Reaping VII
WARNING: Mentioning's and Implications of Suicide and Self Harm
Anguish : /ˈaŋɡwɪʃ/
(an-gwee-sh)
severe mental or physical pain or suffering.
"she shut her eyes in anguish"
Masin Hurst
~16~
District 7
I wake up with a start, as opposed to my usual drowsy and groggy method. If I had my choice, I would be sleeping in until at least late afternoon, especially because of last night. Ugh, my head hurts so bad, it practically feels like someone is bashing a hammer into my skull, it's as if my brain is imploding on itself. That's why, I should never mix tequila and vodka again, no matter how crazy the party.
It's not just any ordinary reason that I have woken up abruptly, and rather frightfully may I add. The reasoning, something so scary it should never be mentioned. My mother, standing over me with crossed arms and the sternest expression I've ever seen someone produce. She eyes me with fury, mouth contorted into a grimace and forehead creased in annoyance.
I back up against my bed frame, eyes wide and taken by surprise. Why did I come home? I shouldn't have come home in the state I was presumably in, not to my nutcase of a mother.
"So, look who decided to wake up," she sneers, voice flat without the slightest hint of amusement in it.
"G-good morning mother," I reply, not knowing how else I could possibly reply to her. She scoffs at what I said.
"Good morning? Is that a joke? No, it is not a good morning. You should be ashamed of yourself!" She screams. Oh no, here is where it begins. The lecture, the threats, the guilt provoking.
"I'm sorry," I reply instantly, not knowing how else to seek her forgiveness. My eyes flicker downwards slightly, spotting the small wooden crucifix. The wood is worn, and chipped in certain places, not that it matters to my mother. It's the sentimental value that it holds, that really matters to her.
I grip my bed-sheets, forehead creased in worry as I stare at her livid expression. Why does it have to be me? Why am I the one with the vividly religious mother? In this day and age, religion is almost obsolete, non-existent, extinct. It died out a long time ago, especially during the worldly disasters. Many people lost faith in their religion, because what God what inflict such death and destruction on their creation? There were the few that stuck to their religion, believing it was the reckoning of God, and that this was his way of cleansing the unworthy of such a corrupt society. Even fewer survived themselves.
My mother, was evidently brought up with the influence and teachings of religion, specifically the Christian faith. This lifestyle formed her to become a fanatic, aggressively committed to her faith and beliefs, and critical of those who did not share her views. She obviously is incredibly against such juvenile acts, of drinking underage, sex before marriage, anything that isn't innocent.
So, as I shy away from my mother, ashamed to be in her presence with the looming threat of punishment, I anticipate the repercussions of my unfaithful actions.
"You must repent," she commands, almost robotically. I gasp as I see her grit her teeth, before pinching my ear lobe with utmost pressure. I cry out when she pulls hard, dragging me off the bed as I try to relieve the pain she induces on my ear.
"Mother! Please. . . Let go!" I screech, afraid of what is coming. When I was younger, my mother was even worse, with extreme punishments inflicted on me in order for me to learn my lesson. I would be locked away for hours at a time, forced to kneel and pray, and brainwashed into thinking I was always under the watchful eye of God. Sometimes she would force me to go so dangerously close to the fire, that I could as she put it 'feel what it was like to experience the true wrath of Hell'. As far as I was concerned, the physical abuse was the most tolerable part of her punishments, the psychological abuse was the most tormenting, the most damaging.
That was of course, until my uncle moved in. Aldir Hurst, the twin brother to my father, Barkus. He always hated my mother, and hated my father somewhat forever tying the knot with her. Regardless, Uncle Aldir has been more of a father than my own ever has been. My true father has rarely ever been around, not that I blame him, his main concern has always been having enough money to support our family. But he never was there to stick up for me, to help me, to teach his wife how to properly treat and love her own son. I only ever experienced that, when Uncle Aldir came into my life. Upon seeing the punishments my mother, Hazel, would inflict on me as a result of not abiding to God's ways, which is essentially her ways. He detested this vile woman, and he was outraged when he watched her stick my head close to the blazing fire, inches away from permanent scarring.
Screaming matches were a common thing between the two, my mother remaining stubborn and persistent, while my outraged uncle attempted to change her ways. It was a few years, until the day he snapped, threatening her with promises of death if she ever subjected me to such extreme punishments again. My mother feeling threatened enough, relented and dropped her forceful teachings. The punishments became scarce, whilst she was now under the watchful eye of Uncle Aldir. I was rarely hit, slapped, kicked, and eventually I went weeks without being spoken to by my mother.
So, as I am dragged across the floor, by the searing pain of my ear gripped between her fingers, I try to remember that she won't harm me. She can't harm me, even if she wants to. I grunt as my hip smacks the door-frame as we exit the bedroom, and my ear that is relatively safe from my mother's grip, picks up the sound of my body scraping across the rough wooden floorboards.
Where is she taking me? I wonder frantically. Through blurred eyes that are drowned with held back tears, I manage to make out the front door, and the entrance hallway. She throws me forward, releasing my ear and causing me to slam against the splintery floor. I blink away any tears that remain, and I glance down in a sickened horror. No wonder she is so mad.
There is so much vomit on the ground, that it looks like someone spilled a whole liter of chunky oatmeal. It has splattered everywhere like a tsunami, and it appears that someone walked right through it in a not-so straight walking path, as there are foot prints in the vomit, and footprints made from the vomit. The raw smell of spirits lingers from the cold and clammy chowder, whilst the pungent scent of barf is so ripe that it burns my nostrils. I begin to dry retch, heaving as much as my body forces, except nothing comes up. I must have vomited everything in my stomach last night.
"Look at what you've done you pestilential delinquent! Underage drinking?! If you think you're still getting into heaven when you die, and at this rate it will be before you're twenty, then you are certainly mistaking!" She spits.
"Perhaps it'll be sooner, maybe I should just end it all, would that make you happy?" I hiss back, her suggestion that I am going to die so soon making my chest squirm with angst.
"Why would that make me happy? To have my son commit suicide and be condemned to Hell? What would I have to say to that?" She replies darkly. I cannot help but feel the anger surge through my system.
"You wouldn't even be upset if your son killed himself? You would only care about your own image and reputation?" I question her through gritted teeth. The tears begin running down my cheeks yet again, not because I'm sad, not because I'm scared, but because I'm angry. I'm furious that my mother can be such a heartless woman. I would have thought that such a fanatic follower of the Christian Faith would learn to love their fellow human beings, just like Jesus had preached.
"Y-you're a monster," I mutter softly.
"But am I a monster child? Or am I simply the bringer of the human incarnation of the devil, the deliverer of his corrupted seed, the reason you are the flawed way you are, mind brainwashed by Lucifer, the true archangel of darkness. For if this is true, I am the reason this monster exists, but I am certainly not the monster itself," she almost chants, voice monotone as can be.
"What do you mean? I'm not brainwashed by the devil! There is no devil!" I almost scream. My mother simply glares at me.
"Then who is to blame for this!?" She cries out, rolling my sleeve up forcefully and revealing the harsh and jagged cuts, that have been etched longways down the length of my arm. The cuts have barely begun to heal, whilst the outside of them appears red and inflamed. I instantly tear my arm away from her, eyes wide with shock. How did she know? I haven't told anybody about this! Absolutely nobody. . . except one person.
I back away from her, rising to my feet and shaking with a mixture of rage and shock. I keep my arm behind my back, so she can no longer see my wrist. How does she dare to claim my mental illness is an influence of the devil?
"You must repent for your actions, you must pray for the lord's forgiveness," she demands, walking towards me slowly.
"No! Get away from me!" I roar, before ducking underneath her outstretched arms, and racing for the door. I barge through, running down the street with heavy breathing. My head pounds even harder with the sudden physical activity, but I push through it. I must.
District 7 is alive with people, families flushing out onto the street as they prepare to make their way to the Town Square. I wade in and out of them, whilst they give me looks of annoyance for almost crashing into them. I don't care what they think however, my thoughts are too occupied by one goal. I start to get closer to the small strip of stores that are close to my house, seeing one particularly large building that has people swarming towards it. These people aren't families and young children however, they are typically young or middle aged lumberjacks, covered in wood chips and most still holding their own personal axes.
Why am I heading towards this bar? Because I know that is where Uncle Aldir will be, drinking away and possibly almost passed out. I push open the door, rather intimidated by the atmosphere of gruff older men. Most of the time, they're fairly friendly, but it's Reaping Day, so they are more bitter. Many give me strange looks as I walk in with my head lowered. I slowly rub my wrist, my cutting wrist, feeling the abnormal lines left behind underneath my sleeve.
"You okay there buddy?" A man asks, flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, and tanned skin plentiful with scratches and scars. It reminds me even more of my scars.
"I-I'm fine, I'm just looking for someone," I mutter. The man looks at me blankly, appearing quite confused.
"Huh? I couldn't hear you," he replies over the noise of the bar. Before I can respond, I spot a familiar figure from across the bar, sitting on a stool with a large glass of a murky yellow liquid. Beer. Just the thought of alcohol makes my stomach churn. I begin walking towards the man, leaving the other guy without another word. I hear him call out to me, before swearing and storming off.
The man sits with his face pressed against his hand. He glares up at the TV above, a program that shows clips of two of the Reapings that have already occurred. It appears to be District 5 and District 9. I shake my head, before tapping the man on the shoulder, causing Uncle Aldir to turn and face me. In a moment's notice, he beams at me, bringing an arm around my shoulder and squeezing me tightly.
"Ma-asin, how're you g-going buddy?" He slurs, making no effort to mask the hiccups that interrupt his sentence.
"W-we need to talk," I say softly, before grabbing his arm and pulling him off the stool.
"Hey, my drink," he complains.
"There isn't any time for that. I need to speak to you before the Reaping starts," I inform him, as I lead him outside of the bar.
Lucifer : /ˈluːsɪfə/
(loo-see-fur)
An archangel most commonly associated with falling from grace
"That King whose life collapsed, is essentially the personification of Lucifer"
Ebony Pineneedle
~18~
District 7
I watch as the boy enters the bar, noting his distressed face, and the look of anguish embedded onto it. I don't blame the poor kid, it is Reaping Day after all. I must admit, it was rather strange to see, as he appeared quite erratic, and on the verge of breaking down. In fact, he was running down the street, almost crashing into families and little kids. Well, I'm not in the position to judge, so I decide to brush the thought from my mind.
I sigh, now glancing down at the cobbled road, my eyes tracing the cracks and obscure patterns the stones make. It's not as if I have anything better to do. If I reveal myself, I'll just draw unnecessary and quite frankly unwanted attention. I'm sort of an infamous person in this District.
The alley is dark, with drainage leaks causing water droplets to leak all around me, whilst I sit with my back against the rough wooden wall. It's damp, and dark, nothing new to me anymore, at least I've had the opportunity to get used to it. Very little light manages to trespass the cramped and rodent infested alley that is my home, which in a sense, is quite a lucky aspect of this place. That way, nobody will be purposefully snooping around in here, and discovering me. As of now, it's my favorite abode that I have claimed, I'm right beside the fruit and vegetable store, meaning I get to eat whatever they throw out, although it's hard to stomach, as well as having a great view of the lake near the bar. When the sun sets over the lake, I get a glimpse of my own memories, where I used to watch the sunsets from on top of the District.
I try very hard to forget about my past, to accept and embrace the present as there is no way of clawing my way back to where I once was. Having used to have it all, I can't deny that this drastic change has been the hardest thing I've ever had to face. No person should ever have to fall so hard. . . except for the person that is responsible for this. My father. Oh, do I dare speak his name? Do I want that wretched man's legacy to grace my thoughts? If I had a choice, I would abolish him from my mind forever. Yet, I cannot do that, meaning I have the horrid memory of my horrid father implanted in my mind, and my thoughts, the face of Eldory Pineneedle, former Mayor of District 7.
As soon as I think the name, my body surges with anger and spite, bitterness morphing my body into a tense and rigid state. Oh, how I despise that man. He ruined my life, my hopes and dreams, my will to live. He is the reason why I question my existence each day, why I ask myself 'why am I still here?' I want to scream, I want to destroy my surroundings, I want to explode and rid myself of the anger I feel. But I can't bring myself to do so.
I slam my fist on the ground, feeling the impacting pain shoot up my wrist. I feel as my back falls against the wall in defeat, tiring due to the lack of energy I have. What's the point of getting angry anymore? All it does is remind me of who I am, Ebony Pineneedle, the girl that once had everything she could have asked for, now hated by the District and cast to the slums. It can't be all bad though, if it becomes that way then I may as well give up hope of survival. The 'slums' of District 7, are hard to consider slums. Every place in District 7 is simply beautiful, the surrounding nature and forest aroma truly making the poorest area seem like a simplistic but humble area. The people here may be the most poverty stricken in this District, but the cabins and little stores that are in this area make the whole town look like a getaway camp.
It calms me down, the idea of the warm sun shining through the trees, the smell of pine in the breeze as I rest beside an icy lake with a warm and minuscule fire set up. If I was capable of surviving like that on my own, and being able to scavenge my own food, I would simply live as a hermit. Perhaps if I taught myself to survive, and if I acquired an axe to use as a weapon and get resources, I could achieve this feat.
My thoughts are momentarily distracted when I spot the door to the bar slam open, shortly followed by the boy dragging an older man behind him. I examine the boy's face, seeing he feels worried, scared even, which is a strange sight to see. I have to judge the man as being his father, so why would he appear scared when he is in the presence of his guardian. For some reason, this rubs me the wrong way. Is this boy okay?
As the boy leads the man down the street, I'm tempted to follow them, to see if everything is okay for this boy, but mainly because I have nothing better to do, however in the end I decide against it. It's none of my business, and I have a feeling that if I, the daughter of the failed Mayor Eldory Pineneedle, was to go snooping in someone else's business, then it wouldn't go down so well. So, I leave it, backing away further from the opening into the alley, and into the darkness that is my home.
I feel my stomach growl; the roar being demanding for food. I sigh, rubbing the slender excuse that I have as a stomach. I have lost so much weight in the time since my father's fall. From having three meals a day, to barely being able to scrape a single meal together for days at a time, it has to have been the worst thing that I have had to experience. The cold I can live with, but the hunger is agonizing.
The Reaping begins in just over half an hour, so I suppose I should treat myself for such a 'special' occasion. I scurry over to the dumpster, which rests right under the window of the fruit and vegetable store. The scent is repulsive, the dumpster permanently engraved with the sour and rotten smell of off fruit. I wrinkle my nose up at it, before peering inside to hopefully meet a surprise of brown bananas, or perhaps some strawberries that are still salvageable. However, when I do look inside, I would even be thankful for an apple's core. This is due to the fact, that there is nothing in there.
I'm immediately alarmed, as this is the time of week that all off products are thrown out by this store. Why on earth is there nothing here?! I let out a croak of a cry, feeling a tear well up in my eye. I defeatedly lean against the dumpster, sliding down to the ground with the last bit of hope I had.
This is the third day without food. I can't cope much longer, I think I'm going to go insane if I don't get ahold of any food. I wrap my arms around my legs, burying my face into my knees, and sobbing hysterically. I heave my sorrow into my own personal space, wishing to stifle myself so I don't draw any attention for someone that could be walking by. Why does this have to happen to me? Why must the Capitol be so cruel?
I should have thought about this back when I was wealthy. I could have helped people, I could have made our family liked by the District, and when the Capitol had inevitably cast us down, and stripped us of our status and wealth, perhaps the families of District 7 would have been more than willing to take me in, to help me out. But it's much too late for that, my father screwed it up from the very moment he was elected.
It started during the 56th Hunger Games, the year he was elected. He made so many promises to the people of District 7, with glory, wealth, opportunities. They were empowered, and ready for a leader who would bring upon our success. However, they were all lies. All he ever wanted was to get the Mayor position, and he said whatever he had to say in order to get there. Once he finally won, he went back on everything he had promised our people. He raised taxes, he destroyed jobs, he damaged our reputation, all in order to appeal to the Capitol. It worked, the Capitol loved him for it. District 7 grew to be worth millions, whilst the people grew poor and unhappy.
When I was born, our family had acquired so much hate, that there were riots beneath our mansion. I had seventeen years of wealth, and fame, but my father grew distressed. He feared for our lives, assassinations, he grew erratic, and believed that danger was always around the corner. In order to try and appeal more to the people, Eldory Pineneedle did the single most stupid thing a man can do. What he did, ruined my life, presumably killed my mother, and destroyed him, wherever he is now.
All he did was lower taxes down by 0.5%, in order to try and make the citizens happy. But he had gone too far, already, it did nothing to improve the people's view of him. The people of District 7 still loathed him, and the Capitol saw him as weak, and not hard enough on the District as he had been once before. President Snow no longer believed he was fit to lead, and stripped us of everything. Without anything to protect me, I was exposed to the District. Anyone could punish our family by hurting me, anyone could take out their anger, I was a target to anybody that hated the Pineneedle's.
I gasp when my stomach begins hurting, almost feeling as if it is being stabbed. A sharp and jerking pain that repeatedly hits me in the hollow empty space that is my gut. I squeeze my eyes tightly, holding back the tears that threaten to show. I can't stay like this any longer, I need food. I shakily push myself up off the floor, before taking weak steps over towards the corner of the alley. Off the floor, I pick up the one thing that keeps me warm at night, the only other thing I permanently own. A long black cloak, with a large cloak that conceals my face from sight. It is the only way I'm able to get around without being recognized by other people. Perhaps I can use it to get some food.
I slip the cloak over my head, feeling my arms slip through the soft sleeves, before my head pokes through the top. I make sure to raise the hood, feeling it sliding over my dirty head and casting a shadow over my pale face. It was once clean and tanned, but now it is pale and gritty. Although a year or two ago that would have disturbed me, I have no care for it anymore. I have more important matters to consider. I shuffle towards the opening of the alley, wiping away the few remaining tears. I peer out carefully, alarmed at how many people are out on the street now. I should have done this earlier, but I have no choice now.
I quickly drift into the street immersing myself in the large group of people. I feel my breathing pick up, becoming rapid as my nerves begin to increase. It's been a long time since I've been around so many people, and I can't help but have the concern in the back of my mind that someone may recognize me.
No, nobody will Ebony. You are a survivor. Stay focused, I scold myself. I casually make my way towards the entrance of the store, staring at the ground so nobody looks me directly in the eyes. I enter the store, and am taken aback by how packed the store is. People must be getting the last few treats for their after-Reaping celebrations. I wade through people, making my way around the store, before I spot exactly what I want to eat. A small container of big bright strawberries, almost the last one as well. No wonder they haven't thrown any food out today, they've been able to sell all of the old food before it could go bad.
I look side to side, making sure nobody is looking directly at me. I'm sure someone will notice at some point, but hopefully that will be once I've exited the store. I take a deep breath, feeling my back tense in anticipation and slight fear. I've only ever had to steal a couple of times to pass by, mainly during the winter when food is most scarce. This however, is a dire situation. Of I don't get to eat soon, it will be too long before this store gets fresh produce, and therefore more food to throw out.
I shut my eyes, picturing what I'm going to do before I do it. Now, it is time. I swipe the strawberries from the shelf, swiftly slipping them under the baggy cloak. I don't look to see of anyone saw me, I rather just turn immediately for the door, striding through it and speed walking down the street. Once I get far away enough, I begin to jog, causing me to feel the stiffness and feeble structure of my joints.
"Hey, get back here!" I hear a man roar from behind me. Luckily for me, I'm too far away. After hearing the man's words, I begin to sprint, without looking back so he doesn't see my face.
"I hope you get Reaped you piece of shit!" He bellows, voice now even more distant. Initially, I'm hurt by the statement. Hoping that someone gets Reaped is essentially wishing death upon that individual, which in itself is a horrid thought to bear. I do suppose I deserved it though, I did just steal from his store.
As I run into a cluster of trees, I kneel down behind them, digging into the strawberries and stuffing my face with them hungrily. The sweet and sherbet like taste explodes on my taste buds, and the feeling of food going down my throat is strangely satisfying. It's the best feeling I've ever felt. However, as I stuff my face with the fruit, I can't help but think about the man's words. They bounce back and forth in my mind, before a light bulb is lit deep inside my thoughts. Today is the Reaping, an event that selects people to compete for a life of riches, fame, and glory.
The cogs begin to turn in my head, before the components of an idea slot into one another. Perhaps, I won't be living life like this for much longer. . .
Masin Hurst
~16~
District 7
"You told my mother?!" I cry out. Uncle Aldir sways back and forth slightly, attempting to stand up straight despite his slightly drunken state. I had led him down the street, until we were in a quieter area that's wasn't riddled with families taking their children to the Reaping. We stand behind a building, that is on the brink of occupying the forest space.
He looks at me blankly, before he displays an expression of utter confusion.
"W-what?" He asks, slurring slightly.
"You told my mother about this!" I say angrily, pulling up my sleeve and showing him the red lines that have been carved into the flesh. He glances at it groggily, before his eyes widen.
"Masin, I-I'm so sorry, I must have accidentally mentioned it when I was drunk," he groans. He puts his head in his hands, sighing heavily.
"God dammit, what have I done?" He asks himself. I twist my mouth in disapproval. Having to see my role model in such a state of self-loathing, it really puts me down.
"She thinks I'm the anti-christ, just because I'm not a perfect person in her image," I mention softly. Uncle Aldir produces an aggravated look upon his face, gritting his teeth and scowling heavily.
"That bitch, I'm going to go home now, and teach her a lesson," he spits, before standing up straight and beginning to walk off.
"No, you're not," I instruct him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. He grunts, before leaning back against the wall of the building.
"Please, Uncle Aldir, you're all I've really got. I've got a horrid mother, an almost non-existent father, fake friends, mere acquaintances, I can't lose you as well. Can you please make an effort to stop drinking?" I request softly. His eyes widen at my words.
"Masin, that's like asking the Capitol to stop the Hunger Games, it's impossible," he attempts to explain.
"No, it isn't, because you're actually capable of doing that request. At this point, President Snow is too far in to stop the Games," I justify. He sighs, before sinking to the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him.
"You know, I hate you seeing me like this," he says quietly, hiccupping at the end.
"You deserve so much better, and I can't help but destroy my own life which significantly effects your own," he continues.
"We can make it better, as soon as you stop drinking and start working again, we can move out. I can even try and get a job soon as well," I suggest, sharing the possibilities that could come with getting his life on track.
"I-If I must, I think I can try and stray away from the bar for a while," he mumbles. I open my mouth to voice my approval, however I am interrupted by a thundering ringing of a bell. My eyes widen heavily, as I realize what that means.
"Oh shit," I mutter.
"What?" Uncle Aldir croaks.
"The Reaping! They just rang the bell, it begins in ten minutes!" I cry out in a panic. I leap to my feet, before trying to pull him to his own feet.
"Masin, don't worry about me, I'll find my own way," he informs me.
"But aren't you worried about the Peacekeepers?" I ask worriedly.
"I don't have any children. It's not as important if I don't attend on time, so run!" He instructs. I nod, before turning and running forward. I sprint to the street, noticing how empty it is compared to before. There are a few shopkeepers sweeping the pavement in front of their stores, and a few drunken men stumbling out of the bar. I don't see a single child or worried parent, which makes me worried for my own safety. I need to go now.
I race past the store owner of the fruit and vegetable store, in the midst of a heated explanation with a Peacekeeper.
"I watched the person slip the strawberries into their robes and race out of the store, that's all I can tell you! I didn't see their face!" He shouts.
"Watch your tone, I'm the authority here. I can't do anything without any reports on their distinguishable features," the Peacekeeper explains.
"Fuck!" The shop owner roars, before I get too far away to hear their conversation. It sounds like he was robbed, that's unfortunate. Not as unfortunate as I'll be if I'm late to the Reaping. In four short minutes, however, with the help of knowledge of key shortcuts, I manage to make my way to the Town Square. The line for getting ticked off is relatively short due to the large majority of people already being entered in.
I stop behind a timid young girl, with pale blonde hair and a stony face completely drained of color. She doesn't pay any attention to me when I stop behind her, huffing and puffing as I attempt to regain my breath, and steady my heart beat.
"Did. . . I. . . Make it?" I ask nobody through hefty breaths.
"Barley, you're lucky kid," a Peacekeeper informs me.
"Yeah, lucky," I murmur to myself spitefully.
"Next," a Peacekeeper further ahead commands. The young girl takes steady steps forward, until she reaches the desk and formally gets checked off. I watch as her bright blue eyes begin swimming with tears upon getting pricked for her blood. She blinks them away a moment later, refusing to let them fall. I can't help but admire her, I wasn't anywhere near that strong during my first Reaping. The pain reminded me of the cuts that I inflicted upon myself, and the tears that I shed as I had done it.
When the Peacekeeper calls out for me, I shake the morbid thoughts of my past away. I take shaky steps forward, sticking out my finger face down. The woman glances up at me, clearly unamused.
"You're going to need to face your fingerprint upwards unless you want this to pierce your fingernail," she states harshly.
"Oh, uh, yes, sorry," I mutter softly, changing the direction of my finger. I'm used to facing the arm downwards, to conceal the scars of my wrist, despite the sleeves that hide them anyways.
Now frustrated, the woman jams my finger into the little device, which causes me to wince. When I feel the pain of the prick, I'm barely phased however. I'm too used to pain like it.
"Masin Hurst, please make your way to the sixteen-year-old section," she instructs as I place my bloody fingerprint beside my name on a sheet of paper.
"Yes of course," I obey, before turning and making my way towards the sixteen-year-old section. I recognize a few faces, some I only just saw last night at the party. Many of those faces look weary and hungover, barely even reacting upon seeing me. I earn a few nods, but in the end most don't really notice me.
I glance over at the crowd of parents and adults, anxiously watching and awaiting the commencement of the Reaping. First I look for my mother, knowing she won't be there. She would likely be very far in the back reading the bible, she doesn't usually desire to watch. Next I attempt to locate Uncle Aldir. Unsurprisingly, I don't see him anywhere. He is either still laying against the building, passed out, or he is attempting to make his way here.
However, what I do notice, is a massive surprise. As I am trying to locate my uncle, I recognize someone that looks very similar to him. It takes a second to register that it isn't him, but it is in fact my father. He actually made an effort to watch? Not to stray away from the view of the stage? This makes me strangely comforted, knowing that someone is there for me. Although whether he is here for me or because he is required to is unknown to me.
The lackluster noise is silenced even more as everyone faces the stage. It seems as if the Reaping is finally beginning. I watch as the Victor's file out on stage, showcasing our undeniable success in the Hunger Games. Although we are fourth in the number of Victor's out of all the Districts, we are first out of the outlying Districts, with ten total Victor's, and seven Living. The first to walk out on stage is Maple Heathen, Victor of the 17th Hunger Games and our oldest living Victor.
The next bunch are all from well before my time, Root Woodstock, Victor of the 27th Hunger Games, Holly Redoak, Victor of the 44th Hunger Games, Larch Sith, Victor of the 47th Hunger Games, and Blight Jordan of the 57th Hunger Games.
Finally, our two most famous, as well as most recent Victor's, make their way onto the stage. Johanna Mason, Victor of the 71st Hunger Games. Her victory was one of the most famous of all time, because nobody suspected her the whole time. She played the Game flawlessly, and acted inconceivably well, so well in fact that she was written off as a Bloodbath. The other tributes should have learnt that District 7 is never a District to underestimate.
Last of all, we have Rowan Terran, Victor of the 77th Hunger Games. The arena he was in was an exceptionally unique one, it set place in a swamp full of toxic material and acidic plants. To make things even more interesting, the Capitol made sure there were a surplus of weapons for all of the tributes to use, and very close to the pedestals, whilst all of the survival supplies were in the Cornucopia. The catch was, all of the weapons were blunt, all the sharp edges of the swords, axes, spears, knives, were all battered and blunt, incapable of cutting through flesh. Rowan became a reckoning force when he was smart enough to utilize the acidic algae, placing the plant on the end of his blunt axe. This made the axe usable, and he was able to take out his competition much easier than they would be able to take him out. He was able to hunt down any tribute he wished, and taking out the Careers early on by throwing a heap of the acidic algae on them as they slept, and dissolving most of their flesh, took out his most difficult competition.
The next person to come on stage is Mayor Willwood. It's his second Reaping since Eldory Pineneedle was relieved of his status as Mayor. The first Reaping Mayor Willwood had to host was only a month into his reign, so obviously, he was quite nervous and unprepared. This year however, he appears much more confident and organized.
I do wonder what happened to Eldory Pineneedle, I haven't heard about him since he went into hiding, I think curiously.
"Welcome, citizens of District 7, to the Reaping for the 80th Annual Hunger Games!" He announces, beaming heavily. He doesn't earn much of a response, mainly as not many people of District 7 would really approve of a Mayor showing so much enthusiasm for such a savage event. At least Mayor Pineneedle didn't seem to enjoy it, but that could be because he was so intimidated by standing in front of a crowd that hated him.
"Things have gone quite smoothly this afternoon, and I'm sure we are highly anticipating the outcome of today's event! So, without any further ado, allow me to introduce our dashing Escort, Lysawell Cloverton!" He calls out giddily. One thing I am thankful for, is that the Capitol has abolished the necessity to show us that long ass video every year. After the 75th Hunger Games, it was decided that it was unesscary as the Hunger Games aren't so much about enforcing the Capitol's power on us anymore, but rather the Capitol's entertainment. It was determined however, that the video would be played to District's that were showing signs of rebellion, as well as to every District during future Quarter Quells. This means, that normal Reapings are much quicker nowadays.
My attention shifts to Lysawell, as she comes out onto the stage. She smiles politely at the crowd, knowing it wouldn't be the best idea to show excitement at the Reaping. She shows enough to please the Capitol, before focusing her attention on controlling the Reaping.
"Greetings to all of you! I would like to thank you for having me here! It has been a year already since we were last gathered together, but now the time has arrived to select both one young man, and one young woman, to compete for the chance to bring their District all kinds of glory!" Lysawell announces. I almost hum a laugh, noticing that she left out the 'fighting to the death' part.
"In order to not keep those heavily anticipating in the dark, I believe it is time to commence the selection of the tributes. We shall begin with the ladies first of course," she beams, before making her way towards the large bowl full of slips. I don't immediately feel my heart start racing, as it is the girl's selection that is occurring first, however even I can't help but feel nervous as I watch Lysawell dip her arm inside and pluck a single slip of paper from the top.
She was quick to choose, most Escorts take ages, I think to myself. My eyes follow Lysawell as she makes her way back to the center of the stage. Opening the slip, she reads to herself first, before announcing the name loud and clear into the microphone.
"District 7's female tribute for the 80th Hunger Games is. . . Ivory Griffiths!"
The first thing I hear is a wail, followed by a number of sobs. People glance at one another uncomfortably. That isn't a good sign, or a good first impression. After a few seconds, Ivory makes her way to the front, out of the twelve-year-old section. I'm horrified to see that it was the little blonde girl that I was behind in the line. If her face was drained of color before, she should be clinically dead now. The only color she shows is the redness around her bright blue eyes, that display nothing but panic.
Despite this, she pushes through and forces herself up onto the stage. As she walks towards Lysawell, the blonde Escort reaches out for Ivory to hold her hand. However, before Ivory can reach her, she is interrupted by a shaky and weary voice.
"I-I volunteer for her place," the voice calls out, stopping everyone dead. There is a great deal of murmuring that occurs, most people appearing flabbergasted beyond belief. A volunteer from an outlying District? There hasn't been one of those since Katniss Everdeen from District 12 volunteered to save her sister. Was this perhaps a heroic sister of Ivory?
Lysawell appears to be in the midst of talking to Mayor Willwood, obviously not used to the concept of a District 7 volunteer. In a few moments, Lysawell regains her composure and smiles.
"Why, it looks like we have ourselves a volunteer! The first in decades for District 7! Please dear, do come up," Lysawell urges. As Ivory is escorted down the stairs, people begin to shuffle around in the eighteen-year-old section. It is a moment before a hooded, black cloaked figure emerges from the crowd of people, before turning to the crowd and drawing back her hood. The immediate reaction from the crowd is a series of gasps and people murmuring. I myself am utterly shocked, as I easily recognize the girl.
She has a pair of charming blue almond eyes, with thin pale eyebrows. Her nose is thin and delicate, despite the unnerving dirtiness her face is covered in. Her lips are perfectly proportioned with delicate arches and a distinctive 'v' shape in her upper lip in a beautiful natural pink hue.
Her hair is a golden-honey blonde, with natural waves towards the tips that gives the impression that she has tried to keep it neat. This hasn't prevented the appearance of a the relatively dirty and unkempt length of hair that she possesses'. She has an angular jawline and a wide, but pointed chin that I'm used to seeing high and arrogant. Now she keeps it low as if she were ashamed.
She looks a bit older than she is, seeing as she came out of the eighteen-year-old section, she could pass for mid-twenties. Her body is slimly built, and particularly malnourished, yet she still appears quite graceful. She generally comes across as disheveled and dirty, as I'm sure she hasn't had the opportunity to properly wash in a while.
This is because, the girl is actually Ebony Pineneedle, daughter to former Mayor, Eldory Pineneedle.
Ebony Pineneedle
~18~
District 7
This is the first time in over a year, that so many eyes have been laid upon me. I forgot how confronting it felt, but that may be due to how powerless I am right now. I have rendered so many of these people speechless, most stare at me blankly, mouth agape. Others cannot help but scowl at me, but that was to be expected. In fact, I figured that I would be dealt a whole lot more hate than this.
Even if they were to be so angered by my presence, I have just volunteered, meaning I am untouchable until I get into the arena. Of course, at that point I'll have nothing to protect me from being killed aside from my own skills and wit, but it'll be twenty three other tributes attempting to do that, not the entirety of a District.
I draw my eyes away from the crowd's gaze, glancing at the floor before I begin to solemnly trudge up to the stage. Most of the Capitol wouldn't know who I am, with how dirty I am I could gain some sympathy points, but then again, that could fool few people. I did just volunteer after all. Why did I volunteer? Well, it was probably my best option. What that shopkeeper shouted at me, really got me thinking. There was no way I could keep living the way I was, with my constant concern being when I would next eat. I am despised by virtually all of the District, all because of my father's actions, so perhaps the little appreciation or in the very least tolerance, that I could gain, I could get through volunteering and saving a young twelve-year-old girl from certain death. Last of all, I lost everything when my father was removed from power, the only chance I ever had of gaining any sort of wealth back, would be from winning the Hunger Games. And if I died, well, how is my life worth living anyways?
Some of those reasons, sound kind of selfish. I'm not saving a little girl from the goodness of my heart, I'm not sacrificing myself so that she lives, I'm doing it to better my reputation, I'm doing it to get back my wealth and fame. No, I'm not perfect, I'm not just a kind-hearted girl, I'm just taking my best shot for success. But. . . nobody else has to know that.
I reach the bottom of the stairs, doing my best to refrain from looking at the crowd. This is when the insults begin to be shouted.
"Whore!"
"Skank!"
"Witch!"
"Slut!"
"Bitch!"
This is more so what I expected the reaction to be when I volunteered. I guess it just had to sink into the crowd. When I was younger, the insults used to make me cry. I got called these things when I was only six or seven, although they weren't to me particularly, they were trying to anger my father. Regardless, I would bawl my eyes out whenever I was alone, until I had no more tears left to shed. As time went on, it wasn't because I had cried away all the tears, but more so I just grew used to the words. They lost meaning, they became too common a phenomenon to upset me in any way.
In fact, some days when nobody said anything of the sorts to me, I would be confused, concerned that there was something wrong. But low and behold, they would always come back not long after.
The climb up the stairs is an all too familiar one, and when I reach the top, I'm almost taken aback by how familiar yet strange it feels. I have so many memories of standing upon this stage, but none of them were positive. This one is certainly not positive, perhaps that is what makes it feel familiar.
I glance ahead, seeing Lysawell examining me. She wears a confused and rather disapproving expression on her face. For a moment, I judge it to be for me, until she speaks up.
"Now that is no way to address your newest Tribute, and a Volunteer in addition. I don't want to have to ask the Peacekeepers to find those of you that are so disrespectful," she scolds the crowd, before smiling sweetly at me.
"Come over here darling, right next to me," she beams at me. I nod my head curtly, before I scurry across to her and stare out ahead, overlooking the crowd.
"Now my lovely girl, what may your name be?" Lysawell asks.
"My name. . . is Ebony Pineneedle," I announce softly into the microphone. Lysawell appears to be given a stroke of recognition.
"Ahhh, do you happen to be the daughter of Eldory Pineneedle?" Lysawell asks. I gulp, before making my face stony, and responding to her question.
"Yes, I am," I reply.
"Oh how interesting! Well, Ebony, why did you decide to volunteer today?" She asks.
"Because Lysawell, it is the best that I can do to pay back my District for the things my father did so unjustly for years," I lie. I don't regret the things my father did, but if I'm to get the citizens to support me at all, I have to show that I am on their side. Will the Capitol care? Perhaps, or perhaps it'll be a naive girl that was brainwashed by the torment and backlash that was dealt to her by her District, that those words are coming from.
"Please, call me Lysa. Now, how confident are you about going into the arena?" Lysa asks.
"Well Lysa, in all honesty I can't judge how well I may do until I've at least seen my competition. But I'll give it my all to make my District proud," I inform her.
"Thanks for sharing Ebony, and on the note of judging your competition, shall we find out who will be accompanying you to the Capitol, and in the arena?" Lysa suggests.
"I suppose so," I reply. Lysa grins at me before turning and making her way over towards the male's bowl. It seems that the crowd has shifted their focus back to Lysa, giving me a break from the spotlight.
Thank god for that, I think to myself. Lysa reaches the bowl, reaching inside and instead of grabbing one off the top like she did for the girls, she reaches as far inside as she can, before seemingly choosing her slip and taking it back out. She turns again, walking back towards the middle of the stage. Now the crowd looks worried, many of them obviously concerned that they may be chosen. Lysa unfolds the slip, before leaning towards the microphone and announcing the contents of the paper.
"And District 7's Male tribute for the 80th Hunger Games is. . . Masin Hurst."
The name means nothing to me, I've never heard of Masin before. I don't do so much as blink when I hear his name, nor does anyone else it seems. Huh, he must really be insignificant. At least he hasn't shouted out, in either anger or horror. Now that I think about it, that would actually be ideal, it's not like Masin is going to want to ally with me anyways, and the weaker he is, the less of a chance he has of winning.
Eventually, I see people in the sixteen-year-old section begin to move aside in order to make room for Masin. He emerges from the front, and I'm honestly shocked. Masin is the boy that I was watching running down the street earlier, the one that looked incredibly stressed. I let my surprise slip for a moment, albeit unintentionally, before I realize what I have done and mask it again.
Masin has olive skin, although little of it shows as he wears long sleeves and tight pants. He appears to be of a decent height, perhaps 5'11", and is of a slender but healthy figure. On his head rests a bed of thick brown hair, while his face appears boyish and cute with light blue eyes that could pass as grey. He by no means looks weak by any sorts, and I could have hoped that he would look a bit less appealing, but at least he doesn't appear to be some crazy, axe wielding psychopath.
His face is surprisingly difficult to read, seeing as he displayed his concern quite openly before, but I can't blame him for trying to hide how he may be feeling. If anything, he looks quite confused, as if he doesn't believe he is being Reaped. For all I know, he could have an array of mixed feelings going through his head right now.
He makes his way onto the stage, standing stiffly alongside Lysa. She lightly places her hand on his back, perhaps to comfort him in this tragic moment.
"Congratulations Masin, you are District 7's newest male tribute!" Lysa exclaims, attempting to lighten his mood. It's safe to say, she is unsuccessful.
"Th-thanks, I guess," he murmurs.
"Sorry what was that Masin? I didn't quite pick that up," Lysa asks.
"Thanks Lysa, I feel privileged to have been selected," he says louder, being given the chance to correct himself. Lysa beams at him.
"Well isn't that a good spirit to go in with! How confident would you say you are Masin?" Lysa asks.
"I-I have no idea, I guess I'm about as confident as my chances are of winning," he replies.
"So that must be as high as possible, because I know you can win this thing!" Lysa exclaims. I can't help but feel a stab of jealously. She isn't meant to be biased, I hope this isn't her choosing a favorite, if I'm to stand a chance I need both my Escort and my Mentors on my side. Seeing as my Mentors, Johanna and Rowan, may judge me because of my father, my best bet is Lysa, who can talk me up to the Capitol and acquire those sponsors.
"Well, I believe that brings us to the end of another Reaping! Hopefully either Ebony or Masin will be accompanying us on this stage next year!" Lysa calls out, as she makes both Masin and I face each other. He sticks out his hand, which causes his sleeve to come up a bit. He frantically attempts to pull it down to cover his wrists, before looking up at me and smiling awkwardly. That was a bit weird.
Well, he is smiling at me, at least he doesn't seem to loathe me. I reach out and shake his hand, only smiling slightly at him. I don't want to show too much emotion. Next my hand is taken by Lysa, who puts it high up in the air. I turn my head to see that she does the same to Masin.
"Ladies and gentlemen, District 7's tributes for the 80th Hunger Games! Ebony Pineneedle, and Masin Hurst!" She exclaims. The crowd forcefully applauds, most looking at Masin to show their support of him over me. It doesn't matter, I don't need them to approve of me whilst I'm in the arena. It's the Capitol that I need.
Lysa releases us before leading us towards the back of the stage, where we are taken by Peacekeepers.
And so it begins.
Author's Note:
Before I say anything, I'll just like to thank both TWilkins and Cat of Flame, for submitting Ebony and Masin respectively.
Okay, so, I'm back! Alright, I know it has been a bit over a month since I last updated. If I'm being honest, my free time went almost completely out of the window as soon as school started up again. You guys know if I could have written I would have, I was updating every two weeks at least over my summer break. I have just been so flat out though, getting back into the swing of things wasn't easy. This is my final year of High School, and although this story is very important to me, I'm sure you can all understand that school and real life MUST come first. Now that that's out of the way, hopefully I can go back to quicker updates, so I can be done with the damn Reapings!
So, what did you guys think about Masin and Ebony? Both bring an interesting dynamic to the story, and I would love to hear your predictions and thoughts like usual. They really help with feedback and motivation!
Now, this is long overdue, but seeing as we have gotten over halfway through the Reaping's, I'm going to reveal the rest of the tributes on my profile. I think everyone still waiting has the right to know if their tribute was accepted, and it needs to happen now. In addition, I have made a blog for all of the tributes and escorts!
The blog is: bloodlineotv . blogspot . com
Just remember to remove the spaces!
Thank you so much for your patience, and let's hope I can get District 8's Reaping much sooner. Keep an eye on my profile for any updates, if I am taking a long time to update then the necessary information will be displayed on my profile. See you next time!