I run as fast as my legs will let me, whilst the crisp morning air caresses my face. The sun will rise any moment, but I am determined to reach my destination before it does. Arms pumping, deep controlled breaths; I will do it. This route is familiar; I've run it almost every day for the past five years. Hard concrete underfoot, the smell of burning rubber and molten metal in the air, the occasional wisp of dust that invades my eyes, all denote that I am almost where I should be.
Sprinting past some near dilapidated houses that surely are not fit for living in, and dodging a lone dog that wanders the street, I take a left and come to a sudden halt. This is it.
A long row of factories, hangers, and warehouses extend for almost as far as the eye can see. Each of them stands between fifty and a hundred feet in height. I walk slower now, there is no need to run, this is the part that I enjoy.
In the distance, slowly, as if greeting me from a long night of sleep, the sun rises. The first rays of morning light flood over the extensive row of buildings that stand around me. Inside these buildings idly sit the creations of District 6. My home. Everything from cars, boats, to my favorite; hovercrafts. Each of these vehicles are in different stages of completion. The sunlight floods into the buildings and twinkles off the different shiny metals and glass that they are made up of. It's hard not to appreciate their beauty. At least, in my opinion. Some may say this is the ugliest part of my district, but they're wrong.
A full ten minutes pass, and the sun has risen considerably in that time, as I take in what surrounds me. Every other day of the year this area would be buzzing with activity. Workers shouting to one another over the deafening roars of drills, engines, and all other sorts of machines. An occasional loud bang or crash followed by an unrepeatable curse word. If you're lucky, you can catch a glimpse of the vehicles in action. Only a few times in my life have I seen one of the hovercrafts take flight. Slowly rising from its stationary position. Silent, seamlessly. Then, when the work is done, they are plucked from our district by The Capitol as if they were never there and a new creation takes its place.
The lack of action, and thought of The Capitol, serves as a reminder that today is the day. Reaping Day. My stomach turns at the thought. It's about time I leave. It'll take me an hour to get back to my house in the south, and I don't want to associate any bad memories with this place. Not my favorite place. My sanctuary.
Turning on my heels, I take off in a sprint. I pass the dilapidated houses, the dog, more houses, some children already dressed in their formal attire. As the time passes I alternate between running and jogging. Roughly forty minutes have gone by when I reach the town square which is already fitted with a stage, various lights and cameras, and fourteen roped off areas that will soon contain every child in District 6; at least the ones aged between twelve and eighteen. The knot in my stomach tightens.
I decide to bypass the town square and take the longer route home. Sprinting the entire remaining distance, I arrive at my house in under fifteen minutes. Not quite my personal best but not my slowest time either.
Sweat drips from my forehead. I take a moment to allow my panting to subside before I step through the threshold. The familiar scent of lavender indicates that I am indeed home. Quietly, I close the wooden door behind me hoping not to draw any attention to myself. Unsurprisingly, my mother descends upon me in no more than five seconds. I swear she has the hearing capabilities of a hawk.
"Brandon!" her voice is high pitched. She does this whenever she is annoyed. "I wish you wouldn't do your little runs on Reaping Day, don't you realize how much there is to do?"
An audible sigh escapes my mouth which causes my mother to purse her own lips. My mother tends to overreact, especially when she is under stress. I try my best to smile through gritted teeth. If it were any other day I'd likely storm off in a huff, but exceptions can always be made on Reaping Day. After all there is a chance, however tiny and unimaginable, that this may be the last time I ever see her.
"I'll go shower." I say.
"Yes, you're all sweaty." She grimaces slightly as she speaks.
Just as I am about to ascend the staircase my mother turns to me excitedly. "Amma's put a present on your bed! I'm sure you'll love it."
On those parting words, she trots off into the kitchen. I climb the stairs two at a time and head straight for the bathroom. My family are one of the fortunate few that can afford hot running water. Most other people will have to boil water and bathe in a tub if they want to be clean. I strip naked and immediately climb into the shower. The warm water soothes my muscles, especially my legs that have been through a rigorous workout this morning. Being over six foot, I have to crouch in the shower, but the stream of glorious warm rain is worth the inconvenience.
Afterwards, I wipe the steam from the mirror and get a good look at myself. Droplets fall from my mess of short hair the color of chocolate; a delicacy that I am rather fond of. The little drops of water run from my hair, over my sharp cheek bones, down past my muscular arms, until they finally reach my feet. With the amount of exercise I do, it's no surprise I'm in good physical condition. I found several years ago that there was very little to do with my free time. Where most children my age would be caring for younger siblings, or helping out with family businesses, I was left without anything worth doing. Being the son of the mayor, there isn't much I'm required to do aside attend school. So I started running. And I never stopped.
My heart rate begins to accelerate again. I find my deep blue eyes in the mirror. Your name is only in there six times. I reassure myself. The odds are in your favor.