This story is co authored by Tinted Windows and Leia Emberblaze…enjoy!
Kirsi Paavo: District Eleven
It was the day of the reaping. The sun was rising over the orchards, its reddish light send spears of bloody illumination across the rustling leaves. Since I resided at the House of Orphans my workload in the harsh fields was doubled. Peackeepers didn't give much thought to whipping commoners and they spared even less mercy for hollow eyed orphans. No one wanted us, so I knew they wouldn't care if my name was pulled from that morbid jar of fate.
At noon we assembled around the raised wooden square. People pressed in on me from all sides, craning to get a good view. There were far too many children in District Eleven for people to bother organizing us by age. We were just crammed into a pen like animals before the slaughter. I had just turned fifteen, so I was more likely to be chosen than the frightened children clinging to their parents' arms.
Glau Calixo, the stone faced man that dolled out the Capital's cruel justice once a year, watched us like we were no better than beasts of burden. I would've launched a rock at him had he not been so intimidating. "I will draw the girl's name first," he announced in a bored monotone. One of Glau's huge hands dropped into the sea of paper like an eagle's talons drop into a lake. His fingers closed around one scrap and lifted it out. My throat tightened with suspense. I always liked to get bad things over with rather than draw them out. Glau, on the other hand, seemed to be of the opposite opinion.
He cleared his throat while the females in the crowd, and some of their male admirers, waited in agony. "Kirsi Paavo." Those two words dropped from his horrible, twisted mouth like gunshots. They meant the same thing as bullets too; death. My heart stopped and then picked up in double time. I elbowed through the crowd and trudged onto the stage. We didn't bother dressing up at the Home of Orphans. So many eyes looked up at me with a mixture of disdain and relief. They were happy it was me; they were happy it was someone with no mother or father to mourn them. I suppose I would've been happy too if I'd been in their shoes. A sigh of defeat escapes my trembling lips, puffing into the air. The boy they call is a seventeen year old named Tito. I don't even know his last name; nor do I care. My life, for all intents and purposes, is over. This is the end.
Jorum Aneurin: District Twelve
The sun is just peaking out of the horizon when I wake to find my father face down on the floor. I sigh; he's always like this, especially before the reaping. I pull on the only possession I have that was once my mother's. It's her old bonding dress. She got this amazing work of art before she and my dad got married. It's beautiful and she probably had to eat horribly for months to afford it. It is white with intricate lace wrapping all the way around the waist and falling gracefully down to the floor. On the curved neckline are pearls sewn into the smooth fabric. It slides down my body and it fits as perfectly as it fit my mother. I look in the mirror and am horrified by my hair; it is a complete disaster. Not that I usually need to worry about that kind of thing, but today is special. Today is the day of the reaping. I run my hands from the top of my head down to the tangled tips, but it doesn't make a big difference. Eventually I decide that there is nothing more I can do and start to take care of my dad. He will come to the reaping right before they pull the names, but he skips the speeches and useless babble. I tuck him into his bed and head to the door.
I walk out of the, I guess you could call it an apartment, after putting my dad to bed, and start toward the already crowded square. The golden light that leads me toward the crowd begins to grow brighter and makes everything around me clearer. A thin layer of coal dust has settled early this morning and it ruins the possible beauty of the whole scene. As my walk lengthens, children start to run past me. It must be getting close to time pull the names. The mayor goes through the same speech of how the Games were created and then "puts us in the hands of out Escort and Victor".
As the most recent champion of our district, Nonie Raj, and the Escort, Avila Roul, mount the stage, everyone falls silent. This shows the only time when our district is a true community, the silent is almost as loud as the chatter that was just being chatted. This silence resonates in every child awaiting their fate, in every adult worrying about their helpless kids and even the elders, so beyond caring about anything. They are all here, they are all hoping for the lives of their loved ones. Too bad no one is here for me. I've been so preoccupied with my own thoughts that I didn't realize that Nonie has handed the microphone to Avila. She practically hops over to the ball full of names of the girls in our district. My breath quickens and my palms turn sweaty, I pray to anyone that I will not have to go into that awful Arena. Please, I'm only 12; don't let that name be me! Avila's hungry eyes search the crowd, I think she means for it to add dramatic effect, but it only irritates everyone. Tell us the name! I get my wish, but just as soon as the wish was thought, it vanishes. She calls out a name and my heart drops into my stomached. Of course the name that she picks out of 8,000 children is the one that means my death.
"Jorum Aneurin, congratulations! You are the privileged girl who will represent District 12 in the 23rd Hunger Games!" And now Avila is walking over to the container filled with the boy's names. I think I am beyond feeling anything as I stand on this stage, gasping for the breath that just won't come into my body. I am standing as still as a statue and the only moving part of me is my heaving chest. I truly believe that I don't care who's name is called after me, it doesn't matter anymore. As I await to hear who I will be killing within the week, my already frantic heart nearly explodes from my chest. The boy who I have given sideways glances to, cried over, lost sleep over, and ultimately claimed my childhood steps forward. Davor Camillus, he and I were ultimately going to be each other's death. As I looked into the eyes of my school girl crush I realized that that ship had sailed the second my name was drawn from that damn reaping ball. We were going to kill each other. That was the last thought I had before we were whisked away into the custody of the peacekeepers. This is the end.
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