A Song with Thorns
The Reaping
"Maybe just one more sip," I mutter to myself.
As the whiskey passes through my lips, I can feel the cool liquid transform into a warm burn, as it reaches the back of my throat. With one swig of this sweet nectar, I am ignited. The drink carries the warmth through my insides, and my troubles seem to fade. Just like the crown, my awful memories melt from the heat until they become completely unrecognizable.
I needed this. It's been a rough day. There are only a couple of Reapings left to watch. That being said, I should probably pour myself another drink.
I haven't seen the tributes selected from Districts 1 or 2, but I can already tell the kids from my District don't stand a chance. Sometimes I wonder if I looked as scrawny and hopeless during my own Reaping.
