"Fear doesn't shut you down; it wakes you up" - Veronica Roth
District 9 Reapings: Rio Clas (15) and Marina Stroder (16)
There is nothing more tragic than a joyful past. Marina Stroder mulls over this fact as she wakes up, cheek pressed against the cold cobblestones.
There's no such thing as lying in when one sleeps on the streets. Marina and the other two homeless girls know to only sleep until the sun is up. Come day, peacekeepers will comb the streets. And Peacekeepers don't take to the homeless kindly.
"It's sunny outside," Marina mutters to the two girls beside her. She doesn't say this with much glee. She simply states the fact.
"Perfect weather for the reapings," Fayza replies in the same matter-of-fact tone. It's much too early in the morning for either girl to add enthusiasm to their words.
"Do we have to go?" Melody, the youngest of the girls, asks.
"It's better to play it safe," Marina tells the girl. "If people find us skipping…" she doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't have to.
Marina is unlike the other homeless girls. It is her past that sets her apart. For, Marina had a very good home. She had two loving parents. She had one beautiful goddess of a little sister. But, now she has two dead parents. And one beautiful goddess of a dead little sister. What a horrible difference the present tense makes in the girl's life.
Fayza and her younger sister, Melody, are homeless because their home was so bad the streets of District 9 were a solace. They never experienced the same fall from grace Marina did. Most girls never do. Marina supposes this makes her special, in a very morbid way.
"What are we gonna do for breakfast?" Melody asks. She has pointed her question towards Marina.
"I'll see what I can find," Marina says. She's always been the one to get food. Fayza nor Melody have the same slippery fingers that Marina has. They rely on her for stealing.
And Marina is pretty skilled when it comes to the art of thieving. It's all really learning how to read people, figuring out how to manipulate people. She can tell the exact moment that the baker isn't quite alert; the moment that he wont notice her stick a loaf of bread under her shirt. Marina is, quite simply, good at reading people. This gets her almost everything she needs to survive on the streets of District 9.
"You two wait here," Marina says, getting to her feet. "I'll be back soon. With breakfast. And it's gonna be a good breakfast today. I can feel it." She grins, offering one last wave before heading off.
The girls watch their friend's tall, slim, figure glide down the street. Her brown hair, with brilliant blonde and red highlights apparent in the sun, billows behind her in the wind.
Rio Clas' shoes barely lift the ground as he shuffles across the street. He thrusts his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched. The collar of his button-down shirt is torn, and the laceration he's got on his knee is bleeding through the fabric of his pants.
Rio is handsome in a boyish sort of way. His brown hair still sticks up in that unruly and childish manner it tends to. His soft brown eyes are big and bright. Even at this moment in which a grimace occupies his face, the two irises glisten brilliantly.
He pauses, and leans over with his hands resting on his knees. He spits a wad of blood-filled saliva onto the street. He grimaces. The coppery taste in his mouth makes his stomach uneasy.
A couple of girl's from Rio's grade pass by him. They stare at him as they hurry past, taking in his disheveled appearance. Though not one of them mutters even a word in his direction. The last thing most people want is to get involved with "the basket case" (as many of the kids have started calling him). He knows he deserves the name.
"Shit," a voice comes from behind Rio. "Had quite a morning, have you?"
Rio spins around, sharply. Timba, perhaps Rio's only friend as of now, has stopped walking. He's standing behind Rio, a concerned frown upon his lips.
"I'm fine," Rio responds, curtly. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.
Timba sighs. "Who was it this time?"
"Jace. Stupid asshole. Said my dad was…" Rio shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. He's gonna pay for this. He is."
"You have to just ignore him next time," Timba says. "Otherwise you're just going to keep getting beat up."
Rio's eyes immediately narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I…just…" Timba knows all too well he has to be careful what he says to Rio. Rio has always had trouble controlling his anger. But, in the past couple years it's got even worse. Almost every day Rio gets into a fight with one of the boy's at school. A black eye has become the boy's signature accessory. "Jace is a lot bigger than you," Timba continues. Although Rio is almost average height for a fifteen-year-old boy, he's skinny and scrawny, just like all kids who don't quite get enough food.
"You calling me weak?" Rio asks.
"No. I'm just looking out for you."
Rio doesn't know how to respond. No one looks out for him. Ever. His mother's dead. Even his father hardly pays attention to him. Timba is the only kid at school that doesn't ignore him.
And Timba is probably the most generous person in District 9, Rio reckons. He goes out of his way to help civilians, always respects everyone he interacts with. Sometimes Rio wonders if he deserves such a friend.
"Well, ignoring all the blood, and torn clothes…" Timba says, "You look nice."
Rio scoffs. "Sure. Okay."
"No. You really do."
Rio stares at Timba. He doesn't respond.
For a moment the two boys stand in silence across from each other. Timba smiles in that soft way he does.
Rio has such an urge to brush back the strand of hair on Timba's forehead, to lean in and-
Rio shakes his head. He looks away. He's been having such off thoughts lately.
"See you later," he says. "I gotta go."
After Marina is reaped, she thinks of her friends. As much as she wants to fall right to her bony knees and wail and moan, she knows Fayza and Melody need to see her look strong.
So standing on stage, Marina crosses her arms over her chest and stares, cooly, into the audience. Her blue-green eyes sweep across the faces of her district. A hint of a smile lies on her lips. She is scared, she is terrified. But she is also aware of the fact that not a single person watching her knows.
The skirt she sports reveals a scar on her right knee. Although the scar is only on account of a fishing trip, it certainly gives her an air of toughness. The onlookers are all slightly mesmerized by such a thin, pretty girl, embodying such a look of power.
"Now, who wants to meet our lucky boy?" District 9's escort, Tuna Moon, asks.
A tepid round of applause follows. Tuna draws a boy's name, not even trying to get the audience excited.
"Our male tribute is…Rio Clas!"
Immediately there's a slight commotion. The cameras focus on a boy sprinting through the crowd. A couple of the boys around him try to stop him, but he manages to get away. He sprints across the square. He dodges one peacekeeper particularly brilliantly, only to get slammed onto the ground a moment later.
"Get off me!" The boy, Rio, demands. He shoots a punch right at one of the peacekeepers. In a second he's got his hands pinned behind his back and he's being ushered to stage. He keeps his voice low, so much of his audience is left only to lipread the curses he aims at the peacekeepers around him.
"Any volunteers?" Tuna asks.
Rio gets quiet, his gaze sweeping over the audience. His brown eyes soften, and a hopeful, pleading look oozes from them.
No one volunteers.
It's been a while. Trust me, I know. And I'm sorry. Really sorry.
District 10's reapings should be up soon.
