DISTRICT 11
Neville : Antwan
The Reaping
Antwan was the dictionary definition of a good big brother. He protected, he instructed, he loved, he made damn well sure that his siblings—all six of them—lived the best lives possible.
They always cried on the way to the Reaping, sobbed uncontrollably as he and Pistil lined up with the rest of the of-age kids.
And the Centennial Censure, more than any previous Games, was meant to be a spectacle.
After the standard "the Capitol is so kind and giving and generous and this is a completely reasonable punishment" video, therefore, a new step was added:
Watching the other Reapings.
District 12 went first.
The eleven-year-old was a waif of a boy names Taber. Honestly, if Antwan hadn't been explicitly told he was eleven, he would have sworn Taber was no older than eight.
Not a great start.
The first twelve-year-old, on the other hand, was a large blocky girl named Mada. She was, as it turned out, an orphan—the District residents made appropriate noises, sure, but they were also clearly less put-off than they had been with Taber.
And then came the thirteen-year-olds.
"...will be... Frank—"
"I volunteer as tribute!" A boy shouted out, interrupting the District 12 escort, Fuzzy Glow, before she finished reading off the third name.
The crowd, predictably, gasped.
"I volunteer!" The boy repeated.
"Oh!" Fuzzy Glow said, surprised. "So early! Well then, how about you come up here and tell everybody your name?"
"I'm Sean Kint." The boy—oh god, that was George—said, coming to a stop at the very top of the stairs.
"Lovely! What a... fascinating name!" Fuzzy said. Her comments about Taber' and Mada's names had been much the same, actually. "And why did you choose to volunteer?"
"Well, I figured somewhat had to." Sean said. "And then I figured why not me? Actually, my brother—his name's Conor, he's over there—and I wrestled for it."
Fuzzy giggled and the cameras panned over to the identical boy who was standing next to the place Sean had recently vacated.
"Oh, your twin, then?"
"Yes ma'am." Sean said. "He's older, technically, but then I won the wrestling match."
Conor made a face. Fuzzy Glow giggled.
Antwan stopped paying attention.
Fred was here. Fred was alive. Fred was Sean or Conor, and one of them had just volunteered. Which meant... he had to too.
12's fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen-year-olds were all incredibly weak looking. 12's seventeen and eighteen-year-olds looked a bit better, but not by much. None were volunteers.
After a few closing remarks from Fuzzy—something about having a good feeling, and an encouraging message for the Capitol watchers back in her home, and the ever-repeated phrase about odds—it was Glitter Odair's turn.
"Hello, hello, hello, welcome to District 11's one hundredth Reaping! It's so lovely to be here on this fine, sunny day—perfect weather for such a momentous occasion. It was absolutely wonderful to see my coworker at work, and I'd like to take the time to thank Tercel Thrax for the amazing addition that he Games.
Now, it is time to begin with the youngest of our competitors: our eleven-year-old tribute will be... Taneka Fer! Come on up, Taneka! Oh, do you have something to say to the people?"
"My-my birthday was two days ago!" Taneka sobbed.
"Oh, happy birthday, then! Aren't you so lucky to be able to take part in something as amazing as the Centennial Censure!" Taneka did not seem to think she was lucky.
"Up next, our twelve-year-old tribute! Who will it be... Shanice Vers!"
Shanice was, if anything, coping less well than Taneka.
"And for our thirteen-year-old... Deon Baker! Deon, will you—"
"I volunteer!" Antwan shouted. He felt ill. Behind him he could hear his youngest sister, only four years old, scream.
"Ah! And we have our own volunteer! Please come up to the front!"
Antwan slowly made his way forward. At least, he thought (because positive thinking was always important), it would be easy to explain his decision: Deon was in his class, and the poor boy had had an accident five years before and lost his left leg. Unfortunately, nothing but straight-up death kept a person from being selected as tribute, so up until Antwan had volunteered Deon had looked as if he'd been not only given a death sentence, but that he'd been given a particularly long and painful one too—the last handicapped boy to enter the games had been used as target practice by the Careers, and they hadn't bothered to make it quick either.
He explained this, in much fewer words and in far less detail, to Glitter.
"Ah, lovely!" Glitter said. "What a kind thing to do, to give District 11 a greater chance of earning a victor!"
"Yes." Antwan said, flat-faced. "Because that is what is important."
