Chapter 1

*Don't fear the reaper*

Reaping day. Again. For me, the seventh; the final time. I push myself up to one elbow and stare at the wall; it stares back. Just one more. If I can survive just one more, maybe I can live long enough to starve to death. I raise myself to a sitting position and in one motion tap my forehead, the center of my chest, my left and right shoulders. The sign of the cross. There's a sudden and somewhat violent knock on the wooden door. "UP! UP NOW! They're not gonna hold up the reaping just 'cuse you little bastards wanna sleep in!" It was the voice of the community homes' head mistress, Mrs. Langfordy.

"Fuck you," I only dare whisper this, if she were to hear me, it would surely result in a beating. As if potentially having my whole life stolen from me in a little over an hour weren't punishment enough. I pull myself from the bed and walk to my small bathroom. I don't bother washing up, I just stare look into my mirror; right into my reflection's eyes, which for some reason, refuse to stare back. '..Why then is god still protecting me, even though I don't deserve it…' I sing a piece of this ancient song softly to myself from time to time. People never hear or understand what I'm saying; they just see my mouth moving and assume I'm talking to myself. That's why they think I'm crazy.

I dress simply in my black shirt and black pants and exit my stuffy little room. My room is on the second floor at the very rear of the corridor. Which means I get to walk passed all the doors hiding all the kids I couldn't possibly care less about. Never, not once since the age of twelve when I was brought to this place, have I made an attempt to socialize with any of these kids. There's no point. Firstly, because I hate every last one of them. And secondly, even if I get to know one of them personally; form some kind of friendship; they go and get reaped. Our stay in this place is only temporary; for more than one reason.

Mrs. Langfordy and the houses' population of forty children are lined up in the lobby. "Everyone accounted for?" she said while combing the congregation with her sharp black eyes. "Doesn't even matter. I've a feeling we'll be coming back one light today anyway." She opened the door and we obediently filed outside into the gray afternoon light. The day was overcast; cloudy; breezy; cold; with a light rain beginning to fall.

Perfect reaping weather.

The community home was just outside a scruffy little slice of district twelve that they call the seam. It's where most of the coal miners live, and I have the pleasure of watching those sad defeated people file back and forth to their shifts in the mines from my bedroom window. Great fucking view. We march in uniform single file through the town, with the youngest kids in front and the oldest in the back. I'm bringing up the rear. We join up with citizens from town as we make our way to the square. For such a large mass of humanity, we are completely silent; not one word uttered. Words will be saved for later, after the horror.

We reach the square and the capitol workers begin to file us in one by one. I cast a look around the square, but this day of the year never changes. The square looks the same as it always does; decrepitly festive with rain-sodden banners hanging limply from every building; cameras on every rooftop; frightened children everywhere; and anxious parents; each one praying against the impossible possibility that their child will be called forth to their death.

My finger is pricked by a hash looking capitol man in a white coat and pressed into a record page. Now they know I still exist; like it would matter if I didn't. I'm appointed to the roped section of eighteen year olds where I stand and stare at the stage. I work up a bead of blood from my pricked index finger and make the sign of the cross over myself with it. '…Standing alone in the wind and rain, feeling the fear that is growing…' The boy on my left shoots me look and makes a point to slide a few inches away from me.

Everything; everyone is dead silent, waiting for the event to begin. And then from the double doors of the justice building comes the hostess of the reaping, the same one we've had for six years. Madilynne Love. She's just like everyone else from the capitol; Completely dense; stupid; stenciled; stapled; and heartless. Her long sky blue hair falls to her waist and matches her chosen dress for this year. Her enlarged eyelashes give off sparks of the same hue as she flutters them for the cameras. "Happy hunger games!" she chirps theatrically. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I get the feeling that Madilynne is still quite young, but with her being from the capitol, it's impossible to tell.

"My, my, my, so many fresh young faces this year!" she trills. A collective shudder runs through the stillness. This bitch can't wait to watch us die. "Now before we begin, we have a special film for you all; reaping veterans and newcomers alike!" The enormous screens around us flare to life with the 'special film' , the same one we've been watching for years. I've memorized all the words. To put it succinctly; it's supposed to work you up. As the narrator drones one about the great war and the birth of Panem. The dark days and the inauguration of the Hunger games. Supposedly, it is an honor to be chosen as a tribute to the capitol. The video can use words like "honor" "courage" "heroic" all it wants to, but they fool no one. In district twelve, to be reaped is to be killed. It's that simple.

The video comes to a brassy and blaring end and Madilynne bursts into enthusiastic applause. "Such wonderful production, no?" she says. No one agrees, obviously. "So now the time has come again to choose one brave boy and girl to represent district twelve in the thirty-third annual Hunger games!" I notice the parents around the perimeter clutch each other for support. "First, the ladies." Madilynne click-clacks in her high-heeled shoes to the reaping ball that holds the name of every girl in district twelve. She inserts her hand and digs deeply into the paper slips, with much shifting and rustling back and forth. She even puts on a face of playful concentration as she selects a slip. Finally she withdraws her hand and slowly walks back to the microphone with the slip held high. I couldn't possibly care less whose name was on it; just another little girl on her way to her death. No consequence to me. Madilynne unfolds the slip and says into the microphone, "Bella Fortune!"

There's a small disturbance in the girls' sixteen year old section. Many of them form a wide berth around the reaping victim. A black-haired girl walks to the isle and is accompanied to the stage by two peacekeepers. Though she's only sixteen, she's dressed like a woman. A one piece jet-black dress adorns her. It comes all the way to her ankles which are hidden by spike heeled boots. Her flowing black hair matches her ensemble perfectly. I'd go out on a limb and say she was attractive, but I don't have a thing for dead girls.

Bella joins Madilynne on the stage and faces the crowd. Her image is projected on every screen across the square. A close up on her face shows her staring defiantly back at us with her glossy midnight eyes.

Suddenly there's another disturbance; this time in the boys seventeen year old section. "No!" a boy rushes out of line and beelines for the stage. "NO! NO! PLEASE!" he bounds onto the stage and Bella rushes into his arms. He embraces her protectively as he shouts to Madilynne "I volunteer! I volunteer to take her place as tribute!"

There are gasps throughout the crowd. Bella's voice is amplified by the microphone. "Rorick, no! I'll go. I can't watch you die!"

Madilynne overlaps her hands over her heart and lets out a romantically pained moan. "Oh, such valiance! But unfortunately, the rules state that someone cannot volunteer for a tribute of the opposite gender. Oh, if only you were female!"

Peacekeepers march onto the stage to remove the young man. Rorick and Bella are entwined in what will most likely be their final kiss as they are forced apart and Rorick lead away. He's screaming "I love you, Bella!" and she screams it back. For a moment; just for a moment, I feel something. But it's either too unfamiliar, or been too long since I've felt it and it quickly fades away. This has been an eventful reaping.

Madilynne puts her arms around Bella's shoulders as she sighs. "Oh young love, torn so tragically asunder!" Bella sobs in response. "All the more motivation for you to emerge as victor! Being able to come back to your beloved will be a driving force for you, won't it?" Bella fights for control of her emotions as she stares at her companion, still being restrained by peacekeepers. "Well now, time to move forward with things. It's time for the selection of our gentleman tribute!" Madilynne scoots over to the boys reaping ball and with the same apparent deliberation as before, selects a slip. She saunters to the microphone and unfolds the paper.

This is it. The result of my final mandatory reaping. After this, I'll finally be free. From the Hunger games anyway. I'll more than likely be confined to work the coal mines for the rest of my life. But that I will have; the rest of my life. There's no way I'll be chosen. I think of the seam families, all the tesserae they have no doubt taken. It will be one of them. I am safe. I will be alive. I will be free. And then Madilynne reads the name. "Alexandre Deacon!"

And just like that, I have died.

-End of chapter 1-

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A/N :

Ugh! Arggh! Should I be doing this? Probably not. No I shouldn't. I've got one fic on hiatus, one currently in progress, and now this? My brain is a cluttered thing…