District 8 Reapings

Gossamer Quivyut, 14

"I'm nothing special."

"Get out! Get ready for the Reaping!" Peacekeepers boom through their megaphones. We start packing up, and hurriedly leave. Leaving late, even if you just want to clean up properly, will make them cut your pay by half for a month. Five minutes is all the time they give you after announcements to clean up and clear out.

Sounds unfair? Well, it is. Ever since two years ago, when Lanol Jute managed to set up a bomb using machine parts in the other textile factory while he was staying behind and 'cleaning up', security has tightened and pay has been cut by a third. Now only less than 1/40 of our population, including the Mayor and Peacekeepers, live above the so-called poverty line. To make it worse, we can't own factories. Eight rebelled second, after thirteen in the Dark Days, so all the land and buildings in Eight are owned by the Capitol, and everything we have — which isn't much — is a reminder of how 'merciful' the Capitol is.

Rushing home through the smog, I arrive at our illegal shack. Actually, calling it a shack is pretty generous. It's just a shallow ditch in the soil with some cardboard 'walls', illegally built on the outskirts of the factory land. The upside of living like this is that we can move around easily when there are Peacekeeper alerts, unlike the 'nicer' shacks that are pitched close to us. The downside is, well, we never are out of the smog, we don't have furniture, and we can't really progress.

According to this ancient guy who lived way before Panem, Abraham Mas—something said that we need sufficient food, water, shelter etc. before we can move on to safety, belonging, self-esteem, self-actualisation or whatever. Yeah, we don't have any of that first layer of that in Eight, even for the richest. So how can I, one of the poorest in Panem, progress?

Ducking inside my shack, I hope that whatever God there is won't let me be Reaped. Maybe I only have an uncaring mother to come home to, but I simply want to live. I'm selfish, yes, but, to be frank, I'm nothing special. Just another rule-following, life-loving girl who really, really wants to live.

Ethan Coir, 15

"I may be uncaring, but I'm not blind."

Walking out of school, I smirk. Being a Mayor's son sure has its privileges. I don't have to work my fingers down to the bone, and I get to sit in class, throwing spit wads at the others. The teachers can't stop me. I'm the Mayor's kid!

Damn, my dad will fire them if they even scold me. He basically spoils me, because if he doesn't give me what I want, I'll just annoy the shit out of him and he won't get any work done. I know we aren't rich but I don't care.

Coughing, I start walking down the streets. I live in the now. I have to get what I want. That's it. Yes, I see the sad skinny little kids walking down the streets, but it's not my problem. Yes, I'm aware of the illegal sweatshops where kids are basically killed as a punishment for messing up a stitch, but, yet again, not my problem. I may be uncaring, but I'm not blind.

"Ethan! Wash up! Reaping in an hour!" My mom yells as I enter the house. "I'm not bailing you out of jail if you're late!" My mom's cool, I guess.

Yelling back a hoarse, "Love you too mom", I rush upstairs to wash up. Suddenly, I start wheezing, and feeling short of breath. Curling my lip, I feel nervous. Not because of the Reaping (I only have my name in four times) but because— I rush to the bathroom, ignoring the pain in my chest. I spit out whatever I coughed up into the basin, and it's confirmed. I am definitely dead.

Gossamer Quivyut, 14

As I futilely swat away the omnipresent smoke, I half-heartedly wave to my mother and head for the fourteen-year-old section. Standing in the town square, I feel slightly worried about the amount of radon we are exposed to. After Lanol Jute's explosion, amounts of radon were spread in spread to the surrounding areas. The town square is really close to the charred remains of the factory. Paired with the smog, lung cancer is sure to hit some of us.

How do the mayor and his family manage to avoid lung cancer? Seriously, their house is across the street from the burned down factory. I know some of their house was damaged by the explosion and had to be rebuilt, so how do they avoid it? Probably their money managed to buy them Capitol medicine or something. Though Mayor Coir just spends his money on spoiling his son. He isn't really a good mayor.

Rarity Valerine, our escort sashays up the stage, wearing a new wig that looks like a bejewelled turban. Wouldn't the weight of the gems hurt her head? I guess in the Capitol, beauty comes first.

She screeches out her spiel, then her impossibly long and hooked fingernails capture a piece of paper. I squeeze shut my eyes. I don't know if I should be scared or not. I feel somehow… uninvolved. Like someone has numbed the part of me that feels emotion.

"And the lucky girl is… Gossamer Quivyut!"

I make my way up. I'm still not scared. Shouldn't I feel scared? This means death.

Breaking through my musings is Rarity's screechy voice, announcing that Ethan Coir, the mayor's spoiled son is the male tribute. He seems resigned, then surprised, then frantic. His emotions are in reverse, huh? He tries to run off, but he's caught.

After shaking his hand, I stare up at the sky. To my surprise, I see a smudge of blue sky in the grey, life-consuming smog. Even more surprising, it seems that Ethan sees it too.

Ethan Coir, 15

I walk slowly to the square, and to the fifteen-year-old section. I hear giggles and see people whispering about me, about how spoiled I am, about my father who isn't the best mayor. As I said before, I'm uncaring, but I'm not blind. I should have that inscribed on my tombstone. I seem to be thinking that a lot lately.

Whatever. I still see, and I'm not that wrapped up in my life. I'm not even sure how much time I have on this planet.

As I wallow in my self-pity, I hear a girl, Gossamer, I think, being reaped. 'Let me be reaped. I have no life…' I think.

As it seems, fate has heard me, and seems to have a twisted sense of humour, because I hear the escort say, "And the lucky male representing Eight is… Ethan Coir!"

Startled gasps escape the crowds and a scream from the adult section confirms that as a matter of fact, I am the 'lucky' male tribute. As some people push me forward, I start to get frantic. I start to push my way against the crowd, trying to get away. Who cares what I wished before? I would rather die slowly by cancer than be bashed to death in the games. Soon, though, I am dragged up the stage by Peacekeepers.

Sulking, I shake the younger girl's hand. She looks up to the sky and I do too. And I think I see a glimmer of hope.

Gossamer Quivyut, 14

I sit on the plush velvet sofa, and wait. Suddenly, I notice my mother, standing awkwardly by the door. Clearing her throat, she walks over. I turn away. We haven't talked in a while, so why should she talk now? She hasn't cared in a while, so why start now?

"Amer? Girlie…come home," she whispers.

"Where is home?" I ask, staring at the glass of water next to the sofa, on a table. "I don't have a home. Nor a family."

She blinks tears out of her eyes. Why should she cry? I should be crying, not her. I was the one with the drunk parent, the one who wandered off for days and drained the bit of money I had saved. "Come home, please, Amer. You're smart—"

"How did you find out?" I say harshly. "You've never paid attention to me before. Just your glass of cheap beer. We're related by blood, yes. you gave birth to me. But that's it. I've paid back what I owe to you for raising me for six years. So… just go. Why start being a parent when I'm gonna die?"

"Amer. Look at me. You won't die. I promise. When you come home, I'll show you I can be a parent. I'll show you, and we can be a family."

I open my mouth to bitterly laugh and send back a biting response, telling her I won't come back, and not to make a promise that I will have to keep. This is just like her, making promises that I have to keep. She can be a family with my corpse.

But before I can tell her all of that, a Peacekeeper tells us that her time is up. "I love you Amer," she says. She waits a little in the doorway, waiting for me to say it back. I hate myself for saying it back to her, but I figure, it's her last time seeing me in the flesh, so I might as well. Not that she deserves it anyways.

Turning away from her retreating form, I watch the water again, morbidly speculating about how I will die.

Ethan Coir, 15

"Ethan boy! Do us proud, kay? When you come back as Victor, you can finally treat your lungs. Good, huh?" My mom blurts out. I can see she's nervous, from the way her words come out in a mash. From his position beside mom, dad comes over and hugs me. I can see that he has been crying, from his puffy eyes. I've always known he was the more sensitive one.

"Okay, mom. I'll try to come back," I say awkwardly. I love my parents, but I've always been bad with words. Sure, my thoughts fly at a hundred miles per hour most of the time, but when it comes down to it, my mouth won't say things right.

Looking mildly comforted, dad pulls away. "I love you son. You know that, right? Uh…can you…"

He looks embarrassed, so mom steps in and says simply: " Your scatterbrained father forgot to bring your token. Don't worry, I brought it." She hands me a black marble. "You used to adore this marble. You use to boast that this was the only black marble in the world. I bet you would've lost it to pretty much every kid in school that played marbles with you, but I'm guessing that you bullied them into making them give you their marbles." She glares at me, ever angry about my bullying.

I sulk, then say, "I got reaped today, mom. I found out that my cancer is definitely back. What do you want?"

She rolls her eyes, but softens, and hugs me. "It's not right, Ethan, to abuse your power. But..." She cuts herself off, and looks around. "Whatever. Just try to come back, okay?" She smiles, and hugs me. Dad does the same, then they both leave.

I feel lonely with no one in the room. But no one wants to see The Mayor's Kid. I wonder how long I'll last in the arena.

AN: Sorry for the slow update, again. Finals :/ Early Merry Christmas to you guys!

Special thanks to goldie031 for beta-ing.

-BrokenMockingjay