Chayenne Wilson's Reaping
My feet make small footsteps on the red silk carpet. I make my way from my room to the kitchen in the pale morning light. The house is silent and the shadows of shelves with small sculptures loom out at me. I walk to the bathroom and wash my face with warm water before I glance at myself. I guess I'm average looking. My long brown bangs stretch down to my eyes and the scruffy dark brown lump of hair spreads to my back. My blue eyes glint in the mirror and stare back at me as if asking me why I'm meant to be here.
In the kitchen I chop some fruits up for a salad. Then I make two more, for my mom and dad, and sit down at the counter while glancing out the window.
In the distance, green pastures spread for miles around. Square black and white animals called cows mill around, snorting and fattening up on grass. Beside the pastures are a few farms, and then an austere-looking fence, towering above and around the district, reminding us we can not leave unless we're headed west on a train to the Capitol and to our death in the games.
I finish the fruit salad and head back up the stairs to my room, large and wonderful in most peoples' eyes.
But I hate it.
My father, the mayor of District 10, inherited this house from his father, the previous mayor. He is old, in his sixties, with a dark beard and bright, gleaming eyes. If he weren't my father, I wouldn't be able to stand him. He's one of the cruelest mayors, after districts 11 and 13, and enjoys watching law-breakers and rebels scream in agony as his assistants whip him with the finest, most slick steel cords. If he weren't my father, would I love him? Even though everyone despises me because of him, because they think I'll be like him someday? Even though I only have two friends, and the rest of district can't stand me? I got teased and tormented in the hallways at school, and even in a higher class, expensive school, the torture continued.
I remember when I was little, around seven or eight, and I first ran home to Dad crying. I told him how I had got teased that day for being the mayor's daughter by some kids in the grade older than me. They said they were out to get me, and then punched me hard in the stomach. Dad had hugged me, then stormed out. The next day, the parents of the kids were being executed and the whole district was invited to watch.
That's when I learned to keep my troubles on the inside.
My mother is the opposite of my father. She's kind, loving, nurturing, and the best parent you could possibly have. She thinks I'm going to be a great success, but obviously nothing good's going to happen to me anytime soon.
In my room I take a seat by the window facing the rest of District 10. The urban area is small, as most of the workers and families are farmers. I take out my sketchbook and gently press the pencil on the paper. My hand starts moving and I begin to draw the Justice Building in the distance, so treacherous in the dim light. Slowly my hand moves around the paper, beautifully crafting the building which causes so much grief.
I finish the drawing as the sun begins to rise. The drawing is gorgeous, but I crumple it up and toss it in the trash. No one cares about my drawings, not like people used to. But I have plenty of time for it, since I never leave the house unless to venture into the backyard and draw the lilies in the pond.
By the time I turned twelve I so tormented and bullied my father agreed to let me drop out of school and let a tutor come every few days to help me with my learning. Everytime I stepped outside, even just for a moment to check the mail or water the garden, one of the ruthless kids would be there, waiting in the bushes to attack me with ferocious insults and slaps to the face. Of course I would never tell my father who and why, because that would only lead to more executions and more grief.
Of course, on Reaping Day I have to go to the square. So every year I make a mad sprint to Dad's car and we drive to the square. I wait in a small parking lot outside the plaza until the reapings are done and my father returns. There's still a chance I could get reaped, but I'm only fifteen so my name is in the bowl only four times.
Suddenly my mother appears in the doorway. Her lips carry a sad smile, because she knows what I've been through. I smile warmly back.
"I made some fruit salads for you for breakfast," I say softly. I don't want to mention the reapings, or the bullying, or anything that will upset me now.
"Thank you," she says, her eyes beginning to water. Mom doesn't have the best reputation either, being the mayor's wife and all. But when she married him he was a different person.
Before I have time to answer, the doorbell rings. My eyes dilate in fear and I make a dash to the closet. My mother straightens up and heads downstairs to answer the door. This always happens when someone knocks or rings the doorbell. I have panic attacks in public, and whenever people are around. Even when a stranger is inside the house.
I hear talking downstairs, and then the running of feet on the stairs. A few moments later my bedroom door flies open. I peek my eyes out and sigh in relief.
"Hullo!" Nadine chirps. I push the door open. Nadine was a girl in my class a few years ago, and was one of the few students who didn't tease or torment me. So we became friends, and now every week she visits me.
I smile. "Hi, Nadine," I say. "So, what's going on in the outside world?"
Nadine frowned. "Well," she started. "A husband and wife were executed yesterday for plotting to leave the district. And a few weeks ago a man was killed for harvesting wheat illegally." My eyes widen.
"But since then," she continues. "Nothing new has occurred. Really, I doubt anyone's out to get you," she laughs. Nadine doesn't seem to understand anything that has happened to me in the past year.
"Let's go outside, to the backyard," I suggest. We make our way there, and Mom smiles at us as she eats her salad from the kitchen.
"The reaping is going to be soon," she reminds us. "Nadine, you can drive with us if you want."
In the backyard, we sit on a tall, shady orange tree which looms over the pond and the wall. Hidden in the branches, the passers can't see us. I swing my feet down and grin. I always feel all right with Nadine.
"So, think you'll get reaped this year?" I joke. We're both pretty rich, and joking about it seems wrong. But it just comes out of my mouth.
Nadine grimaces. "It won't be either of us," she responds. "I hope it's that Cristal girl- I have to say she deserves it. And that boy in our grade..." she drones on, and I stop listening and glance into the street. A poor child is sitting on the dirt road with an empty can, begging for a couple of coins. Slowly I stick my head out of the branches and reach into my pocket. I take out a coin and fling it towards him, over the wall and at his feet. Startled, he looks up and sees my face peeking out of the tree. Then his face turns into a snarl and he hurls the can at me. It misses by a long shot and smashes into the wall. I duck my head back into the tree's branches, and glance back at Nadine who is still jabbering on.
"Want to... start getting ready for the reapings?" I suggest in a shaky tone. Nadine glances at me curiously but replies with a "Sure."
After showering, I change into deep blue dress and enter my room, where Nadine is applying makeup. I tie back my hair and we sit for a while, chatting about reapings and District 10 and whatever similarities we have in common. Finally, at an hour before two, we slowly walk to the hallway to get ready to leave. Dad has to be there extra early to take his seat onstage. Normally I would wait in my section at the square but because of the mayor's (my father's) demands, I can stay in the car.
Dad finally arrives. "Good morning, Chayenne," he says and embraces me. "And hello, Nadine," he continues. "Are we taking you with to the reapings?"
"Yes," Nadine replies timidly. She has always been afraid of my father.
I make sure the coast is clear, and then I swing the door open. I sprint to the car and pull the handle. But it's locked. Some people across the street begin to scowl at me, and I panic. I feel dizzy. I want to go back inside. I can't be here. I don't belong here. Right when I feel like fainting Dad rushes over and unlocks the door. I jump in and Nadine follows me apprehensively after seeing my condition.
Dad turns the car on and slowly we make our way to the Square. It is about half a mile away, and we're the only car but the road is unpaved and bumpy. As soon as we arrive at the empty parking lot, Nadine and my father step out of the car.
"Good luck," Nadine whispers and then she walks away. Dad follows.
Time slowly passes in the car. I read my book and soon I begin to sweat with nervousness. I check my watch. The reapings have begun by now. I begin to shake with fear of being reaped. I'd surely die. I have no skill whatsoever and I won't be able to make any allies. Another fifteen minutes pass. I finish my book and stare out the window, waiting for Dad to get back.
My heart flutters with relief as I see him in the distance as he begins to approach the car. But where's Nadine? I guess she decided to walk home from the square. Suddenly I spot two figures in matching uniforms march next to Dad. Is he under arrest? But then I see that Dad looks unhappy. Normally he's ecstatic during the reaping because he likes seeing kids fight to the death. But why now...? Did Nadine get reaped!?
Dad reaches the car and opens the door for me. "Come on," he says. "You have to come with us. You have been reaped."
My head spins. "No!" I scream. I shove the door close and lock each one. No one is going to take me away. Dad is yelling at me from outside, but I ignore him and act as if I'm reading my book.
Suddenly the window crashes and glass explodes everywhere. One of the peacekeepers has shattered the window with his baton. Before I can react he is dragging me through the window and over the glass. Small needles of glass seem to pull the skin off my back as I scream hysterically.
Knowing that if I keep this up I will get injected with sleep medicine, I shut myself up as the peacekeeper takes my arm. The second peacekeeper takes my other arm and together they drag me to the square. I whimper as we approach it. From the roped off sections, I see kids I barely recognize laughing and screaming insults at me. I shut my eyes and cry and they continue to jeer and shout insults. The peacekeepers drag me onstage and drop me next to a boy, who I guess has already been reaped. Sobbing, I slump down on the stage before I am pulled up again and pushed into the Justice Room. I whirl around in shock as the doors close behind me and I am let alone.
Martin Wimbleton's Reaping
I take a bite of the pancake and syrup breakfast. The flavor erupts on my tongue and I take a gulp of milk before turning back to Hyatt, the servant.
I scowl and snarl at him ferociously. "I hate you!" I scream and yank the plate from the table, hurling it at his head. He ducks and it smashes against the wall. Hyatt looks up, startled. Why is he so surprised? If I don't like what he cooks, aren't I supposed to let him know?
"No!" I holler at him. "It tasted bad! Now put the plate back together and hit yourself with it!"
Hyatt rolls his eyes and gets a broom to sweep up the remains of the plate. He's such a horrible person. Hyatt is somewhere in his twenties and is the worst cook. Literally. He thinks I'm a spoiled brat, but he should know by know what types of maple syrup I like on my pancakes!
Furiously I grab my money bag and storm out the door of our mansion to go to the market. Our house is one of the biggest in District 10, located right on a large cattle ranch. Behind a circular fence is a dry patch of grass where all of the cows live. I can see Mother by the cows, feeding them and filling up their water containers.
"Hello, Mother!" I practically sing as I pass her. She raises her hand in greeting.
Mother thinks I am a perfect, incredible son. Of course, I am exactly that, so I don't know what is wrong with Hyatt. Maybe his head was beaten in as a child, for all I care.
I make my way down the path to the market, about a quarter mile down the road. Ugh, this is so annoying! I shouldn't have to walk such a distance, stupid Hyatt should do it instead. Then again, Hyatt is so uneducated he probably can't identify the difference between an apple and a pear.
I pass a poor begging girl in a tattered pink dress.
"Do you have any money to spare?" she asks in that horrid, disgusting tone.
"Get away from me!" I shriek at her. "I'll call the police on you, you uncivilized brat! You probably have rabies, and I hope your parents are executed or turned into avoxes!" With that, I kick her in the stomach and storm off.
At the store, I pick out some lemons and apples. At the cashier, the man behind the counter charges four cents too much, so I hurl an apple at his head and storm off with the rest.
On the way back, I spy my friend Howard, who is incredibly poor. After all, his house is only nine thousand square feet while mine is ten. While we go through the neighborhood, we have chats about how improper the beggars in the street are. They have no right to be polluting our streets and taking up space.
At a fork in the road we say farewell.
"I'll see you at the reapings, and we get to see what idiotic child will be picked," I say om a snarky tone and then I stalk off. Once home, I dump the groceries on the table and walk to the bathroom. I'm sweating terribly because of the long walk. In the mirror, I see my beautiful features flashing out at me. My handsome brown hair is soaked and my brown eyes glitter with generosity. I'm also incredibly skinny- 140 pounds at a 5 foot 2 height- I know, very fit. Some of the other kids at school think I'm fat but they're just jealous. I'd like to see them get reaped and get a sword in the heart during the bloodbath. What a proper sight that would be.
I take a shower to wash off the sweat and then I go back to the kitchen to make lunch for myself. I make a delightful soup, so mouthwatering and perfect. Perfect. It's the right word, no- the perfect word to describe me.
Mother enters the room. "Hello, Martin," she says cheerfully. "What are you making?"
"You can't have any!" I scream at her. "You stupid, fat, hideous parent! I hate you!" With that, I run up the stairs. What is wrong with my parents!? I think they have some mental disability that makes them so idiotic. Dad is just the same.
I scream into the pillow and run around the room, yelling and tearing out my hair. I hate my parents! Why is my life so awful!? I'm too amazing to deserve this horrible life!
I slump against the wall and remain like that for a couple of hours. Then I look at the clock on the wall. It is almost time for the reapings. Slowly I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then I go to the living room to get my shoes. Mother is wearily sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee.
"Don't worry!" I say warmly as I approach her. "I forgive you for being such a bad parent today. I know you love me, especially since I'm so perfect!" She sighs and picks up her bag.
"Let's go to the square now," she says tiredly. "Dad will be there."
Dad is a peacekeeper here in District 10, so he doesn't have much time for our family. Hyatt bids us farewell and I glare at him before we exit.
Slowly we make our way to the plaza which is located a half mile away. Once again I begin to sweat due to the large distance.
When we finally reach the square, most of the people have arrived. After my finger is pricked I take my spot next to Howard as we discuss how to get rid of all of the poor in town. Finally, the improper escort, Atalyta, stands from her seat and walks over to the microphone. She clears her throat and then begins.
"Hello!" she says happily. "Welcome to this year's reapings for District 10! I know that this is such an exciting event for us all, but we need to begin 226 years ago..." Atalyta begins her dull speech about how the districts have been formed.
"Now then!" she giggles. "Let's choose our tributes. Ladies first!"
Atalyta makes her way to the bowl, stumbling in her yellow heels and grabs a piece of paper from the bowl. She returns to the microphone.
"Now!" she announces. "This years tribute is... Nosliw Enneyahc?"
There is silence from the crowd.
"Oopsies!" she giggles. "I was reading it upside down! Now, this year's female tribute is... Chayenne Wilson!"
Cheers erupt from the crowd. I have heard of this girl before- apparently she is very improper. But unrest travels through the crowd as the people begin to realize that she isn't here. Heads turn and swivel as they glance at the section of which she should be standing.
I take notice of the mayor, who stands with a somewhat pained expression on his face. The mayor walks to Atalyta and whispers something in her ear. At once she motions to two peacekeepers who quickly march away with the mayor.
"Well!" she chirps. "How exciting! In the meantime, let's choose our courageous male tribute!"
Atalyta skips over to the bowl and digs her hand in. Several papers flutter out as her hand returns with one. Then she prances back to the microphone and reads the name.
"Martin Wimbleton!"
My blood seems to boil as I cross my arms across my chest. Eyes glare at me with hatred- these citizens are so improper, but I do not budge.
Atalyta follows the citizens' gazes and her eyes meet mine. "Martin?" she says in her obnoxious tone. "Come on up, Martin! You don't have to be afraid of me, I don't often bite strangers."
A peacekeeper pushes through the other sixteen year olds in the crowd and points a gun at my back. "Get on the stage," he mutters under his breath.
"NO!" I explode, screaming at the top of my lungs. "I hate the Capitol! Someone volunteer for me! Now! Or I will think bad thoughts about you all!" There is no response from the crowd. The peacekeeper nudges my back with the pistol. Fuming, I make my way out of the crowd and up the steps. Then I shout one last thing. "I'll kill the Capitol!" I shout. "I'll kill them all, one by one, and rip out their improper throats! I am too proper!" Furiously I sit on the stage and wait for someone to volunteer. Still, no one does. The improper mayor's daughter returns and slumps next to me.
This has to have been the most improper thing that has happened all day.
Sorry, these have probably been the worst reapings I have written in this fanfic. Anyways, the one tribute I still need is from District 11, so I can't start writing until I have him. So PM me for the format of how to create the tribute. I'm so happy there's only three reapings left, you guys have no idea how boring it is to write them.