I've never really been a part of District 4. I was born and raised here, but I never really belonged. Every body around here is tall and tanned and heavily muscled, and then there's me, small and pale with the exception of my deep ocean blue eyes. Even my fifteen-year-old twin sister, Kali, is broad shouldered and golden brown. People hurled names at me, and tried to determine what I am.
Albino, adopted, sick.
The only thing making me sick was how everyone treated me. I'm smart, I can tie knots better than people twice my age, and I could hold my breath for five whole minutes without coming up for air. But still, I wasn't good enough.
"Oi, Raxton, be careful you don't blow away in the wind, yeah?" Fledge, 17 years old and cocky to boot. With his muscled, tanned arms and curly hair, he looked like a younger Finnick Odair, a perfectly chiseled bronzed god walking among us mere mortals. He laughed at me as he jogged past, getting ready to volunteer for the Reaping today and make our district proud. I hated him. He was always making jokes at my own expense and dating Kali so I couldn't do anything about it. She knew little about our unpleasant exchanges, and I could tell from the fear in her eyes that if we ever came to blows, she would side with him.
To get back at him on his special day, I had set up a tripwire on his jogging route, just a simple little snare that would pull him up by his ankle and embarrass him in front of our village. I'm not normally one for revenge, but Fledge is the exception. I walked along the path at a measured pace, not wanting to seem too eager and appear overly suspicious. Then it would be way to easy to have the blame pinned on me. For all I knew, someone else could have hit the trigger and be dangling by the woven chord, but the slim chance I would have an opportunity to laugh at Fledge overweighed any other repercussions. Right on cue, a strangled cry sounded in the distance, and I allowed myself a small, victorious grin. I listened for other reactions, for an explosion of furious profanities, but all I received were gasps and cries from other people. I sped up my pace, subconsciously panicking before I could round the corner that led to the trap. From this distance I could spot a thin trail of blood leaking from his forehead.
I'd forgotten to take his weight into account. If he was too heavy, the chord may have stretched and allowed him to hit his head on the gravel, turning my trap from a harmless prank to a serious incident.
Quite a crowd had gathered, pooling around a limp Fledge as a peacekeeper batted the rope to pull him down. Even from here I could see he was knocked out, and knowledge from previous concussions flooded me as I realized he would spend the day, including the reaping, unconscious. The blood drained from my face, and my skin turned even paler than usual as I realized there would be no other male volunteer for District 4.
What have I done?