District 7 and 8 Reapings: Kinderszenen
-Belle Sawyer, 16 D7-
I woke up and still felt the dull pain of sorrow that pulsed in my chest and my arms. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a bloody rag. I sat up, my face still tear-stained. I had only slept for 4 or 5 hours at the very most.
Seeing the objects in front of me again made the feelings come back to my throat. If my family had been asleep, I would have let out a small sob, but they were most certainly awake. I looked at the lines that marked my arms, my shoulders, my chest. I looked at the scars that defined me, branded me as a two-faced liar.
I closed my eyes, silently wishing it didn't have to be like this. I wanted to know why I couldn't have just been like my friends and family. I wondered why I had to lie all the time, why I had to hide. I begged anyone or anything that could possibly hear me to take away this pain and sadness.
I knew I was a liar. I knew I was deceitful and two-faced. I knew I was fake, all the time I was fake. I hated being like this. And yet, I didn't have a choice.
"Colton, get your ass out of bed!"
Seeing as nobody was in my room but me, I cringed. I hated hearing it. I hated it so much.
I made myself get out of bed, taking a sweatshirt from my nightstand and putting it on over my head to hide the lines. They were so easily hidden underneath long sleeves and a smile.
I went out to the kitchen, not bothering to make any effort towards my appearance quite yet. Paralee was sitting at the table, nibbling on a piece of bread. She always ate slowly, claiming that it felt like she had more to eat that way.
"About time," she remarked, sliding a piece of bread towards me. "Eat up, Runt."
"Thanks," I said, smiling sunnily at her. She rolled her eyes and looked the other way. I put the bread to my lips and ate. It really wasn't much, but it was food.
"Are you nervous, Colton?" My mother asked, glancing at me.
"Of course I am, a little bit. After all, my name will be in more than last year. And I'm nervous for Huxley, 'f course. Your last year is also your scariest. You have your name in there the most times. 'Nd he took all that tesserae for us…"
"Yes, that was kind of him, wasn't it?" she smiled at me, and then punched my Dad on the shoulder. "Wasn't that kind of your son?"
My father grunted. "Sure." He didn't care much for kids, my father. He usually spent his time out working.
"Well, your daughter is going to be out of here as soon as possible," Paralee said, getting the crumbs off her fingers. I wanted to yell and scream. She's not the only daughter. She's not. I just shifted a little bit, though, swallowing the words down.
"Hmph," said Dad.
"And we'll still check up on her when she does," Mom said, kissing the top of her head.
"Ew," Paralee made a face. If only she'd known how lucky she was.
"Goood morning, family!" Hux said, strutting into the room cheerfully.
"Good morning Hux," Mom said. Huxley had his dark hair combed neatly, a black dress shirt contrasting with his olive skin. His brown eyes were alight with a smile. My brother was always this energetic. He resembled me, though. People had often thought we were twins.
"Morning!" I said to my brother. He darted across the room and gave me an affectionate noogie.
"Morning Little Bro!" Even though the words were said with affection, they still stung and hurt.
"Are you nervous Hux?" I asked.
"Me? Of course not! Because if I'm not reaped then hey, I'm still breathin'! And if I am reaped, I'll just have to kill everyone and win and come home, then we'll be rich! Either way it's a win!" I knew that he meant his words. He was truly confident, dare-I-say arrogant enough to believe that it was that easy.
I just laughed it off, though. "Yeah. True."
"You, little brother, wouldn't last a second in the Games. That's okay, though. Your big brother would volunteer for you if that happened." He sounded genuine, like he would actually do that. Maybe he would… He does care a lot about me…
"Thanks," I said, smiling at him. He sat down and ate.
"Are you really going to the reaping dressed like that?" he asked.
"Of course not," I said.
Suddenly the door opened and I heard another "Gooooood morning family!"
Oh no, I thought. It's Becker! Becker's here and I'm still in my sleeping clothes! I haven't even combed my hair!
Paralee rolled her eyes as he strutted in. His black hair was still damp from a reaping morning bath. He was wearing a periwinkle shirt and a black bowtie, nice dress pants and good shoes. He was smiling brightly, his warm brown eyes lit up with happiness and optimism and confidence.
"How's the family today?"
My mother just laughed. "Do your parents know you're here?"
"Of course!" Becker smiled and I felt my heart pounding. I quickly got up.
"Running away from me already Colton?!" Becker asked with a good-willed smile.
"I have to get changed," I said. "Although getting away from you is a plus." I grinned at him and he laughed, ruffling my hair.
"True, true! You go get changed now."
I went to my room. I was used to changing into clothes like the long-sleeved button-down shirt and black tie, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable. I'd looked in that mirror hundreds of times, and every time the image staring back at me wasn't anything like I wanted. I was used to it, though, so the pain was dull and barely noticeable.
I smoothed my hair and went back out to where Huxley and Becker were laughing loudly. Paralee and my father had left, and my mother was smiling at them.
"Are you going to see Ralph before the reaping?" she asked.
"Yeah, I was just going over there now."
"Good old Ralph!" Huxley said, smiling in a way that made me think he was wishing Ralph was his younger sibling. "Well, Colton doesn't get to leave yet! Not without saying goodbye to his favorite older brother!" Huxley lunged at me and locked me into a half-Nelson, ruffling my hair.
"Hey!" I said, but laughed it off.
"Huxley, let go of Colton," Mom said, smiling.
"Boys will be boys, right Ma?" Becker said, laughing.
"Bye Huxley. I'll see you afterward."
"See ya!"
"Bye Becker. Good luck." I smiled at him, and he smiled back at me and my heart skipped a beat.
"Good luck to you too."
I started off to Ralph's house, giggling on the way. The door was unlocked, as always, and I let myself in.
"There you are! I thought you weren't gonna come around this year!" Ralph was leaning back on his chair so that two legs were off the ground, his feet propped up on the table. His parents always worked on reaping days, but he liked the alone time, he told me. But he said he liked time with me just fine, too.
"I slept late," I said, shrugging and sitting next to him. "You'll fall if you keep doing that."
"You'd laugh," he said.
"Yeah, I probably would." Although I didn't really want him to get hurt. He grinned at me, green eyes alight. I smiled back.
"You're not nervous, are you? You're a pussy about most everything, so I bet you are."
"A little bit. More for Huxley though."
"Ah, yeah. Hux, good guy. He'd win the Games, though, if he went."
"He thinks he would too," I said. "He's got a big head."
"Yeah, he does." Ralph grinned at me, but his eyes were filled with malice. "You know who else has a big head? Fucking Clematice Hepburn. She's so fake. What a bitch."
I didn't like when he talked and gossiped about people, but just smiled and nodded anyways. I knew I was being two-faced, but I couldn't be the person I really wanted to be. He'd certainly hate me.
"I heard that she was pregnant, but I dunno if it's true. I wouldn't put it below her, though, that slut." I nodded and smiled, shifting uncomfortably. Suddenly the door opened and someone else walked in. "Ah, yes. Speaking of sluts!"
Collier walked in just then. I lit up at seeing him. Ralph's older brother Collier was really nice, I liked him a lot! Ralph hated him, though.
Collie came into the kitchen. "Good morning you two."
"Hi Collie!" he took off a collar choker and rubbed at his neck. He looked pretty tired, his neck and wrists were red, his neck was all bruised. His hair was damp and he had some kind of frosting or glaze on his face.
"Whore," Ralph said, scowling at him.
"Makes me some damn good money," Collie said, putting a wad of money on the table.
"Wow Collie, that's a lot!" I said. "How did you make that much!?"
Collie just laughed. "You don't want to know. You really don't."
"He's disgusting," Ralph said.
"I'm also the reason you're eating bread and butter and jerky," Collie said. "I'm gonna go wash off and change."
"Take your damn time," Ralph sneered. Collie left the kitchen.
"He's so disgusting," Ralph said. I didn't see what was wrong with him. Collie was fun, and friendly, and really funny, as well. And charming. He was also prettier than most anyone I know, including Paralee. I just shrugged and smiled. "Anyways, where was I?"
Ralph talked some more until Collie came back, dressed in his nice clothes. His shaggy dark hair wasn't quite as greasy, and he smelled nicer. He wasn't quite as red, though his neck was still bruised. I never asked about that, though, as there'd never been a time where I didn't see him without the bruises so I assumed they were a medical condition. Collie sat at the table across from us, ruffling my hair on the way. His touch was much gentler than Hux's though.
"So, your 5th Reaping." He sighed nostalgically.
"Your first year safe from them."
"That's right, Doll." He smiled at me, and I laughed, flattered. Ralph always thought I was laughing at Collie, but the truth was that when he called me that I was just flattered. It was such a cute nickname. Feminine. I loved it when Collie was flirty, even if it was all in play. "Here's living breathing proof that reapings aren't so bad. There are lots of kids with their names in there."
"Yeah, that's true!"
Ralph just scowled. "We shouldn't spend too much time breathing his air, Colton. We should be on our way."
"Oh, we should. Well, I guess I'll see you later Collie."
"Nice to see you, Doll!" he called after me, as Ralph quickly went out the door and I followed.
We walked to the Square together, keeping a distance. I was usually affectionate, but Ralph hated it so I usually just left him alone.
When they put the needle into Ralph's finger, he flinched. When I felt the pain, when I saw the blood, it didn't bother me. I'd definitely seen worse. We walked to the 16 section together, standing side by side. Ralph pointed people out to me, their stupid hair or their horrible outfits, their pathetic breakdowns. I just nodded like I'd agreed.
The mayor started speaking, and the reaping began.
The escort, Alcott Beaumont, graces the stage with a smile. He wore a purple fur coat with sparkly black pants and high-heeled boots. His dark skin had purple glitter covering it, his lashes long and dark around bright purple eyes.
"Welcome, District Seven! To the reaping for the Twenty-Seventh Annual Hunger Games!" The crowd was dead silent. District 7 tributes stood a higher chance than most, usually, because of the nature of our work, muscle-building hard labor. That still didn't change the fact that the Games were horrifying. They turned teens into murderers. I wasn't a killer. And, when it got down to it, I knew Huxley wasn't, either. Nor Ralph. "First, we will select our male tribute!"
I found rewatching the reapings that the traditionalist and most of the lady escorts chose the girls first. The males, and some of the younger, edgier ones, picked the boy first.
The District was silent as he walked to the bowl in question. He put his hand in the bowl and swirled it around, pulling out a name.
"Colton Sawyer!" I couldn't control the cringe this time. After all, I had just been reaped. I had just been reaped to my death. I swallowed hard, doing my very best not to cry. I walked up to the stage slowly, my lower lip quivering. My eyes pooled with tears. I stand up on the stage, glancing nervously to the crowd of 18-year-olds, where Huxley was standing, clutching Becker's arm. His eyes were wide and when he made eye contact with me, he buried his face in Becker's arm. But he didn't take my place. I realized that I wouldn't have wanted him to.
Alcott walked over to the girls' bowl, and reached in to pick a name. "Melanie Shepherd!"
The girl stumbled out of the crowd, and we all realized with a cold feeling of horror that she was only 12. She had warm brown hair and wore a very simple little dress. She was quiet, silent tears rolling down her cheeks as she walked up the steps. Her eyes were wide and shocked and sad.
"Well, shake hands now, you two."
Melanie put out her hand first. I reached up to grab it, arm shaking.
"Everyone, your District Seven tributes, Melanie Shepherd and Colton Sawyer!"
The District applauded weakly. I did everything I could not to cringe again.
Colton. Hearing that name was miserable to me. Being referred to in this way, Little Bro, Colton, Son, all the like… I wasn't sure how much more I could take of it. I didn't know how much longer I could take without coming out to my parents, confessing everything, even if it meant they'd hate me.
Belle. My name is Belle. I am a girl named Belle.
I realized that I wouldn't have had much longer to live with it, though. Not much longer to live at all.
I was going into the Hunger Games.
~.~.
-Garrett Oriole, 16 D8-
I snapped awake with a gasp and tried to move way too much, too fast. It was as if my whole body just twitched awake...at the expense of my left hand's index finger.
"You've got to be kidding me…" I groaned, barely able to see the mess I had fallen asleep in. Part of it was my hair that had grown far too long and hung in my face. The other was the sinking realization that I fell asleep on the sewing machine last night. My neck ached like I had slept with a cinderblock for a pillow, and somehow I managed to sew my finger to the scrap fabric I was practicing a stitch on. Luckily it was a loose enough stitching that I hadn't lost circulation in my finger, or done any real damage.
I reached for my seam ripper and tore the thread from my poor finger, cueing me in on the other mess I fell asleep to: the thread had tangled and my sewing machine was currently inoperable. Great. Not to mention today was Reaping Day, so I really didn't have much time-
"Wait. Today is Reaping Day and I really don't have much time." I repeated to myself, feeling a little stupid and groggy. My bleary vision finally cleared up and I yawned. I would deal with my sewing machine later. Our Reaping would be within the hour, if my sense of time was correct. It usually was. It had to be, with as much as I tried to be efficient with any lick of free time I could find.
I moved the old chest containing mostly finished projects and nicer fabrics I scavenged from in front of my closet and produced a nicely pressed cotton shirt, with matching pants on the same hanger. The hanger itself was rusted, but it was to be expected since we scavenged the metal. I'm pretty sure my biology class covered something about the dangers of rusting metal, but my mother called it "Capitol Propaganda Bullshit", so I wasn't going to bother convincing her otherwise.
Once I got changed, I padded over to the kitchen. My mother looked as if she had just gotten back, and she triumphantly held up a small bag from the bakery two blocks away.
"I've got a cinnamon raisin bagel for both of us and a little cream cheese!" she sat down and handed me a butter knife. I didn't even know how to respond for a minute.
"Th...thanks Mom," I smiled. She was in a good mood today, which was a good sign for my luck. There had been Reaping mornings where she wouldn't even get out of bed to see me off, but those were earlier on. I think she realized that the chances were pretty low that I would get taken away from her.
"Anything for you, babe," she trilled. "You've turned out so well, I thought I would try my best to get something nice for you since I couldn't do much for your birthday." I appreciated her trying so hard, but she really didn't need to. After work on my birthday a few weeks ago, I was given the rest of the evening to work on some sewing projects and I finished a quilt I had spent the past 6 months on.
"It's fine...really…" I tried to protest a little but she cut me off.
"I have to make up for the fact that you've only had one parent! Your good-for-nothing father only gave you half your genes and left, so I should compensate," she sniffed, "That asshole Stringer is probably stringing some girl along right now." I quickly tried to think of a way to turn her mood around.
"Yeah but he would never get his kid amazing cinnamon raisin bagels and cream cheese!" I chimed in. She lit up. Thank goodness.
"Yes you're right, sunshine! I'm a much better parent." With a huff, she took a bite into her bagel and her features softened. The bagel was still warm, I couldn't blame her. The tartness of the cream cheese offset the sweet pastry and I was in heaven. "But you need to get going. You got a late start this morning."
A glance at the clock proved she was right: I only had about 20 minutes before the Reaping. Luckily, the plaza was close. So I set off at a reasonable pace out the door of our apartment and down the stairs.
The crowd extended even toward our apartment building. I had to fight through parents and crying tweeny-bopper age kids, that range of 11-13 that was so awkward, and in this case, absolutely terrified on this day every year.
I turned a corner to see the registration table but almost tripped over a kid the moment I took a step.
"Hi!" The little boy couldn't have been more than five or six years old. He had a toothy grin and a scruffy, almost greasy look about him that characterized the financially lower end of the district.
"Erm, hi sunshine," I kneeled down to his level. His bright brown eyes looked green in the warm sunlight. "Where are your parents?"
He shrugged simply. "I dunno! Mama told me to leave the house and Dad wasn't home yet. He goes out and sleeps around a lot! He must be very tired!" I felt a look of shock or distaste, I don't really know which, freeze on my face. It wasn't like that kind of situation wasn't common, but the kid was so blunt and cheery about it that a kind of slow burning anger surfaced in my gut. This boy was clearly a good kid, and his parents didn't seem to give a flying hoot about him.
"Yeah…" I supplied faintly, "He...probably is…"
"He and his friends do lots of sleeping. Mama calls them stupid whores." His demeanor remained just as cheerful as it had been before, as if he were talking about the pleasant weather or what he does in his free time.
"Um...whores isn't a word you want to say too loudly, sunshine…" I trailed off.
"Mama doesn't like Dad's friends. She says that if he wasn't giving money to the family, she wouldn't've married him." His words echoed things my mother says when stress gets to her, or money gets tight; almost eerily close. "If your father hadn't promised money and I hadn't had you, I wouldn't be here right now!"
"Hey are you okay?" He bounced on his toes and looked up at me, his look of innocence unwavering.
"Yeah of course!" I laughed weakly. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Bronx! Bronx Stringer! Mama doesn't want me to be a Stringer, but since she's married I am!" Wait, wait, wait, wait-
"Stringer?" I choked. "Did I hear you right?"
"Mhm! Mama doesn't like Dad, she says he's really recklessly may've knocked up people, but I think she meant knocked out. 'Cause they're always sleeping." I couldn't believe it. The sheer odds were….well actually depending on how much he got around, maybe the odds weren't that bad.
"Listen, Bronx!" I took a deep breath. "So we….could be brothers." My mind was racing. I would have to get some confirmation info from my mom and Bronx's dad, but the possibility was there. This cute kid could be my brother! Giddiness surged through my head and I was starting to feel a little light-headed.
He watched me in silence for a second, his little face twisting with an expression of confusion. In a second, his sunny disposition returned brighter than ever. "Brothers!?"
"Yeah! Brothers!" I smiled, his enthusiasm infectious. Bronx made a happy squeal and shot forward, wrapping his arms around my neck.
"Last call for Reaping registrations!" Oh shit.
I carefully pried Bronx off me, his little feet bouncing off the ground with excitement. "Okay I need you to listen very carefully, sunshine." I grabbed an extra napkin I kept stuffed in my pocket and a stubby graphite pencil I also kept on me and scribbled my address on it. "Keep this napkin no matter what. Go here and you can visit me! After the Reapings, if you want, even! But I have to go now, okay?"
"Okey dokey!" He beamed at me and gave me a big thumbs-up.
I waved at Bronx and rushed over to the table. The worker glared at me but took my fingerprint nonetheless and with good reason: our escort Yumi Konohana had already started speaking and was ready to play the "War….Terrible War" video. A handful of people in my section gave me dirty glances when I strode over and sat on the very end. It's not like being as late as I was mattered. Why would anyone want to come to the Reapings early, anyway? Unless you wanted to watch people cry...that's weird and creepy, though.
While the video played, I analyzed Miss Konohana's outfit. Our district was clothing and textiles, and she always wore something chic and interesting to celebrate that in her own Capitolite way. She had the opportunity to move to escort for better Districts several times in the last five years, but she seemed to really like our District. At least someone did.
Today she wore an interesting combination of soft, light pink and warm brown. It was a sleeveless dress with a high neckline, coming to the base of her throat, and a dark brown cord belted at the waist. The dress was floor length, but there was a slit running up to her upper thigh. The dress itself was surprisingly a simple coffee-brown color, that darkened in a gradient starting at the knee. But the wow factor was the decorative factor of the dress: pink five-point flowers swirled up the dress, sweeping upward asymmetrically from the hem of her dress up across to her opposite shoulder. Delicate flowers had somehow been attached to her arms and peppered them in delicate clusters, the largest being on the back of her hands.
Her hair had been dyed chestnut for the occasion, and the short simple cut framed her face. And her makeup could only be described as en pointe. A group of temporary tattoos of the soft pink flowers decorated one eye. Both eyes were bubblegum pink ringed with blue. She looked incredible and I wished I had the chance to know who designed her outfit.
"And without further ado, let's reap the tributes for this year! Let's start with...the boy." she was a reserved person, but still gave off an aura of enthusiasm. It was almost respectable. She fished around in a glass bowl for a slip and produced it with a flourish. "Garrett Oriole! Could you come to the stage?"
...Not like I had a choice.
I didn't think it was possible to tank my good mood. I seemed to be wrong for thinking that. I barely felt anything with the exception of a lot of regret with the thought of Bronx.
Miss Konohana held a hand out to me to help me up the stairs, as if she could anticipate how shaky I was feeling. She probably could, since she had done this before enough.
"How do you see out of that mop of hair?" she wondered softly forgetting she had a microphone next to her mouth projecting every word she said. "No worries, you've got potential." She turned and made her way to the other bowl. I was going into the Hunger Games. I just got Reaped. What the-
"And our girl for this year is Tessa Armaros! Would you make your way to the stage?" A meek girl a year or two younger than me seemed to shrink as she came to the stage. Her dark hair was piled into a bun on her head, and two bangles framed her face. She smoothed her skirt shakily before hesitantly coming up the stairs. "Oh you're quite pretty. Chin up, dear!"
Miss Konohana turned her attention back to the awkward tension hanging in the plaza, almost oblivious to it. "District 8, your tributes for this year!" There was a halfhearted applause. District 8 really doesn't have winning tributes, after all. Within a moment of that applause, Peacekeepers whisked us away. The Peacekeeper leading me along didn't seem to be in a very good mood and shoved me into a closet of a room in the station house. It was so dusty I sneezed at least a dozen times before the door opened again.
"Honey!" my mom rushed forward and hugged me. She was already crying. Why wasn't I? Maybe it just hadn't sunk in yet.
"Mom…" I awkwardly sneezed after saying her name. My throat was sore and my nose was running. This dust allergy sucks.
"You've got to come home. You are all I have." she whispered. I know, I know.
She didn't have anything more to say. She just cried and didn't let go until the door opened again and she was escorted out.
I was a little disappointed Bronx hadn't made it, but he probably wasn't allowed, or didn't realize what was going on. Poor kid. He'll learn someday, sooner rather than later.
Miss Konohana held a hand grandly towards the train. "After you, dear."
I stepped off the platform and onto the sleek train that would take me to the fight of my life.
