as I attempt to construct breakfast. I've been saving money recently just in case, but I splurged on luxuries for this morning. A smile plays on my lips as their eyes light up when they see the strawberries and fresh bread. My father meets my eyes, obviously thinking that it was a waste to buy such things but I shrug in return. I wanted a distraction and if this helps even a little, then it's worth it.
I lean back against the counter, watching my brother and sister eat, my father sitting beside them with paternal concern over his rough face. I try to see the scene as a happy one but all I can feel is the panic shooting up through my chest. My father and I are the only ones left to support them. My mother and older brother died in an accident when I was twelve and since then I've had to carry the weight to support them. We at least have the luxury of being able to support my grandmother who is too old and sickly to work anymore. Many can't even do that. We have the luxury of her being alive, though only barley. She won't even be attending the reaping today. That's the clearest sign of giving up.
The possibility that my name could be called is too much to bear. It isn't only my death that paralyzes me, but the knowledge that my father would be left to support everyone on his own. Sure, Cam could help but they wouldn't pay him nearly as much as I've worked towards. If I left them then they would suffer and I can't let that happen.
The process of cleaning up after our late breakfast takes longer than normal. A smile finally pulls at my lips as I listen to Lily and Cam bicker over some trivial fact about the crazy woman who owns the bakery. I can't help but feel happy, content at least, listening to their soft voices and the familiar sounds of life inside our tiny cabin.
"You're good?" my father asks quietly, moving to stand beside me at the counter, eyes focused on Lily and Cam. "It's okay if you need a break today."
His eyes are dark brown, with harsh lines set into his features that make him look like he's perpetually frowning. There's never been anyone more sturdy than him. Even when my mother died and he lost the love of his life he remained firmly dedicated to his remaining family. Even when his parents were killed by Peacekeepers he never swayed. But staring into his face now I swear I can see all the age on his face. The roots of his muddy brown hair are beginning to lighten, his eyes are getting dull and his shoulders slouch ever so slightly forward like there's an invisible weight pressing down on him.
"I'm good," I say "really." I offer my best smile and turn back to the strawberry stained dish in my hand.
He grunts in return. My father is a man of few words but nonetheless I find his gruff gestures soothing. He was all I had after mother and Johnathan died. The rest of my siblings take after her, but I alone resemble my father. While the others have my mother's light hair and golden eyes, I inherited my father's brown hair and biting tongue.
My father pushes away from me, stepping out the door into the sunlight forest outside. He acts so strong all the time but something as awful as the Games can get to him.
With the dishes cleaned and put away, I focus on getting Lily and Cam dressed in their best without causing them undue stress. Only once they're prepared do I turn to myself. It's not easy to come across nice clothes but I've managed to keep one of my mother's tan skirts which I tuck a white blouse into. I brush my hair out, letting it fall down to my shoulders. My mother always loved my long hair- she said it reminded her of herself when she was young but I can't bear to see myself with any resemblance to her, so I keep it short.
In the distance a long and powerful siren blows. I freeze, focusing on breathing to keep myself calm. I straighten up, holding my chin high as I exit the bedroom and turn to focus on my sibling's terrified faces.
I get them out the door relatively easily, my father helping keep Lily from bursting into tears. On the dusty road I let her clutch my hand. Focusing on her keeps me calm- gives me the control I so desperately need to keep myself stoic and strong.
The sun is warm, approaching hot on my back. It feels wrong, for it to be so nice on such an awful day. It should be raining, cloudy at least. Hell, it should be blizzarding if it were to reflect how it really feels.
Somewhere in front of us a child starts to cry, his shrieks sending shivers down my spine and settling as a rock in my stomach. Lily's hand tightens around mine, her face going pale as the boy's cried get louder. "I don't want to go" she says suddenly.
I pull her along, not letting her dig her feet into the hard dirt to stop. "I don't either," I say "but we have to. You know that."
She makes a face that momentarily makes me think that she's going to puke but instead she nods her head. "It's not fair," she murmurs.
I smile, "no it's not." I let go of her hand so that I can grab her by the shoulder and give her the closest thing to a hug that I can while we walk.
"You won't get picked, right?" I bite into my lip, hearing the fear in her voice.
"No" I say more sternly than I intend to. "We're all going to be fine." Cam is twelve. This year is his first in the reaping. I give him a quick look, but he seems to be holding it together. I wish I could say it got easier, that there was some way to get used to it, but the brutal truth is that we all just bite our tongues and keep our heads down until it's over.
We get quieter as we approach the city square. More and more people file in around us; some as quiet as we are, some whispering quietly, some are even laughing, doing all they can to distract themselves from what's to come.
We stop just next to the check-in tables, each of us saying brief, unwanted goodbyes before my father's takes Lily's hand and leads her away. Cam sticks close to me as we wait in line with the other children of District 7. I send Cam to the Peacekeeper before me, his golden eyes wide in terror.
Counted and checked, I walk him to his section in the back with the other twelve year olds before giving him a hug and heading towards the stage to my section with the sixteen year olds. I try to keep him in sight but as more and more people crowd around me, I lose him. I don't know if it makes me more or less anxious to have all these strangers pressed in around. There's something sort of comforting in their presence; there are so many of them, surely I'm safe. But the terror that they radiate is almost tangible and I can't help but feel like I'm choking in it.
Time moves too fast. Everyone always says that time slows down when they're afraid or something terrible is happening, but for me, the opposite is true. Each second that ticks by only hurtles me closer to the moment that I'm dreading. I'm so aware of the girls around me; their breaths, their tears, and their nervous shuffling. Even the anthem and the story of Panem told by our mayor seem rushed, as if we're all free falling into our fate.
Too soon does our eccentric escort, Karina Rose step onto the stage, her immense heels sinking into the soft wood. I can't hear a word she says. My ears are roaring with the sound of my heat hammering in my chest. I want this to end. I want to go home and lie in bed and know that everyone is okay. As she walks to the bowl, hands bouncing at her sides, I swallow deeply. Once this is one, I'll find Cam and we'll go home. Last night I went out with Vinny to buy enough food for a real dinner. Breathing deeply, I think about the small bit of beef.
Karina approaches the glass bowl, beaming out at us as she waves her fingers above the slips.
There's some small, bruised tomatoes, too. I've never liked them much, but the others do, so it was worth it.
The microphone crackles at her return, the paper slip crinkling in her porcelain hands.
But what I'm most proud of is the small, bite sized cake. It's hardly enough for more than a few bites each, but already I can see the smile of Lily's face as she eyes the frosting.
I don't want to hear the name of the girl on the slip. I don't want any of this. I want our dinner. I want to smile and eat and pretend that no one's dying.
Karina doesn't slow, though. Her far too pale fingers unfold the slip carefully, like the paper might fall apart if she holds it too tightly. She clears her throat and licks her lips for reading the card.
"Johanna Mason!" her voice rings over the crowd.
There isn't a sound. Everyone is waiting, making sure that it's not them or someone they love.
It isn't possible. There's so many names in that bowl, how can it be me? As the girls around me begin to notice my presence do I come to the realization of what this means.
There won't be a dinner.
I won't be going home.
I'm going to the Games.
I'm going to die.