A/N (Glossy): We are getting a ton of submissions now. This is great and work on your Reapings everyone.
Adalyn Rhodes, 14 (written by Elim9)
District Eight Female
The silence is unnerving.
Seven people in our house, all silent. All dreading, fearing the worst, but none of us willing to say it. They're afraid. Afraid for me, the oldest. The only one eligible for the reaping. Next year, Francine will join me. Then Everett, two years later. Then Casper, the year after that. Then Coraline, three years later.
But I have to go first.
I usually don't mind being first. With four younger siblings, it happens a lot. But this is one time when I'd really, really like to be last.
At last, I can't stand the silence any more. "It won't be me!" I insist. "It won't. Really."
But I don't know that any more than they do. My name is in the bowl twenty-four times. Three times, because it has to be – because I'm fourteen – and seven more every year for tesserae for myself, both of my parents, and my four younger siblings. Twenty-four slips with my name.
But that's still only twenty-four out of thousands. Tens of thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. So, no, I don't know that it won't be me, but it probably won't.
Probably.
We eat breakfast in a terrible silence, not wanting to say anything about the reaping, but unable to find another topic. Finally, I scoot over next to Coraline and squeeze her hand. "Tell you what. When we get back from the reaping, I'll let you try on my dress. How does that sound?"
It sounds wonderful, of course. But only because it means I'll be coming back from the reaping. That's all they want. It's all I want, too.
Maybe it's all anyone wants today.
We head for the square together, but, once we get there, I'm on my own. Separated from my younger siblings, I settle into the fourteen-year-old section with a small group of friends. Watching. Waiting.
I hate waiting.
It would be better if they would just call the names right away and get it over with, but, instead, we have to sit through the treaty. And the Capitol video. And a short speech by the mayor. And the escort, Gaius Chantell, bubbling about how happy he is to have so many victors already – more than any other non-Career district.
Which is impressive, I suppose, but it doesn't make the waiting any easier.
Finally, Gaius finds his way over to the reaping bowl and plunges a hand in. He swishes the slips around for a while before deciding on one, then pulls it out and reads the name.
"Adalyn Rhodes!"
My throat tightens. Me? Tens of thousands of slips, and he picked me? No. No, he must have read the name wrong. There must be some sort of mistake. Maybe he said Addison Rose. I think there's an Addison Rose a few years ahead of me. Yes, that must be it.
He can't have picked me.
Then I see the Peacekeepers coming towards me. Towards me. One of them grips my arm and starts dragging me towards the stage. I stumble along behind him, dazed, still hoping that someone will tell them there was a mistake. That someone will wake me up. That this is all a dream.
But no one does anything. No one says anything. They just leave me standing onstage, trembling, alone.
Waiting.
I don't have to wait long. Gaius reaches into the second bowl and draws another name, unfolding it a bit more quickly this time.
"Jeremiah Garner!"
The thirteen-year-old section parts around a boy in a brown button-down shirt and a pair of khakis, both clearly too big for him, probably handed down from an older sibling. He's a little shorter than me, with dark skin and short black hair.
For a moment, he simply stands there. Then he looks around. Waiting for something. Maybe hoping that someone else will step forward. But no one does. So the boy clenches his fists and takes a few steps forward. Then a few more.
Soon, he's standing next to me on the stage, his deep brown eyes wide with terror. I try to smile a little, but I know I look just as frightened. Still, he returns my shaky smile and reaches out a hand.
Without hesitating, I pull him into a hug, instead.
Jeremiah Garner, 13 (written by Elim9)
District Eight Male
The noise is unnerving.
Seven people in our house, all bustling about. All trying to get ready. All keeping busy, because it's easier to keep busy than to stop and think about what could happen. Who we could lose today.
All five of us, after all, are eligible for the reaping. But it's the last time we'll have to say that. After this year, the twins – Jameson and Jefferson – will be safe. Then, two years later, Jemimah. Then Jedediah the year after that.
And then me.
I try not to mind being last. With four older siblings, it happens a lot. But this is one time when I'd really, really like to be first.
Then again, being older would also mean more tesserae, and I have enough as it is. My name's in sixteen times today – two because I'm thirteen, and then tesserae for myself and my family.
But the others have more. There are plenty of people with more. It probably won't be any of us. It probably won't even be anyone we know.
Probably.
But, in some corner of my mind, I know that every other teenager in the district is thinking the same thing. It probably won't be me. By the end of the day, most of us will be right.
But two of us will be wrong.
We head to the square together, still rushing, bustling, as if worried that we might be late. We won't be. We've never been late. No one ever is.
No one would dare.
The five of us head for the roped-off sections, and I take my place with the other thirteen-year-olds. A few nod in my direction, but most of them ignore me. I keep to the edge of the section, hoping now more than ever to go unnoticed, to not be singled out.
Because being singled out today means death.
I'm not kidding myself, despite the escort's ramblings about District Eight having more victors than any other non-Career district. While that may be true, it doesn't mean that I have a chance. The victors were all older than me. All stronger. More like my brothers.
My brothers might have a chance.
Stop it. They won't be picked. I won't be picked.
Probably.
Gaius makes his way over to the first reaping bowl and draws a name. He unfolds it slowly, as if he takes some sick pleasure in making us wait. Making us sweat. Making us hold our breaths.
"Adalyn Rhodes!"
The fourteen-year-old section parts around a girl in a shapeless grey dress and black sandals. She's a little taller than me, with medium brown skin and dark, wavy hair that reaches her shoulders.
For a moment, she simply stands there, shaking her head in disbelief and denial. But it doesn't do any good. Soon, the Peacekeepers come for her and drag her to the stage, where she stands, trembling, waiting for the next name to be called.
I swallow hard. I feel sorry for her, of course. Who wouldn't? But all I can think of is how grateful I am that it's not Jemimah.
Now I just have to hope that it's not Jameson, Jefferson, Jedediah … or me.
Gaius reaches into the bowl again and draws a name. He smiles a little as he unfolds it, waiting to reveal his second victim.
"Jeremiah Garner!"
I freeze. Me? He picked me? How could he pick me?
I glance around frantically, and my gaze quickly finds my brothers. But they look away. I suppose I can't really blame them. It's Jameson and Jefferson's last year. Why should they volunteer, when they'll be safe after today? Safe from the Games forever. And Jedediah – How can I ask him to volunteer for me? What makes my life worth any more than his?
No. No, they won't volunteer. And maybe they shouldn't. Maybe, out of the five of us … maybe it's better if it's me.
At last, slowly, I make my way to the stage. Up the steps. Next to my district partner, who tries to smile a little despite the tears in her dark brown eyes. Trying to encourage me. Trying to pretend we haven't just been sentenced to death.
So I pretend, too. I try to smile back a little, but I can tell it's a shaky smile. Still, maybe it's better than nothing. I hold out my hand.
Without hesitating, she pulls me into a hug, instead.
