"And the male tribute from District 4 is…" The stout man on the raised dock dug his chubby, sausage-like fingers through the bowl filled with names. Every slip of crisp white paper held the name of a child, a child that had the chance to die for the crimes of his predecessors.
I hated Jonathan Mustakk, the District 4 escort, with a passion which could not be matched, unless of course we were talking about President Snow. Mustakk had long eyebrows that dripped too far off the edges of his eyes and big, white teeth. He wore too-tight suits of the most horrid colors, from bright that-color-doesn't-exist-in-nature blue to I-had-a-shark-vomit-its-lunch-on-my-belly green. And he wore curly-toed shoes. It was the most hideous thing, and it made me discount his masculinity entirely. Mustakk was all smiles for the camera, but as soon as you got on the train to the Capitol his teeth became sharp and those eyebrows arched down towards his nose.
"Kaytr Jones!" he grinned big.
A woman screamed for her baby boy from the crowd. Somewhere in the crowd a boy emerged into the pathway. Kaytr looked nine, so he must've been twelve, the youngest age for a tribute. I cursed under my breath from my seat behind Mustakk on the raised dock. Jonathan shot me a glare from the corner of his eye. The little boy slowly made his way over one dock and up onto ours. I could see him quivering and hiding under his big head of red hair as he got closer.
"Congratulations!" Mustakk bared his big teeth at the boy.
Kaytr Jones widened his hair in utter terror.
Mustakk continued his speech until it was time to let the tributes into the District Hall where they would say goodbye to their families. Peacekeepers led the Kaytr and the female tribute towards the Hall. I stood from my spot, Finnick's hand in mine. Finnick tightened his grip as I wavered. These next few days were always the worst part of the year for me.
"I'm here, Kaz," Finnick whispered in my ear.
I had already gathered my things for the trip to the Capitol. Finnick had helped me pack, helping me remember the things I would have otherwise forgotten during my fits of terror. It was already loaded onto the train.
It didn't take long for the kids to say goodbye to their families. The Reaping always goes rather smoothly in District 4. We prepare all year, knowing that our child will be chosen. Then if they aren't, we praise the gods for one more year with them. Families say a respectful last goodbye to their child and then let them go peacefully.
I didn't greet the tributes on the train. I stayed in my chambers while Finnick and the other victors talked to them. Mags and Annie were very quiet with most of the tributes; poor Annie had lost her mind to the nightmares, and Mags's bone had grown brittle. Mags gave some very good advice, but she trusted most of it to Finnick and me.
"Cassandra Melbrooke!" Mustakk cried from his spot up on the raised dock.
My stomach dropped as I recognized my own name. My mother didn't cry out for me as I had seen so many do before for their children. My father stood stoically staring forward in the crowd. I picked up my weighted feet and shuffled out into the open. I made it forward inches at a time, a point on my back trying to pull me back into the crowd.
Suddenly I was beside Mustakk. At fourteen, he was the sleaziest looking creature I had ever seen, and the hand he extended towards me in greeting was the biggest insult I'd ever encountered. I shook my head at him, unable to speak. He drew his unaccepted hand back quickly and pursed his fat lips.
"How do you feel?" he asked me, darkly, handing me a microphone.
I turned my head towards the foam-topped stick. "I feel like there's a brick in my stomach."
"Oh, phooey!" he pretended to care about my discomfort.
"And I believe you are the most ridiculous creature I've ever laid eyes on," I said plainly.
Several whoops went up from the braver young men in the crowd. Behind me I heard a loud whistle of approval. I turned to see Finnick, our victor two years ago, grinning at me. He had whistled for me.
Mustakk laughed plastically and brushed me off to the side so he could announce the next tribute, an olive-skinned boy about seventeen.
Peacekeepers dragged us to the District Hall and separated us into two rooms. I did not wait long before they came to say goodbye to me. My mother and little sister came in. My mother shed only one tear and said the word goodbye, while my little sister sobbed so much she couldn't even finish a full word.
They bowed respectfully and left. Father came in alone. He sat beside me on the stiff bench. We said nothing for a long while. A single tear slithered its way down my cheek, and my father brushed it away. He caressed my chin in his large hand and whispered to me, "I will see you when you get home, Cassie."
We both knew it would be in a body bag for my parents to bury.
I woke up shivering, a sheen of cold sweat encasing my body. Finnick ran his fingers through my short red hair.
"Hey," he whispered. "Do you need to talk?"
"N-n-no," I gulped. "I'm gonna take a shower."
"Alright," he kissed my forehead before slipping back into sleep.
I untangled my limbs from the thin blanket we kept over the bed and lugged my way into the bathroom. With the quick press a few buttons I ordered a shockingly ice-cold shower infused with lavender oil. I stepped in and gasped, breathing sharply until my body adjusted to the temperature. The tea tree shampoo came out of the dispenser in an amount I had previously set. I massaged that into my scalp and then rinsed it out after changing the spray of the shower head to a harder setting. I sat under the water until my fingers couldn't do more than twitch from the cold.
When I got out, I grabbed a towel from the rack and dried my smooth skin. I dry-shaved my damp legs and then wrapped the towel around my body while I washed my face.
I stood from my stooped position over the sink and stepped back, winding up in Finnick's arms. He wrapped himself around me and held me tight, breathing in the smell of my freshly washed hair. I cried silently while he rocked me side to side. He didn't try lying to me, telling me it would all be alright. We both knew that at least one of our tributes would die in that arena, and all we could do is hope that even that one made it out.
Later, I got dressed and slinked onto the main living car. I sat in front of the TV with my head in Finnick's lap while he dozed upright. The screen flashed with images of the Capitol and the districts and Caesar Flickerman's grinning mug. He was interviewing a woman with lime green, waist-length hair and red eyebrows. She had on a stiff red suit with large silver buttons and a low-cut neck. Her fake boobs were very prominent due to the design. The corners of her mouth were turned up in a humble smile. She had written a book on the districts and the conditions there. There were twelve chapters, one for each district. She supposedly described the "humble" conditions there.
"They are not much worse off that the Capitol, in all reality," the woman informed the crowd. "They simply live in a duller environment!"
The crowd laughed, but I didn't get the joke.