Chapter Two – Reaping Day
I wince as my feet touch the wooden floor, the sharp coldness seeping through my skin, right into my bones.
Reaping day.
I stand on the spot, frozen, as I gather the courage to abandon that thought and pad towards the bedroom door.
The sound of my siblings' soft snores fill the air. And as I feel my fingers close around the door knob, I pause and drink it all in; the way Isla's slight frame forms a cocoon in the duvet, how Ash's toes protrude from the hole his left sock, their delicate faces somehow seem like rare luxuries. It's funny how The Hunger Games can change your outlook on life.
I don't even have to think to know where my feet are taking me. Pulling my dressing gown around my shoulders, I weave through the gap left by the open front door. She's out there. Waiting. My mother, who is dressed in nothing but a thin nightdress to battle the morning chill, fails to acknowledge me as I perch upon the bench beside her. She continues to focus on the distance; looking for my father.
All of her mornings are spent this way. Even eight years after my father disappeared, she still waits for him – though she knows, just as well as I do, that he won't ever return. I'll never understand why she hasn't given up hope.
'He's not gone, you know,' my mother says suddenly. The sound of her voice, combined with a sharp gust of wind, makes me shiver. A reply is just forming in my mind as she breaks the silence for me; 'I saw him.' I sigh.
'Mum-' I begin, about to counter her words just as I do every other time she mentions her fabled sighting of my father, but this time I am cut off.
'You don't believe me, do you?' my mother sniffs, 'In the days after your father disappeared, I looked everywhere for him, but all to no avail. And then one day, I saw him. He was there,' she explains pointing to the old farmer's market that sits opposite our house, 'I don't know how long he'd been there, how he'd got there or where he'd been but I could tell he was waiting for me. The wind ruffled his hair as our eyes met. He smiled through tears and put a finger to his lips, before walking away. That was the last I ever saw of him, Elsie.' There's something in her voice, a pang of despair, which tells me this is not a lie; and it really hurts me to hear the truth.
But I can't cry, not now. Today of all days I need to be strong. Begging my eyes not to release a waterfall of tears, I find mother's hand and wrap my icy fingers around it. 'Do you think he misses us?' I question.
'Much more than we'll ever know, darling.' she whispers, as her silvery eyes search the sky for some form of answer, perhaps expecting father to be hiding in a cloud.
Then, coaxing her like a five year old, I help my mother stand and lead her tentatively to the kitchen. I reach for the cupboard, opening it gently to avoid it being ripped from the wall. Mother smiles with gratitude as I pass her half a slice of stale bread. Our breakfast is far from satisfying, but it leaves enough to provide Isla and Ash with a slice each. Growing children like them need all the food they can get.
The sun is beginning to stream through the curtain-less windows, and it reminds me of my childhood summers: the days seemed to last an eternity, our happiness was infinite. But I try not to reminisce.
Pacing through the hallway, towards the bedroom, I meet a bleary-eyed Ash. He mumbles a quick 'Good morning,' before shuffling past me on his way, judging by his swift fidgety steps, to the bathroom. I thank God that Ash won't be taking part in the reapings today, he has two years of freedom left – time, I tell him again and again, that he should savour.
Behind the bedroom door, I find Isla; tears in her eyes once again – I have no choice but to let her fall into my arms. I know it's hard, I know how it can hurt; I've been there, I've lived it too. And I wouldn't wish this feeling upon anybody.
Father's wooden clock sits proud on the window sill, boasting to onlookers that the time is 10 o'clock: only an hour left. I whisper something about eating breakfast to Isla. She turns, letting her lips touch my cheek for a brief moment, and then she's gone.
Goosebumps have made themselves known up and down my arms. Walking out into the hallway, I decide to make use of the bathroom. A cold bath is the perfect opportunity to arrange my thoughts and prepare for the hours ahead.
After towelling my hair and shivering body dry, I slide open the wardrobe doors. My reaping dress is powder blue, with the hem finishing an inch or two above my knees. The string of daisies sewn in just below my ribs attempts, but sadly with little success, to pick out some curves in my body. Squeezing my feet into my mother's fawn-coloured brogues, I run a brush through my hair. I force a smile at the girl in the mirror, but it turns out to be more of a grimace.
Fastening a golden bracelet at my wrist, I jump as someone knocks at the door. Aleks pokes his head around the door, and this time my smile is genuine. 'Hello, beautiful,' comes his greeting, as a pair of strong arms settle around my waist.
Playfully, I look around as if searching for someone else within the room, 'Oh!' I respond with mock surprise, 'You were talking to me?' a grin simultaneously forming on our lips.
Nuzzling into my neck, he laughs, 'Well, your mother is looking pretty good too but I think she's a bit old for me...' I reach to slap his cheek, giggling. Aleks always knows how to make me feel better.
I can feel his breath on my shoulder as he says, 'They're all waiting for you in the kitchen. We'd better go soon, you don't want to miss the excitement!' I check the clock: 5 minutes to go.
We bump into my mother as we enter the hallway. 'Come on,' she bustles, sounding almost like her old self, 'we need to leave now.' My siblings hover behind her, dressed in their reaping outfits; the fear evident on their faces. Any positive words that I might have said flee from my brain, and I'm so glad that Aleks steps in to comfort Isla.
'Don't worry about today, Isla. There are thousands of children just like you across District Seven, across the whole of Panem – it won't be you who's reaped, I promise. Not you, not me, not Elsie; we'll all be fine, I know it.' Aleks' soft tone is so reassuring that Isla allows herself to believe him, and for a second so do I.
With his words fresh in our minds, the five of us traipse over to the town square, where the entire population of District Seven, give or take a few, awaits any last arrivals.
Once the blood has bubbled from my index finger, signing me in, I wave goodbye to my mother, Ash and Aleks, as we all go our separate ways. Like sheep, Isla and I follow a group of girls, where a peacekeeper then points us in the direction of our age groups.
Cassius Lemark - District Seven's escort - takes to the stage. The pile of yellow corkscrew curls upon his head resemble an electrocuted canary, with swirling gold tattoos replacing his eyebrows and framing a pair the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. As white as a sheet, his skin is perhaps the only area of his body which hasn't been injected with colour.
'Happy Hunger Games, District Seven!' he announces. From between his salmon pink lips, a set of sparkling teeth try to befriend us all with a smile. No one is convinced.
Not put off by our lack of enthusiasm, Cassius continues. 'And may the odds be ever in your favour!' his Capitol accent lingers in the air, dying in the silence.
The awkward introduction is followed by a new propaganda video to celebrate the Quarter Quell, then yet another recap of Panem's history; and once again we are relayed the reason for the Hunger Games. It's clear to see the amount of sleepless nights that our escort has spent rehearsing and reciting this robotic speech. Practice, it seems, does not always make perfect.
'Now,' says Cassius with a smug glance into the crowd, taking the time to absorb our expressions, 'shall we select our first tribute? This year we'll begin, I think, with the ladies...' he advances towards the glass bowl that contains the name of every girl aged between 12 and 30 in District Seven. I hold my breath.
Turning to my right, I see Aleks, who is busy exchanging whispers with the boys around him. He picks up my stare, and signals a thumbs up to me. Not even this can calm me now. The words 'Isla Hart' rebound against the inside of my skull. Clenching my fists I convince myself that it's not possible. They wouldn't pick a twelve year old.
Surely not.
Cassius' purple fingernails find several slips of paper before settling upon one. Lifting it from its resting place in the bowl, he holds it within a cupped hand as if it were a delicate flower. Then, sliding a finger beneath the shiny green seal, he stares at the name it bears.
'Elsie Hart'
I turn around, looking for the poor young girl who has been chosen.
That's when I register my own name. My arms hang lifeless at my side as I swallow the announcement. My feet feel like two tonne weights, and my muscles fail to lift them. A nervous whisper ripples across the crowd. 'Elsie Hart? Please make your way to the stage, my dear.' repeats Cassius.
In the Career Districts, the tributes always stride confidently up to the stage, conducting their District's attention like royalty. For me, the reality comes closer to a mindless wander, as I sluggishly push through the crowd to the aisle.
I can feel my head throbbing as I lose consciousness.
The humiliation sets in even before I've hit the ground, and there's an agonizing moment where I lay, sprawled out in a muddled heap, in a state directly between wakefulness and a disjointed dream – I can do nothing but watch the fuss breaking out around my limp body.
I'm grateful for the moment when all my emotions and thoughts are sucked away, and the world fades into black.
