Thefabulouskatie
I know it's a bit odd looking but this is the first thing I've ever posted and I made it short so I could get a feel for FFN. I really appreciate the support for the story! :D
I'm standing in the doorway of the little shack outside when it occurs to me to look at the outfit in the old bag. And as I slowly lift it out, I'm struck dumb by how my sister worked enough for this.
The sunset-colored wiggle dress is one of my mothers, made of some thin, opaque fabric I can't identify. Reaping clothes. Since I have to steal to feed us most of the time, I wonder how she could afford this on her meager maid salary. The only reason I steal food is because her money only covers the rent and a few other things, such as cleaning supplies or clothes.
After I scrub the dirt and sweat from my nervous body, I get out and pull myself into my clothes, pull my fingers through my hair, and use one of our precious hair clips to put it into a kind of half-updo. I'm no fashionista, but pulling my hair away from my neck will overall be more comfortable in the salty, muggy sea air. But for effect anyways I pluck a pinkish-purple flower from my mothers old garden. She used to be a florist and I think she called this particular flower a "plumeria". I snap my self out of my little daze only with the thought that I have to prepare some type of meal so we can eat before walking to the reaping. Or as I call it, the raffle from Hell.
Walking into the kitchen, I choose a drop biscuit, an orange, a small bit of wild chicken from the butcher,already baked, and a cup of water for each of us and set the table as nicely as I can. I wouldn't eat like this, as much as this, but I figure it's the reaping day and it would be nice to have some type of nice lunch to brighten the day a bit.
My sister is already ahead of me and what I'm trying to do, and dissapears outside and returns with fresh orchids to put in a vase with some water. We always seem to have an abundance of beautiful plants growing in mothers garden. But nothing edible but an orange tree. The only reason we haven't sold them is because we don't know whats what. And learning just dredges up bad memories.
Our meal is silent except for small talk here and there. My sister asking if I liked the dress. I do. Is it going to rain? It will not. Eventually the conversation peters away, and the only sound is the sound of the plastic water cups thudding against the table. Too soon the meal is gone and the large bell tolls, signaling that the time to start for the reaping is now. Mira and I don't even bother to clean up the table, it can be done after we get back.
Stepping outside, dissolving into the crowd, it's routine, normal. But still chilling, staring at the small children, no older than six, with ribs poking through his shirt, knowing you can't help without putting your family at the same risk. I wish I could have shared my meal with him, but I can't. I can't. We just can't do it. The biggest splurge of food we could muster and it would still leave us hungry,and him not barely full. But I still feel guilty. Responsible. I have done nothing to create the horrible poverty that has engulfed us, like a flame. And not even the sharp slice of the blood test that I must take can pull my thoughts away from him.
But the woman in front of the microphone is mandatory viewing, so I pull all my attention to her large body smashed into a green blazer and blue skirt, topped with a small, purple haired, makeup caked head. The capitol really is sickening.
"Hello! I know you're as happy to see me as I am to see you my friends!" she warbles in her high pitched voice. Friends, that's likely.
"The honor of being in these wonderful Games is upon us once again, and I don't want to keep you folks waiting, so let's begin! Ladies first!" she says, waddling over to the large glass bowl filled with our names. She wastes no time with anything but a flourish as she opens the paper chosen. You could hear a pin drop.
"Caraway Dobbs"
Suddenly I feel all eyes on me, and I don't know why. It takes a few seconds to realize I have just been sentenced to death. Every step I take, my body screams at me to turn, to run. But I know what the consequences are, for me, my sister, my town. So I walk. The crowd parts immediately for me, refusing to look at anything but me now that I'm this close to them. It seems like years, too short, before I make it to the podium. I begin to feel panic set in, but I have to push it back. I have to plan.
Twenty-Four go in, one comes out.