The early morning passed like sand falling through an hourglass, and the sun rose over the mountains all too soon. Like a death sentence. In a way it was.

The day of the reaping.

Today will be the day that we say goodbye to yet another one of our friends. Someone will lose a brother, a sister, a son, a daughter… all because of some stupid uprising. What if they treated all of us like the first districts? What if none of us were hungry? What if we all had what we needed and no one had to starve in safety? But then what good would District 12 be? And who would supply the coal and power for the upper districts?

No. Today will be the last day for two of District 12's beloved children.

Lila meets me just outside of the main square shortly after sunrise. Her gleaming hair groomed into a ball of a bun on her head, like one of the dancers from the Capitol during the celebration of the victors. She's radiating, yet reeking of sadness. She's afraid.

We walk toward back toward the Seam, back toward my home, in silence, our fingers interlocked. Her hand is cold, and her grip is like death. I can't imagine letting her go.

Nothing will happen. Nothing will happen.

After the reaping, she'll go home and celebrate with her family like always, and I'll spend the evening catering to the broken families of our dying district with food we can't even afford to share.

Tesserae

Tesserae

Tesserae

The Capitol says it's a year's supply of grain and oil, every additional slip is supposedly enough for one person.

Maybe if you were in the upper district and your desire was to starve and be skin and bones, living off of supplements and muscle enhancers… that be a better match for the Capitol's description.

I remember watching the Games when I was younger, before my mom went all corpse like and worthless… watching the games and thinking that someday, I would be big and strong like some of the tributes.

Now I only wanted to be strong enough to make Lila smile, make her forget her troubles and take care of Kale.

I could do it.

I could do it if I won the games.

Or I could die.

But that's no matter, because there's no way my name will be drawn of the thousands of slips in the death bowls. They didn't matter in the upper districts. People there… after your name was called, they asked for tributes. In the upper districts, if your name is called, you're safe. No matter what, someone will always volunteer in your place.

As we reach my front door, Lila pauses. "Go quick. The square is going to fill up fast." She drops my hand and stops at the door and pushes me through the open door with her delicate arms, covered with her thin light blue sleeves, white frills at the wrist like doilies. She was beautiful. She was my ray of hope.

Every year, every year on this one day, we would dress up like we had some sort of extra money lying around. Anyone who didn't… well, it wasn't pretty. I don't know what it is about our mayors, but it's like they take someone from a higher district every time, offer them a job in the government, and at the last moment… they're banished to act as mayor of District 12. I almost feel sorry for them.

Almost.

I really would if it wasn't for the fact that, you know, they acted as if they were our kings every time. Acting like kiss ups for the Capitol, begging and pleading to go back home. Return to their polished lives in their polished houses in their polished districts.

They tried so hard to make us just like them on the one day of the year we'd be televised and expected to behave and appear grateful to our merciless leaders.

The reaping.

But this year… the anticipation is greater. No one knows what to expect with the quarter quell. No one has heard a thing about how they're going to make this anniversary different.

As I wash off the layer of coal dust coating my hands, I have an awful thought. The quarter quell. Twenty five years ago, they voted on who would be in the games. What if they do that again? What if they choose to put us all in? Or if they only take one gender? What if this is the end for an entire district? What if…

Kale.

Mom's tucking his shirt into his coal shaded pants in the kitchen. He'll hold her hand as they watch from afar, in some random street near the square.

But what if this year no one was safe? No age to start, no age to end. No one is ever safe. Why bother? I want out. But there is no out.

The reaping is closing in on us, and I can feel the unease in the air as I meet Lila back outside. She's fidgeting. Bouncing on her heels. Chewing on her lip. Her nose is red, she's been crying. The square is close on days like this, the anticipation, the fear, the heartache… The silence whisks us into the square.