Mentions of child molestation in Oberon's POV
Oberon Murdoch, District Nine male (17)
Regan's face was relaxed as she walked her stuffed bear into the store we'd made out of some old cardboard boxes. About the only thing that could make me smile was seeing my little sister at peace.
"Good morning, Ms. Bear!" I said, waggling my stuffed fox. "Do you have any sausages today?"
"Oh, boy, you came at just the right time! I have some deer sausages and they're on sale!" Regan said. She was only five years old and already she had a sharp little mind. Whenever we played pretend she always wanted her bear to start from nothing and work her way up until she owned the entire town. If we got out of here in one piece I suspected she'd be a business owner someday.
"Let me get one dozen, please," I said. Regan counted out twelve pretend sausages and put them into a pretend bag, which I pretended to take.
"Is there anything else you need?" she asked.
I was just about to answer when the door cracked open. We looked up and saw Mr. Bailey, the orphanage headmaster. He never came by the childrens' rooms throughout the day- only when the state inspector was on-site and he needed to pretend he cared about us.
Mr. Bailey seemed startled to see me. "Oh, hey, Oberon. What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Just playing with Regan," I said. I wasn't sure why he'd ask a question like that. What else would I be doing? And I came to play with Regan just about every day. That's what brothers do.
"You going to be here long?" he asked.
"Probably," I said, still not understanding.
Mr. Bailey looked over me and to Regan. His eyes flickered in a weird way. I'd seen it before but I couldn't think of where. For some reason I was starting to feel on edge. I scooted closer to Regan like it had suddenly gotten colder outside.
"Okay. See you around," Mr. Bailey said, and he smiled at us and shut the door.
Okay, that's just weird. Mr. Bailey never smiles at us. And why was he staring at Regan?
All at once my stomach clenched and I struggled not to throw up. Mr. Bailey wants to have sex with Regan.
It couldn't be true. It wasn't even possible, was it? You couldn't even… she wasn't… big enough. It wouldn't even work. It wasn't possible someone wanted to do that. It was beyond imagination. But why was he staring at her? Why did his eyes flicker in a way I suddenly remembered? It was the way a man looked at a woman's body. But Regan's not a woman. It couldn't be the way a man looked at a girl's body. It couldn't. But I couldn't afford to not address it. I was all Regan had. I was her only defense.
"Hey Regan, you know how we wanted to move out of here someday?" I asked, smiling like nothing was wrong.
"Yeah?" she said, setting down Ms. Bear. Regan was only two years old when we lost our family but somehow she still remembered that there was something more than an orphanage out there.
"Let's go today! Let's pack our stuff and just go right now!" I said.
"Really?!" Regan leaned forward, her eyes shining.
"Yeah! Get your stuff and let's go! But don't tell anyone or they'll get jealous," I said. I helped Regan pile her stuff into her little bag, watching the door over my shoulder.
I didn't even want to pause and get my own things on the way out. I wouldn't have stopped at all except I had some spare clothes and a few dollars that would help us until… I didn't know what. As long as we were away from here. I walked us out of a side door like we were just going outside to play, holding my breath the entire time and trying not to panic at the thought of Mr. Bailey happening by and somehow guessing what I was doing. We made it out of the door without anyone seeing us and I just kept us walking. I didn't look back at the orphanage. There was nothing there I wanted to see.
"Hold on a minute," I said as we passed a store after the orphanage was out of sight. "Just gonna use the bathroom."
I ran into the stall and threw up.
Mazie "Mai" Rye, District Nine female- 16
"And the lady said "have you seen my parakeet?"
Some of the children around me tittered. One even belly-laughed, probably because she was as scared as I was. Every year I put on a show while I was waiting in the finger-pricking line. The Reaping was going to come whether I liked it or not. I could spend all day thinking about it, feeling my stomach roil and my skin crawl, or I could choose to laugh at it. People like funny people. They don't like scared people.
"Anyone notice how Mr. Farr always sounds sounds like he's running a mob front instead of a butcher shop?" I started, speaking about our local upstanding meat vendor. "He's like, 'you want me to save the blood for you?'''- I put on a mobster accent. "Why I would want you to save the blood for me? Just throw that away, you weirdo." It sounded funnier if you were there, I promise. It's not the same experience reading it written down.
When I finally reached the end of the line a dour-faced man took my finger and readied the spring-loaded needle.
"At least buy me dinner first!" I blurted out. The man looked at me with the dead-eyed glaze of a checked-out government worker.
Well, I guess they can't all land. I took my place in a row of girls and fidgeted while I waited for the escort to come. A few times I'd told jokes in line but after a Peacekeeper threatened to slap me upside the head last year I stopped.
Two more years, two more years, just two more years. Then I was home free and no more Reapings forever. I could go on to live my glorious life as a famous standup comedian. Or more likely I could go on to live my glorious life as a field worker and tell jokes all day for free. That worked too.
The girl next to me started to cry. I felt my cheeks flush and looked away in embarrassment. I never knew what to do when people were upset. It always seemed like a private moment that I was intruding on. I knew I was mortified when people saw me cry. I didn't want people to think I was needy or to try to comfort me. I preferred to put on a brave face and try to find something to laugh about.
I nibbled at my fingernail as Flora neared the bowl. I'd written entire routines about Nine's own Flora Amfora. From her name to her ballgown dresses to her silly accent, she was made for comedy.
"Mazie Rye!" she announced.
That's not funny at all. The voice in my head was almost betrayed. It was like "It's bad enough you got sent to the Hunger Games but she didn't even make a joke out of it!"
Even though it wasn't funny at all I started to nervously laugh. I felt like if I just laughed hard enough somehow there would be something funny and then I wouldn't be going to the games and-
It was getting hard to breathe. I tried to steady my breathing but then my inner comedian took over and I thought of something way funnier.
Turns out Peacekeepers don't think it's funny when a Tribute faints, or pretends to faint. They just throw a bucket of water on them and make them get back up. It was really cold, too.