Disclaimer: I'm not Suzanne Collins, therefore I do not own the Hunger Games.
A/N: I got the idea for this all of a sudden. All the reapings mentioned in the trilogy are set in a bright, clear day with no rain, but a rainy reaping is bound to happen someday, and this time the odds are really not in their favour. Enjoy!
And no, I did not write this on a rainy day. It's fairly sunny now actually :)
The children of all ages walk briskly to the town square, some alone, others with one or two adults, siblings or even their whole families. No one is looking forward to the day when their district population will be decreased by two. But today it is not like any other reaping. It threatens to rain.
Large, grey clouds loom overhead, as if foreshadowing the misfortune of the district. You will never return, they say. Forget it. And they float away softly, leaving the lingering smell of rain behind. You have no hope. They descend even lower, bringing their scent of rainfall even closer. Doom is approaching. When they drift away, the smell of rain dissipates into the cool air. You will lose and be forgotten. The clouds wrap the district in a shroud, blocking out the sunlight. You are as good as dead. Thunder rumbles, cackling and approving of their claim.
May the odds be ever in your favour, the weather mocks. The clouds watch in amusement as a young child cautiously lifts her arm upon feeling the droplet and looks up at them, fear clouding her eyes. "It's going to rain," she says to her mother. The mother looks up as well. The clouds laugh, shaking out their droplets on the heads below. More scared faces look up. "It's raining," they say. "Look at the clouds."
And the clouds shake out more droplets. When they hear the lovely lady up on the stage announce, "May the odds be ever in your favour," they let loose. May the odds be never in your favour. They watch in satisfaction when their labour stains the small white paper in the glass balls. Somehow, they know that paper is important, though the reason they know not. But they have obviously caused enough chaos and interruption, yes, the flurry of people below proves that. Success.
The sun strains to make an appearance and be the people's saviour, but the shroud the district has been enveloped in blocks out its hopes. You have no hope. And the clouds jostle one another, wanting to have the full view of everything. They see the two chosen children be led away. You will never return. The children need not hide their tears. The rain masks it. The clouds, feeling satisfied, shut off their shower abruptly. Much lighter, they float in silence and follow the children during their long ride. We will watch you die. They do not know where they are going. But they want the amusement of the people, of the children. You will die.
The journey reveals to the clouds such a big world. They see crops, large patches of them, and moving objects they define as people, harvesting the crops and throwing weeds out. You will be thrown out. They see far behind them what seems to be a large plot of nothingness and destruction. You will be destroyed. They see bright sheets of fabrics laid out in the open air, taken and cut into different shapes. You will be cut off from others. They see lots of trees, falling down one after another in a random order. Some fall at the same time. You will fall. They see a large sea with people hauling up large nets with fish thrashing in it. You will be caught and left to die.
Over there, they find a totally different set of people. Bright, colourful, so different from those they previously saw. But they are too light to let their shower on them. They begin to regret spending it earlier. This would be fairly more interesting than the hoard of miserable people they had left behind. They swiftly gather the vapour in the air, but find the air is dry and unnatural. They attempt to wrap this city in their shroud as well but find that there are still lights inside. Bright lights. We will extinguish you. You will cease to exist.
They drift up higher where the air is cooler. This city knows no fear. Let us teach you. So they wait until they are heavy enough to fall to the unnatural atmosphere. And they drop down and release a few drops, but no more than that. Ration it. Our fun has not yet come. Lightning strikes some of those abnormally coloured lights and sparks burst out of them onto the people below. Some look up curiously, and others scream. But they cannot see the cause of it save for the few dark clouds sent down. Lightning strikes and then it is gone. Invisibility is their advantage. We are not done with you yet, the clouds cackle as they circle low. Now is our time.
They watch, smirking, as their rain falls on the bewildered and confused people down below. Their makeup washes off and they put their hands to their head, screaming and yelling as their accessories and decorations are ruined. "This can't get wet!" they whine. "Help! What can I do?" Some run off but they are clumsy and slow. Perhaps it is because they do not want to rip their outfits. More, the clouds demand. We want more. Thunder and lightning, as if obeying them, strike and scare the victims. And the clouds retreat, watching the whole mayhem, pleased and entertained. Yes. This is what we want.
Lightning strikes more lights and it falls darker than before. You have no hope. The clouds start to envelop everything in their shroud. You are as good as dead.
And they leave. We will return. There will be more fun next year.
We will return.