"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you."

-A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh

District Twelve Reaping

Ember Burns

"Good morning, Ember!"

"Hello, Ember!"

"Hi, Ember!"

"Ember."

My four little sisters' voices wake me from a wonderful dream about flying away with mockingjays, which are plentiful around here. Now I can't take comfort in the dream, and must face the Reaping. But I could never be mad at them for that.

I sweep up my youngest sister, Chandra, who is three years old, and tickle her. "Good morning, giggle bug! Uh-oh, watch out, it's the tickle monster!" She squeals in laughter and wriggles away. I grab the next sister, Blaise, who is six. "Hello, sunshine! Want to fly away today?" She jumps onto my bed, and I snatch up eight year old Firee. "I've got you, little princess! No escape now!" She laughs and squirms out of my arms, leaving Phoenix, twelve years old, who is sitting motionlessly on the floor. I approach her cautiously, and softly touch her black hair, so much like mine.

"Hello, Phoenix. Did the sun come up okay today?" I always have to ask her that, every morning, or she'll sprawl out on the floor and cry all day. She doesn't respond, but stares at me for a moment, then leaves the room.

I sigh and help my other sisters get dressed, before putting on my own white shirt and black skirt.

"Why is Phoenix sad again?" asks Chandra in her high pitched little voice, as I pull her dress over her head.

"She isn't just sad, giggle bug. Phoenix has a condition called autism. She's just a bit different from you," I tell her. "Don't tell her that, though. Just leave her alone, and she'll be fine."

I love my sisters and my mom. I would do anything at all for them. I would without a doubt volunteer for Phoenix if she was Reaped today, even though I'm only fifteen. Mom says I'm braver than a lion and wiser than an owl, and that I can do anything. I wish this were true, but it can't be. If I could do anything, have anything in the world, have just one wish granted, it would be for Phoenix to be better. She never smiles, rarely talks. There is nothing anyone can do.

"Good morning, everyone!"

My mom is here, balancing a tray with six bowls of porridge on it. Phoenix is lurking behind her. Mom can always brighten our world. She sweeps by each of us, handing out bowls and friendly greetings.

"Oh, Chandra, you're getting so big!"

"Blaise, you sweetie, you look like an angel."

"Firee, you're prettier than ever today."

Then, "Ember, dear. You are such a good little mother to them all. Give me a kiss."

Our blue eyes meet as I peck her on the cheek. She smells like cinnamon and cream. I feel her trembling as I enfold her in a hug. She feels like a small, delicate bird, and I realize for the first time how much bigger I am than she.

"Oh, Ember. I'm so worried about you and Phoenix today. I hope you two will be safe. I love you," she whispers. "I love you too, Mom," I tell her. I do. I love all of them, sisters and Mom and Dad, who is in jail for trying to stop a peacekeeper from knocking down a little boy. I love my family. I could never live without them.

When we all finish our porridge, we set off to the Reaping. I take turns carrying Firee, Blaise and Chandra, but Mom carries Phoenix the whole way. We sign in, Phoenix barely flinching at the prick. When we go to our places, the escort arrives. What a ridiculous thing. His name is Bovar Bimmerly, but everyone in the district calls him Bowtie Blimp. He taps the microphone with a ring bedecked hand.

"Hello, hello!" he says into it, straightening his absurd green bowtie. "I am just so excited to see all these dear little children! And two of them to have the honor of competing in the Games! Let's choose a girl now." He pats his round belly and plucks a paper out. What if it's me? Or Phoenix? Please, please, please don't be-

"Ember Burns!"

-me. It was. It just had to be me, a girl who would never hurt a fly. A girl whose sixteenth birthday is in a few days. I slowly walk up to Bovar. I hear Mom and my sisters, even Phoenix, crying for me. I must win. I must change from a girl who would never hurt a fly, to a girl who will do anything to survive. I'll come home for them. I'll come home for them all.

Sam McEowan

"Thirty."

"Twenty."

"I'll make it twenty five."

"Take it down to twenty three."

"Don't push your luck, boy."

"Twenty four."

The shopkeeper grins. "Young man, with anyone else, I'd tell them to pay thirty or leave, but you're the most amusement and best bargainer I've had in a while. I'll let it be twenty coins, just this once."

"Thank you, sir," I smile. What had Jeffrey called me? 'Smooth as a snake, sharp as a knife'? Seems like he was right.

I thank the man again, pay twenty coins for the meat and cheese, and return home, whistling. Mum, Dad, Linda and Jeffrey will be pleased as can be when I come home with the food, and extra coins.

"Sam! Sam!"

Good night, it's Linda coming to find me already. Why does she think I can't take care of myself? I'm sixteen, for heaven's sake.

"Hey, Linda," I call. "I've got the food and extra coins because- oooff!" Linda crashes into me, and I fall to the ground, my blonde hair splattered with mud. But we need the food! The meat falls into one of my outstretched hands, the cheese into the other. I catch the coins in my mouth, nasty, that, I'll have to rinse thoroughly, but I caught everything. I stand up, bow, and announce to everyone around me, "Yes, I am Sam McEowan, the amazing, the splendid...wow, that was random. Anyway, tada!"

Linda blushes. "Sorry, Sam the amazing. I was just coming to see if you were almost done. Because you said you composed another poem in honor of, ah, Becky. Let's go home and have you recite it."

I follow her back quietly. Poor Becky. Becky was my friend, but she died in the Games just last year. I have been coming up with poems for her ever since.

When we arrive at our cozy little shack, I stand up and solemnly recite the poem.

"Your eyes were emeralds a-gleam, dear,

Your mouth like a ruby red.

Your skin was as white as cream, dear,

But alas, oh alas, you are dead.

Your hair was as black as night, dear,

Your hands were as soft as velvet.

Your soul was so pure and so bright, dear,

Forever will live on your spirit."

Mum, Dad, Linda and Jeffrey applaud loudly, and I hide my face so they can't see it turn red. I have always been of the poetic persuasion. I love coming up with poems and songs. "That was beautiful," says Mum, and wipes away a tear. "Now we have to go to the Reaping. I so hope none of you will be picked, my darlings."

Dear Mum. She's always been a bit sappy, but she means well, and truly cares about everyone.

When we reach the square and sign in, I can't resist a snort at the sight of Bowtie Blimp. He is wearing an orange waistcoat, green trousers, and a magenta top hat. Good night!

He draws a girl's name, and I can't help feeling sorry for 'Ember Burns', though I am glad it wasn't my big sister Linda. Then the Blimp draws a boy's name. For the love of Becky, don't let it be me, please, or Jeffrey. And it is...

"Sam McEowan!"

No. No, no, no, no, no. Hell no. They can't take my Becky and then me, not without a fight. Not without backbone. So I stand straight and tall, and strut up to the stage, trying to pretend nothing is wrong.

The Blimp asks me, "Anything to say to Panem, little boy?"

"Yes," I say as brightly as I can. "One, I'm not a little boy. Two, I wish good luck to all the ladies."

I mean it. Until it's time for me to kill them, because I'm not dying. I've got to live for Mum and Dad and Linda and Jeffrey, and for Becky.

Reapings are done! Hallelujah!