"You don't understand how lucky you are, darling." I don't understand. I'm not lucky; not at all. No one with luck would have their name in the escort's hand. But yet my name is the one on the dainty piece of paper, held in long, fluorescent nails.
This can't be.
one.
The whole crowd stared down at the girl whose name had been called. Tears were not shed, only a quivering figure making her way to the stage. The rest of the district was silent and motionless. No one moved, only the escort with a beckoning hand.
"No. No, no, no, no, no," she said. "This can't be." She was quivering, even her voice had a distinct shake to it. Only one tear fell, splattering onto the cobblestone with a small splash.
No one threw their hand up to volunteer. They all feared death and death alone, for in District Twelve it was a common thing. Everyone stood silently. The girl took slow steps up to the two glass reaping balls. Every step, she knew, was one step closer to impending death. It felt like agony moving towards the beckoning hand, but when she took one more step and there she was, behind the podium with the reaping ball.
When asked her name, she replied, "I...aftherunaneh..." She stood there blankly. She could say nothing. Volunteers were called for, but still none stepped forward. "Um, I... aghth... Amaranth Beechwood!" she mumbled in a panic.
"That's nice, dear. You are so lucky to be reaped, Amaranth!" the escort exclaimed with excitement. "Now, let's choose a male tribute!" Amaranth's heart felt as if it had been wrenched out. It hung out of her chest with a sorry pain.
She found sudden courage to say something. "I don't feel lucky," she seethed. "I'm unlucky, so, so, so unlucky." The escort said nothing. She just extracted a card with those awful long fingernails, she read the name in an exquisite voice. She beckoned the unlucky boy forward and asked for volunteers. With a simple wave of her hand, she sent the two unluckies into the Justice Building.
Sometimes the families and the friends are two frightened to visit the unluckies. Sometimes they shy away and try to hide the tears. They pull the blinds and they try to live because the two unluckies always die in this unlucky, 'unfaithful' district. That's what the Capitol always says. "The two unluckies from the unfaithful district," they would say.
Raindrops fell on the metal roof. Drip, drop, drip, drop, splat, they said,drumming down. But there was something else falling- a little girl's entire world. Amaranth ran her hand over the soft, royal blue seat. The velvet was comforting, a little distraction to soothe her rocketing emotions. Goosebumps coated her entire body and thoughts whirled through her head.
Where are my parents?! Lylan? Someone, anyone? Who will kill me? Get me out of here! I don't belong here! God, it's just my luck, isn't it! Kill me now. Now.
This was the longest hour in her short life. Every second was its own fear, bringing a replaying scene of the slaughterfests in the Games. In the last few minutes, Amaranth's mind was that of a cyclone; destructive, loud, windy, thoughts whirling around in circles.
In the last second, she knew this couldn't be normal. She was truly unlucky.
two.
Amaranth stared straight ahead, her head still spinning. An ache rushed through her body with a destructive force. "Oh, you'll simply adore the Capitol! It's really quite amazing, isn't it, Haymitch?" the escort crowed. Her voice had a horrible chirrup that echoed through the car.
"Yes," Haymitch replied sarcastically, "It's so amazing you might just die for it." In the rearview mirror, you could see him roll his eyes at the escort. The otherwise giddy woman let out a dignified humph!
"So, Haymitch," Amaranth's district partner asked, "when do we get on the train?" Haymitch only mumbled drunkenly. "Such a drunkard!" her district partner whispered jokingly. Amaranth let out a quiet sigh.
"Sometimes, there's nothing I want more than to die. Get me out of here," Amaranth whispered in return. There was nothing she could think about except the whirling colors outside the window and the twenty-three people who all wanted her dead.
Her head ached looking out the window. Instead she focused counting her heartbeats. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump. Thump. Her heart skipped a beat here and there.
Amaranth wanted nothing more than a chance. Only the luckies got second chances. She wasn't lucky. Not at all. She wouldn't be here in this damn car if she was lucky. She sighed. "Do you realized," she asked, "That we're all just chosen pieces? We're unlucky. As unlucky as it gets."
Haymitch guffawed. "Yes! Give it up, honey, you'll die sooner or later. This just makes it entertaining!" Haymitch was a drunkard; nothing more than that. Amaranth's head was spinning again. Everything ached. The truth was, she wanted nothing more than to just give everything up. There was no point to anything, anymore, was there?
Yes, there was a point- to die in the most gruesome way possible. Heart pounding, head spinning, she tried to bring herself to believe that she was doing this for a good cause. But she couldn't. It wasn't a good cause.
three.
Acid lakes that spewed smoke. Heavy rains that stung your skin when it beat down on you. The air itself brought a numbness to your skin. Only one thing was certain. This was a torture chamber from hell.
Amaranth didn't dare breath. The ache that filled every starving crack and crevice in her body didn't help the sting of the air itself. The air hung heavily, creating a fire inside of those who breathed.
Amaranth kept a countdown in her head. Thirty-seven, twenty-nine, thirty-one...wait, no, forty- The acid hanging in the air clouded thoughts as well as vision, as was immediately clear. A ringing emitted from the direction of the cornucopia. Footsteps bounded across the greying grass. One boy lay in an acid pool. His limbs were splayed to awkward angles. An agonized scream came from his mouth, an ear-piercing sound that had the same effects as the rain. It just hurt. You could see it and feel it and feel it and it hurt.
Amaranth ran into the forest. It seemed only half her mind was left with her after the horrible days that had preceded the most horrible of them all. Shrieks still came from the direction of a cornucopia. The forest seemed strictly grey-and-blue. Blue leaves carried drops of poison. Grey grass, grey moss, grey logs. It was a beautiful sight, as any fool would tell you.
A silvery parachute drifted from the sky, fluttering down. It caught in a leaf, then sputtered down. A hole was bored in the shiny material where it had caught on the leaf. Amaranth gingerly opened the parcel. A note fluttered out.
You're still breathing, that makes you lucky.
The others breathe in heaves, using their corrupted, poisoned lungs.
Breath a little safer and have a drink, darling.
~H
In the parcel was a small bottle of rum and some sort of freak mask. She took a quick breath (her lungs immediately stung with pain) as she realized. In the coal dust outbreak in the mine explosion, these were the masks they wore. Gas masks. She fitted it on and tightened a strap. Her breaths came a little easier. Her numb body still stung, but her breaths only brought relief.
It was better to breathe than to heave.
Maybe being an unlucky wasn't as unlucky as it seemed to be.