The Reaping
Chapter 1
Her hand was small and felt like ice against my tempered skin. If we would hold hands like I used to do with my siblings I bet it wouldn't even be visible. I was almost reluctant to entwine our fingers in fear of breaking her fingers. In the end, it was worth it, because the smile on her face was so dazzlingly beautiful. My heart began to stumble when her soft, light chuckle filled my ears. She let our hands fall but neither of us let go and my eyes locked on hers. She smiled again and started to fumble around with my fingers, lightly.
"I have to go…" she whispered, as if her voice could not be trusted. My eyes fell to our hands, and I nodded.
"Yes. You should be with your family today." I felt her looking at me, but my head stayed down as I continued.
"Good luck today, Annie Cresta." I let go her hand, but in the instant after, her fingertips stroke over the back of mine. The face I gave her was confused.
"To you too" she simply said, and then she was off. The sand buried her bare feet and made it hard to walk, even so, she looked stunning to me. Her long, dark hair, swayed against her back as she walked and then in a swish she was gone. Her tiny ballerina-like body, her deep emerald eyes and her brown wild ocean hair slipped around the corner, leaving me gazing after her. She was so cute, and so tender. People found her weird because she was kind of a lone wolf, but all that did for me was peak my interest, it always had.
She ran a little shop at the market and that was where I first talked to her. My father had sent me to buy a new net as a child.
"That girl is the best knot tier in the entire District!" my father had said before shoving some money in my hand and pushing me out the door. Little did I know that when I met her, she wouldn't only be the best, but the cutest knot tier in the entire District. Maybe even the cutest knot tier of the entire Panem. The marked was stuffed with people when I got there, but my father had shown me the location the day before so I conscientiously made my way through the crowd and almost didn't make it through the door. When I did though, I was panting from exhaustion pressing my back against the door.
"Can I help you?" a light, singing voice pierced the bubble around my head that separated me from the real world. I jumped around to see her looking around the corner, strands of chippy rope in her hair. She looked like a ballerina in her sweet dress even though it was made of a rough fabric that indicated she wasn't the richest of sorts. My brain struggled to make my mouth respond, but eventually I managed to answer;
"I-I… My father needs a new net, and h-he said that you were the best…" I straightened myself up. She blushed.
"Make sure to give him my thanks for the compliment" she almost whispered shyly.
"What kind of net do you need?" My mind went blank.
"What kind..?" I repeated like an idiot.
"Well, for small fish with small squares so that they can't come out, or do you catch big fish?" She smiled.
"Right, sorry. Um… My father is out on deeper water than the reeves, so I guess the squares would have to be bigger than small, but not shark-sized…"
"Mid-sized then?" I paused my nervous rambling, then sighted deeply.
"Yes, mid-sized… Thanks." Her face turned worried.
"Did I say something wrong?" I quickly shook my head.
"No! I'm just annoyed with the fact that I can't seem to speak properly today." We both chuckled.
"I don't have anyone ready today, but I have all the materials I need. So, if you could come back tomorrow then I'll make one by then." I nodded once.
"Sounds great!" When I left the store, my legs were shaking, and it was my dad who went to pick up the net the day after.
"Welcome!" The beaming female voice crackled out from the speakers and stung in my ears. They had the same problem every year. Why couldn't they learn to turn down the volume at least? The voice belonged to Althuine Checkers, our District's presenter who had led the Reaping for a few years now. She hadn't been in my games, though. Mrs. Checkers was always trying to make a point out of dressing or doing her make-up in accord with her name, which was somewhat stylish the first year. Not anymore. This year, her skin was nude coloured, but the right side of her face, was covered in turquoise and black checker makeup from the forehead to the chin. Her outfit was a creative creation in tulle and satin that couldn't decide whether to cling on to, or trying to escape from her body. The fabric was tight around her chest, waist and down to her knees, but the arms were puff sleeves, and her hips wrapped in a black and turquoise tulle creation that stood out and made her figure impossible to determine. Her hair was black and in short curls this year with a few strands of turquoise there as well. I had never understood these Capitol people and their styles. After the mayor had read the story of Panem's uprising from the ashes after the gruesome war so long ago, and the Dark Days with the rebellion that was the origin of the Hunger Games, Althuine tip-toed up to the two bowls that had suddenly come up from two hatches in the floor. It was time for the Reaping to start. I was mentoring this year, and from my spot up to the far right on stage I scanned the children that could meet the fate of an untimely death this day. Even though my heart felt bad about it, I could not help but think of how glad, and relieved I was that my name never, ever had to be in that bowl again. I hoped the tributes this year would be careers. That way, we wouldn't have to deal with a mother's or a little sister's scream as her son or daughter, brother or sister, had to step up on this stage. When my eyes reached the 16 year-old-section, they met hers. The girl from earlier: Annie, who liked to watch the sunset and was the District's best knot tier. I almost didn't notice that Althuine had dug her hand deep into the bowl of boy's names, before Annie broke eye contact and the name was yelled out over the square.
"Louis Stiram!" beamed Althuine's voice through the speakers. It stung my ears, but not as much as a little girl's silent cry from the 12-year old section stung my heart. This wasn't right! The emotions raged within me, and I had a hard time keeping them under control when the poor kid walked up on stage to a grinning Althuine.
"Any volunteers?" she asked, but the crowd remained silent. This wasn't a career year. The poor girl had sunk down to her knees and shook as the cries went through her body. Nobody moved as the hand disappeared into the notes with the girl's names on. I hoped. Not her, please not her.
"Annie Cresta!" I was dreaming. That was the first thought that flashed through my brain, like a lightning. It had to be a nightmare, because… what were the odds? As she slowly walked up on stage, it started to become sadistically clear in my mind: I was mentoring Annie Cresta this year.
