I felt like the classic Reaping style was getting old and boring, so I'm going to try to mix it up a bit. For these two, I've included flashbacks from their backstory.
District 7
Erida Birch, 17
2 years ago
The marketplace is abuzz with people, so crowded I can barely see a few steps ahead of me. Even though I'm fifteen and far too old to be holding my mother's hand, I grip her tightly, not wanting to lose her in the mass of people. District 7 hosts a giant discount on everything in the marketplace twice a year. It's just an excuse for the sellers to get rid of all of their products that are about to go bad, but no one in District 7 can resist a discount, even for bruised apples and nearly-expired cheeses.
Mom pulls me toward a table selling stale bread. They look to be as hard as a rock, but Mom gleams at the sign promising an 80% discount. My attention wanders as Mom begins discussing the remaining time for the bread with the merchant.
It's sort of amusing how far these shop owners push the idea that they can sell slightly expired products. I see a table of a woman selling clearly rotted fruit. There's another man with bread, but these ones actually seem molded. I'm relieved to see that people have enough sense to stay mostly away from tables like these.
A girl only slightly older than me has joined our table, admiring the breads on display. She has a dark hoodie pulled up over her hair, almost completely concealing her face. Her hand drifts over one of the loaves.
The next thing I know, she's taking off down the street, a loaf of stale bread clutched in her hand.
"Thief! Thief" the merchant yells. My mom looks up from the display of bread, her eyes searching anxiously for this thief.
People yell out in indignation as the Peacekeepers push past them, storming through the crowd.
"Where?" one of them demands, loading a gun.
Before anyone can answer, one of the Peacekeepers sees my mom, a loaf of bread clutched in her hand as she looks around in fright. A loud gunshot cracks through the crowd, and my mom cries out in pain.
She crumples to the ground, a stain of red already spreading around the small bullet-hole in her stomach.
"Mom!" I yell, falling down beside her. Blood is dribbling from the corner of her mouth. "Mom…"
Present Day
My friends and I have a ritual to meet up before the Reaping. We've had it in place for five years now, ever since my first Reaping. It's our little way of calming ourselves before the Reaping, which otherwise would terrify us so much we just might not go (which would have very bad consequences).
Today, we're meeting at our school, which is closed for the holiday. It's near to the town square, which is the only reason we choose to meet here. I wouldn't normally hang out at my school during my free time.
When I arrive, Evylin-Rose and Trista are already there, lounging on one of the park benches lining the school's entrance. Sonia clearly hasn't arrived yet. They call out when they see me.
"Hey," I smile, taking a seat next to Evylin-Rose. "Are you happy to almost be done with all of this?"
"Ugh, yes," Evylin-Rose sighs. "I wish you could be done after today as well - if only you had been born a few weeks later."
I shrug, trying to hide my jealousy that my friends are nearly done with this terror. Everyone but me is already eighteen, making this their last Reaping. At seventeen, I still have two more Reapings to go. I know being Reaped is unlikely, but you can never stifle that fear you get when the escort chooses a name.
"Is this Lynde's first year?" Trista asks me.
Evylin-Rose and I respond with a "no," at the same time, evoking a slight giggle from Trista. At this point, Evylin-Rose and I know each other and our families so well that we can't respond on each other's behalf.
"Lynde will turn twelve next year," I explain, referring to my younger sister.
"So one more year before she realizes life is terrible?" Trista asks.
"I guess," laugh.
We enter the Town Square a tightly-packed group, not wanting to separate from each other. It's only when we've all been checked in and it's time to move to our respective sections that we're forced to separate. They're allowed to stay together, but being the only seventeen year old in our group, I have to face the affair by myself.
We hug each other goodbye and wish each other luck before I step into my section, surrounded by a bunch of fellow seventeen-year-olds I don't know. I stay near the aisle so I can leave quickly when the Reaping is over.
Our escort, Leon Parshener, is dressed in a bright lime-green suit today, perhaps to honor our District's lumber industry. Out of all of the escorts, I think Leon is quite a good one. Like most Capitolians, he's delusional and annoying, but I think he generally cares about his tributes, which is more than most escorts can say.
Leon stands up, taking the microphone.
"Hello, District 7! Are you excited for this year's Reaping?"
Dead silence.
"Well, I am. I have a good feeling about our tributes this year! As usual, let's watch the video!"
The video begins playing, but the only one who seems remotely interested in it is Leon. Despite its runtime of 5 minutes, it seems to take 20. I just want to get the Reaping over with and confirm that no one I care about will be going into the Hunger Games this year.
"Ladies first!" Leon exclaims. He happily trots over to the girls' bowl, and digs around for the first name. He chooses one buried deep at the bottom of the bowl. I try to figure out the percentage that it might be my own slip of paper, but I've never been good at math, especially not when my heart's beating at what seems to be a bpm of 300.
When he's back at the center of the stage, he unfolds it slowly, probably knowing it'll drive us insane.
"Erida Birch!" he finally reads.
My limbs go numb.
District 7
Sycamore Fultowe, 17
7 years ago
"Do you ever think about what it would be like to kill someone?"
I look at Mirwar in shock.
"What? No!" I exclaim. Mirwar looks down, his lips pursed.
"I do. Sometimes."
My stomach begins to twist. What is Mirwar talking about?
"Well, I think-" I begin to advise him to get help, but he cuts me off.
"I mean, I don't really want to kill anyone. I would never want to hurt anyone," he assures me. "But sometimes I get thoughts, you know?"
I don't know. But I nod my head to reassure him. I immediately regret it. I usually like to go along with whatever people say to avoid making waves, but I can't really do that for this, can I? Mirwar may be my friend, but I don't want to pretend like I'm totally cool with his homicidal thoughts.
"You won't tell anyone, right?" Mirwar asks. His dark eyes stare deep into mine. I'm tempted to look away, but I don't. Mirwar's gaze is starting to scare me with the way his eyes bear into mine.
"No," I say, somewhat lying. To be honest, I don't know what to do right now. Mirwar's my best friend and I don't want to betray his trust, but… this is weird.
"Did you see the Hunger Games last night? Yeric killed Autumn. And, well… she bled a lot. He uses that machete, remember? So blood went everywhere. And I couldn't help but imagine how it would feel to run my fingers through her blood. I bet it would be warm. I get scrapes sometimes, but you should have seen how much she bled, man." Mirwar lets out a high-pitched laugh that makes my skin crawl.
There's a long pause as he waits for me to respond.
"My parents don't let me watch the Hunger Games," I finally say.
"Why not? It's really cool," Mirwar says, and I shrug. His initial shyness about his dark thoughts have been replaced with a childish glee. I think he knows I'm not going to tell anyone, even if I haven't decided whether or not to yet. I think we both know I'll keep his little secret. I wouldn't want to make people think he's sick, even if his laugh puts a giant knot in my throat. And maybe this is just a phase or an exaggeration or something. It's probably not a big deal.
2 years ago
"I still think about it sometimes, you know."
I barely hear him. His voice is muffled by the pillow against his cheek. I yawn a bit, wishing we could just go to sleep. My parents don't like when we stay up too late at sleepovers and I have baseball practice tomorrow morning.
"Think about what?" I inquire, barely interested.
"Killing people."
He says it with so much nonchalance I think he's joking. I know better, but I wish I didn't. I wish I could pretend it was a joke and move on and pretend like he never told me about his secret obsession when we were kids.
"You do?"
My stomach feels heavy, and I start to sweat. The question "what do I do?" echoes around my head, but I can't find an answer.
"There was a woman who was killed in Town Square the other day. She was shopping or something, I don't really care, and some Peacekeeper shot her because he thought she was stealing. He shot her in the stomach, though. She bled out on the ground. People were crying and stuff, which was pretty loud and annoying, but it was cool anyway. I like it better in the Hunger Games, when it's just one on one."
"Yeah, I heard about that. I feel bad for the family. Don't you?" I ask. I know what his answer will be before I even ask the question. I think I wanted to give him a chance. I wanted to give him the opportunity to say he felt bad. To say, 'yeah, it was awful. Death is bad and I have empathy and I'm not the monster you're starting to think I am.'
But he doesn't say any of that. He doesn't even respond to my question. I sneakily glance over at him from my bed. He's staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. All of a sudden, his head snaps to face me. It's as if he knew I was staring at him.
"I see death a lot. But I don't really think it'd be the same as taking a life, you know? Feeling it fade through your hands… that would be pretty awesome, dude."
Mirwar slides out of his sleeping bag and starts crawling over to me. My head screams at me to get up, but I feel paralyzed. My limbs won't move.
"What are you doing, bro? Lay back down," I say. I was trying to sound casual but I sound as terrified as I am. Mirwar reaches into the waistband of his pajama pants. He produces a pocket knife.
"Stay still. I wanna try something," he says, creeping toward me. His eyes reflect no humanity, no feeling, only pure curiosity, like a scientist studying a plant.
"Get away from me, dude!" I yell, untangling my legs from the bedsheets around me. In the time it takes me to throw off my sheets, Mirwar has launched himself on top of me, the small knife poised inches from my face. I grab his wrist, pressing him away from me.
"Mom! Dad!" I scream as Mirwar fights to sink the knife into my skull.
The door bursts open.
