District 8 Reaping
Rose "Pixie" Castellano, 15
District 8 Female
I balance the tiny leather pouch carefully in my hand as I lie on my stomach, peering through the gap in the tall grass. A small, twitching black nose pokes cautiously from the nearest burrow. I bite my lip, chewing in concentration.
The prairie dogs all ran underground when I arrived, despite my careful approach. But now they're beginning to regain confidence.
The rest of a small, furry head peeps over and the entire animal pulls itself up and onto the mound beside its burrow, washing its chubby face with small pink paws. They are quite cute, but they also taste delicious, so I whip my sling up and over. The smooth rock I had loaded it with whines through the air, striking the animal on the forehead with a crunch. It stretches lifeless on the sand without so much as a squeak, and the other members of the colony whip underground.
I don't care though since I was only aiming for one, and I dash forward to claim my prey. The prairie dog's face is a smushed mess, but we don't eat that part anyway so I quickly cut off the paws, feet, and head and strip the dusty brown pelt from its body. Then I gut it and put the carcass into the canvas satchel that serves me as a gamebag, wrapping it in newspaper first so that the small amount of blood remaining in it won't leak out and soil my gamebag.
Walking in with a red-stained canvas satchel would be a dead giveaway. I wipe the blade of my old knife on my pants, knowing that the black fabric won't show a stain, and put it back into its hidden sheath inside my boot. The worn wooden handle fits neatly against my leg as I stand. It is smooth from years of use, and as I pull my gamebag onto my shoulder I can't help but think of my father. It was his knife.
It's been five years since his body was found behind the factory that makes peacekeeper uniforms, a single bullet in his head. The official statement was that he had been caught trying to break into the factory and shot in the act, but I know better. They must have found out somehow that he was hunting beyond the fence, in the wild prairies and woods that separate our urban District from District 11.
Since then I've kept hunting. Not by choice, believe me, I'm not stupid enough to think that I'm not being watched, but I can't get a job at any of the textile mills and our family's got to eat so what other choice do I have?
I was fired for insubordination when I was thirteen and since then no one's been willing to hire me. My brother Clovis is already married and Thorn's job isn't enough to support mother and I all by itself. Mother can't work ever since she caught her hand in a machine and mangled it.
Sighing, I look up at the sky.
The position of the sun tells me that it must be close to eleven o'clock, and I need to head home and clean up before the Reaping.
The Reaping.
The only good thing about Reaping Day is that I have five extra hours where I don't have to be in school and can hide out in the grasslands and pretend the Capitol doesn't exist. I sigh again, hitching the satchel higher on my shoulder.
It's painfully light today, all I found was the prairie dog and a few wild turnips, and my stomach growls mournfully. Yesterday I was only two blocks from my house when I had to stuff my entire haul in a dumpster, hearing a patrol of peacekeepers coming. I couldn't retrieve it since they stayed behind me the whole way home, and when I finally came back for it a few hours later it was gone.
At least some poor kid got quite a treat scavenging through that dumpster.
Finally I reach the fence, hot and sweating under the burning sun. Enough electricity hums through that metal barrier to kill a person, but it doesn't scare me. I've climbed this fence too many times to care. There is a large shed that sits right up against the fence, and all I have to do to leave the district is shimmy up the drainpipe onto the roof and then jump off the other side and over the fence.
It's twelve feet down and I turned my ankle the first time I did it, but since then I've learned to drop and roll. Getting back in is a little tougher. I have a rope dangling down from the eaves that I use to climb over and then jump down the other side. My boots are made of rubber so as long as I use my hands only on the rope and not the fence I can climb right up and over.
I had one nasty scare when it started raining while I was out and about. Usually I bring rubber gloves with me if it rains, so that I can touch the wet rope and not get shocked by the voltage it inevitably absorbs when wet, but this time I'd forgotten them.
It was stupid and I ended up spending two miserable days shivering outside the fence before my brother Thorn realized what must have happened and brought me my gloves. I put them all in danger, and it's something I'm determined not to do again.
This time all is clear and I grasp the rope with both hands, climbing up the wire fence like it was a ladder. Once on the other side I drag my skinny body onto the roof of the shed and hide the rope inside a broken vent. Then I jump off the other side and set off down the street. The roads are deserted as most families stay inside, sleeping in while they have the chance.
Finally, I reach our little house, sandwiched between two huge tenement buildings, and open the door.
"I'm home, Mama," I say softly.
"Hey, Pixie," Thorn says, looking up from where he sits twisting a piece of twine into different shapes. "How'd it go?"
I grimace. "Not too bad, not too good," I answer. "Prairie dog and a threesome of stunted, half-grown turnips."
"Good job, Rose," my mother says. "That will be plenty when I fry it up with your tesserae grain."
I smile at the thought. Prairie dogs are greasy little animals, and fried with the turnips and wheat cakes will be quite delicious.
I hand her the game bag, then head upstairs to get ready. My short black hair is already pulled back into a high pony-tail, looking more like a rabbit's tail than a pony's, considering it's only a few inches long. It's tied in place with a pale blue ribbon of silk that Thorn gave me. It's very soft, something he found at the factory. The swept back hair makes my slightly pointed ears stand out, as well as my narrow face and tapered chin.
That's why almost everyone but mama calls me Pixie, saying I look like a fiery little elf. I pull on the rose-patterned dress my mother made me, the gray and blue matching my eyes perfectly. Blue roses only grow in the Capitol, where they make them that way, but my mama loves roses and that's why she named me after one. Both my names are rather outlandish in a district full of Twills, Cottons, Mandys, Paisleys, and other unassuming or fabric-themed names.
I scrub my face until it glistens even redder than it was, already sunburned by my time out-doors. I have fair skin, another out of place feature in my predominately black district.
Then I head downstairs again and eat a bowl of porridge, before leaving for the Reaping, hand in hand with Thorn and Mama.
Cotton Ombre, 12
District 8 Male
Humming a bouncy tune, I take a big helping of mashed potatoes from the pot, douse them in gravy, and hand the brimming plate to my little sister Paisley. She thanks me, taking the plate and walking over to the kitchen table. I dish up an even larger plate for myself, sprinkling a few chunks of crispy ham over the top and forking a mammoth slice of fried pumpkin onto the side.
Then I make my way back over to the table and sit down, between Paisley and my older brother Ty. We laugh and talk throughout the lunch, trying to distract ourselves from the threat of the Reaping.
We watch the Games every year; they're required viewing after all, but that doesn't mean we like them. In fact, we hate them, and the Capitol too. The terror of the Reaping is an ever present shadow in our lives. And this is the first year I'm eligible.
Once I start thinking about it I can't seem to stop, and I put down my fork and slide my chair back. The food is no longer appetizing. Excusing myself from the table I head upstairs and put on my navy blue dress pants that I have for special occasions, a white short-sleeved t-shirt, and tie a blue bandanna around my neck.
By the time I head downstairs the others have finished eating and are ready to go. I sniff, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. Ty notices and walks over to me where I sit tying my shoes.
"What's wrong, Scrap?" he asks, using my pet-name.
Usually Ty and I don't get along well, but I guess everyone feels closer on Reaping Day.
"Nothing," I say, managing a wan smile. "Just a little nervous is all."
"Ah, don't worry about it," Ty says, ruffling my already messy red hair. "I was terrified my first year." He leans down with a conspiratorial look in his eyes. "Just between you and me," he whispers, "when the escort pulled the boys' slip I peed my pants."
I giggle, knowing he's making it up or I would have noticed, but the playful banter we share helps me to forget my fear.
Finally even Paisley is ready to go, her pink, glowing face scrubbed and shining as brightly as her dress. We exit into the bright sunlight and start off down the street to the Reaping.
My fear surges back, heavy enough to block out the bright sunlight from my eyes like a cloud.
Rose "Pixie" Castellano, 15
District 8 Female
I'm the only one eligible for the Reaping in my family, so Thorn flashes me an encouraging smile as I sign in alone and head to my section. I keep my head down, not wanting any of the girls to notice me and tease me.
In District 8, nearly everyone has dark skin except the wealthier classes, and I am neither dark-skinned nor wealthy. So the rich girls tease me for wearing Thorn's cast-off clothes, telling me I look as shapeless as a bolt of felt. The others keep to themselves, distrusting me because of my wealthy appearance. They're afraid I'll look down on them for their color.
The sun burns on the back of my neck and my tense muscles begin to stiffen as I stand, waiting. I'm going to have a whopping sunburn once I get home.
Finally, the escort comes onto the stage.
We're one of the few Districts with a male escort, but honestly it's hard to tell the difference between a man and a woman when they're coated in layers of garish makeup as thick as Romulus Appleby's.
His brown skin is stenciled with a herringbone weave pattern, and many pairs of earrings dangle from his ears. And his lips. And his nose. And his eyebrows.
He wears a suit pieced in a patchwork of different fabrics and textiles, both rich Capitol designs and colorful District ones.
He taps the microphone, a sound which reverberates across the square. Then, not one to mince words, he strides straight to the front of the stage and introduces our mayor.
She's a fiend, a demon that reminds me of a District 2 female tribute, or a harpy. Her grey hair hangs in a severe slant down her cheekbones, and her eyes have the calculating look of a bird of prey. There was an attempt at growing a new rebellion here in Eight and Zoe Slate was sent by the Capitol to be our mayor, and make sure all rebellion was crushed.
Most likely, her crackdown resulted in the death of my father.
A silent tear rolls down my cheek as they read the Treaty of Treason, and I pray that all those rebels and my father are in a better place.
Finally, the lying words end and the Reaping commences. I sigh with relief. I hate the Reaping, but the sooner it's over the better.
Romulus' hand dips into the bowl and pulls out a thin slip of paper, as white and wispy as the poor soul it is condemning to the hell of the arena.
Then the slip is unfolded and the name is read.
And it's mine.
There is a sensation of falling as the world goes black.
Ow.
Cotton Ombre, 12
District 8 Male
I watch in horror as the escort reads off the name and a underfed looking fifteen year old crumples to the ground. For a moment my terrified brain worries that she's dead, but as they carry her limp body into the Justice Building a ripple of news spreads across the crowd from where she fell.
I release the breath I was holding. She only fainted.
That split-second of terror that shown in her eyes before she fell tears at my brain like a wild phantom of dread. She knew she was going to die, I could see it in her eyes.
Even Romulus looks a little startled by this unusual turn of events, but like the showman he's paid to be he quickly brings the situation under control by pulling the male name and reading it off.
Cotton Ombre.
Me.
The same terror I saw on the young girl's face must shine in my eyes now as I whirl to flee, but white coated peacekeepers quickly secure me, pinning my flailing arms. Waves of terror wash through my mind, and I suddenly realize that I'm screaming, begging for a volunteer. Horrified, I stare at the faces of the other boys as I am dragged to the stage.
Their eyes are stony, though in some I can see a flicker of shame. But they are all impassive, and in that moment I accept my doom.
My sobs quiet to whimpers as the escort announces my name. Normally I would shake my district partner's hand before leaving for the goodbyes, but she is nowhere in sight. Probably they took her straight to the train.
I am escorted into the Justice Building, but my terrified brain cannot process the luxury around me and as soon as I am alone I curl up in the decadent chair that sits in the center of the room, wishing I could shrink down among its fuzzy folds and never creep out again.
I wonder who will come. Surely my family will, and maybe my friend Ray.
Ray is much older than me, but he's a really cool guy. He steals from peacekeepers and all the boys look up to him. Out of them though, I'm the one he actually talks to. Sometimes he even lets me help him on some of the tougher raids. He makes up the funniest nicknames for me too, gnat, and leech and stuff. He says that they're cute little bugs that like to follow smart people, just like me. Having a friend like Ray makes me proud.
The door opens suddenly and my entire family streams into the room, engulfing me in their embrace. Even stolid Ty, who wouldn't be caught dead hugging someone, gathers me to him with tears starting in his eyes.
My mother is sniffling, and they encourage me, telling me to try to survive. Even though they say it, I know I won't. I couldn't, wouldn't, kill another human being to save my life, and that's exactly what I'm going to have to do.
My family, my friends, my after school job as errand boy…goodbye to them all.
I hug Paisley and tell her I love her, then tell them all that as they echo my words, and the room is filled with love until the door opens, and the peacekeepers suck it away.
Then Ray comes in. "Good riddance, gnat," he growls.
Ray's odd that way, and for a moment I wonder what he meant.
Then I dismiss the thought.
He was probably just joking around.
Rose "Pixie" Castellano, 15
District 8 Female
The world rocks and sways as my eyes open. I am lying on a soft surface, silk I think, like the hair ribbon Thorn brought home for my birthday.
I slide onto the thick carpeted floor which sways as well, and walk to the window. Probably I'm just still dizzy.
When I reach the glass pane and stare out, I reel back in horror. Outside are the flapping leaves of District 11's vineyards.
The train has already left, without my goodbyes.
In all likelihood I will never see my family again.