I'm back. Again. I really hope that is the last time I have to say anything like that. This time I should be back for good. And if not… Hopefully by summer break I will be up, and not just running, but sprinting again. I hope your patience hasn't grown too thin with me. :/
This is the complete District 3 reaping chapter that I didn't have finished last update.
DISCLAIMER: I think it's fairly obvious that I don't own The Hunger Games; my writing style and plot ideas could never compare to that of Suzanne Collins'.
-Kai Taka, District 3-
Tap. Tap. Tap tap.
A rapping on my bedroom window startles me, pulling my attention momentarily away from the mess of wires and gears piled on my little wooden desk. I've been trying to make this clock work for days, but so far it's still dead to the world.
I roughly toss my tools back onto the desk and walk over to the only window in my room where I find Ren standing, poised with her fingernail pecking away at the glass.
"Open this thing up!" Her call is muffled from the glass in between us.
My eyes narrow in confusion at her request, but I don't question her. With a lot of elbow grease, I manage to shove the unused windowpane up far enough to allow Ren's slim frame to climb through. After more tugging, and some light cursing, though, neither one of us can get it to close again.
Sighing in defeat, I sink to the floor, resting against the end of my bed.
Now I question her. "Why the window, exactly?"
Ren's jaw works for a moment, and then she seats herself cross-legged opposite me. She doesn't meet my eyes when she utters, "There were Peacekeepers walking around outside the front of your house."
I press my lips together and take a deep breath. Of course that would be why.
When I first met Ren, I was a mess. A sobbing, delirious mess. I had been wandering aimlessly down the street with the sole intention of just getting away from it all.
I had been exhausted from staying by my father's bedside the entire night. I had only nodded off for a short moment with my head on my shoulder. When I finally woke up again, blinking fast, eyes wide… he was already gone. I couldn't reconcile with myself after that. I was devastated that I had let him go. I had made a promise to myself and to Father that I would stay with him the whole time and that I wouldn't let him leave me. I failed, though. I broke my promise. I fell asleep and hadn't been able to keep him here.
Later that evening, on the brink of night, I was fed up with the house, with my mom, and even with little Scotty who only tried to comfort me. Me. I should have been the one that had to comfort him. He was only ten years old then.
I had blindly torn out of the front door with only my feet stumbling forward to keep me going. My heart wasn't doing anything to help me move. It was too broken.
That's when I ran into Ren for the first time, literally. I accidentally knocked the sack of fruit she had been holding out of her arms. Apples, oranges, and tomatoes rolled out in all directions. I hastened to pick them all up while muttering apologies, but she just shook her head and told me that they probably would taste like [crud] anyway. So, instead, with a knowing glance at me, she grabbed an apple so bruised it was basically pulp and took a tiny bite out of it.
"Yup," she said, after making a show of spitting out her bite, "it's toast."
It wasn't until she started laughing that I realized she wasn't mad.
Not wanting to get any Peacekeepers on our case, we shoveled all of the mushy fruit into the sack and dropped it in a nearby trashcan when nobody was paying any attention. That was when Ren started to tell me a story.
A story about her life.
Suddenly, mine didn't seem so bad.
She told me how she lived on the streets and had to fend for herself. How she can't stand the sight of Peacekeepers. How her parents were both killed by some.
That night, we became friends. Since then, Ren is the closest — and the only — friend of mine.
After a moment of silence, Ren coughs, hauling me out of my reverie.
"Are you okay?" My voice is dripping with worry. A cough could mean anything here. It could be completely harmless, or it could foreshadow your oncoming death. Without much more than a handful of amateur doctors, it's almost impossible to tell.
Her smile comes easily. "Yes, I'm okay, Kai." At the play on my name, her smile widens to a beam.
I chuckle.
-Wylie Freeman, District 3-
I shove my hair back from my forehead with one hand as I work. Sweat has started to bead on the sides of my face from my concentration.
This could be my biggest accomplishment yet, and that's saying something.
For the past week, I've pushed aside my monotonous robot creations to make way for a bigger, grander idea. A riskier, probably incredibly stupid idea.
I'm going to hack into the Capitol's technology using my insignificant little trashed computer — a computer that I had found being thrown out of a factory and had managed to revive after a few hours of diligent experimenting.
When I thought up this Idea, I didn't really believe it. Didn't think it was possible. But look at me now, a hair's breadth away from a huge, great—
Nothing. [Shoot].
The screen, without warning, just blacked out and died. The accompanying whir of the monitor died.
[Crud, crud, crud]!
I scramble to find the power switch, but I know it's hopeless. A puff of smoke is floating into the air behind the monitor, a sign of the computer's death.
Perfect.
I continue to sit and stare, numb, for another full minute, my fists clenched at my sides in defeat. I begin to lower my head down into my hands, when a flashing light in the corner of the room catches my focus. It's the digital clock I saved about a year ago. The blinking red lights exclaim the time to be 9:02.
I'm about to just ignore it, but a tiny thought nags at the back of my mind. Something kind of important.
Then I remember. The reapings. [SHOOT]!
Today just isn't a very good day for me.
With only twenty-eight minutes to get to the square, my feet react before my brain does, and I find myself out the door and leaving the warehouse behind my family's house — the warehouse might as well be my home, though — in the dust.
The last reaping I almost missed, I had left the warehouse around eight fifty and had made it to the square simultaneous to the mayor walking out to the podium.
I hope I've gotten faster. Or I'm in trouble.
My arms beat back and forth by my sides, keeping pace with my long strides. The arches in my feet start to ache. I'm sweating and panting. I swear, if I don't make it….
I make it to the outskirts of the market area; it is completely deserted. All of the doors and windows are closed, all of the food stands barren. In my haste to swerve around one, my elbow knocks a stack of hand weaved baskets. I cringe as the tumble down behind me, but I can't do anything to prevent it. I send a silent apology to whomever they belong to.
I round the back corner of a nicer, brick building and come within a foot of slamming into a wall of people. I've reached the square.
-Kai Taka, District 3-
The mayor must be delayed. The drawing was supposed to have started four minutes ago, according to the giant clock on the Justice Building. It's not a huge delay, but I would like for the anxiety to stop. I want this day to be over and done with, I want for nobody I know to be harmed by these reapings. Heck, I don't want anybody to be harmed for any reaping. But seeing as there is nothing that I can do, I content myself with standing silently in the back of the crowd of seventeens. I'm alone. Ren is eighteen, so I won't get to speak to her until after the reaping.
The people around me are restless. Shuffling feet, tapping fingers, biting lips, mindless chatter of half-thoughts — anything to keep their thoughts from becoming their solitary concentration. Nobody pays me any mind; no one ever does. I'm just the girl with the blank face. The one no one knows and no one cares to know. The one they pity, but in the same way they pity a dead squirrel. Poor squirrel, they would say. But it is one of many, and they would avoid its dead corpse.
An impatient shoulder shoves by me. It belongs to a broad-shouldered guy, a handful of inches taller than my 5'10". A grunt escapes him in what I optimistically decide to take as an apology.
Not a moment later, the mayor walks onstage.
I drown out his speech. Instead, I peek at around me to keep my mind from considering the option of Scotty being drawn. A few feet from me stands a boy and a girl, hands clasped tightly. The boy has his lips to the girl's ear, whispering. His face is shadowed with melancholy, but the girl is grinning soft as a whisper in response to his words. As the president says the final words of his speech, they kiss for a brief moment and turn to face the stage.
I add the couple to my ever-expanding list of people I hope to not be drawn.
Sigrun Zearna waddles over to take the mayor's place in front of the microphone. She is tipsy from her heels and it adds to the affect of looking as though she was just shocked; her almost yellow stands straight up, tips dyed black as though scorched. Taking her time in the spotlight, she rambles about what an honor it is to continue to be District 3's escort. She states that she has high hopes for this year's tributes and that she knows we won't let her down. God forbid we send her off with another pair of inconsequential, insignificant kids to be dumped in the bullring. What an unfortunate ordeal that would be for her, to have to say encouraging things to a batch of useless, starved children who really have no chance.
I steal myself as she finally plucks a slip of stiff paper from the girls' reaping ball with a flourish. Stealing a glimpse of the adorable couple I observed earlier, I see the girl staring at Sigrun as if just daring her to read her name off of the paper. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, stares directly at the girl as if soaking up what could very well be one of their last moments together.
When the name is read, my immediate reaction is relief in response to the girl's reassured sigh and the boy's thankful smile. But as quick as the feeling came, it fled my body.
It may not have been that girl that was called, but it was this girl.
Me.
My face settles back into my emotionless mask. To any onlooker, I probably appear indifferent. I'm screaming, though, begging, pleading on the inside that this is just a mistake. That neither the girl nor I have been drawn, and that I just misheard some very similar name to my own. However, I know it cannot be true.
Relief echoes in the silence as I stiffly place one foot in front of the other and proceed to the stage. To my left, my eyes manage to find Ren's. Her eyes are wide, mouth agape, tears sliding down her cheeks. I blink hard.
I glare as I walk past Sigrun; she flinches. Standing behind her, I search for the other pair of eyes that I care so much for. Scotty. My strong little brother is crying freely in despair.
My eyes water and the back of my throat stings, but I keep that infamous mask of mine in place and clasp my hands behind me. I cannot bear to look at Scotty as the escort moves to choose the male tribute.
-Wylie Freeman, District 3-
"And I give you our male tribute, Mr.…" Sigrun pauses for affect. "Scotty Taka!"
You've gotta be freakin' kidding me. A sniffling boy is practically wailing as he stumbles to the stage.
What the hell, I might as well save the poor kid.
I throw my arm in the air, almost swatting a dude in front of me. "I volunteer!" I bellow. I barely notice as the little boy who had originally been called freezes a foot from the base of the steps.
I chew the inside of my cheek as I shove my way to the stage. I take the steps two at a time and turn swiftly on my heel next to my now-district partner. For a brief second, I see her eyes deliberately close and open again to reveal her the almost unnerving forest green of her irises staring right at me. She keeps her face locked as she murmurs, "Good luck," while we shake hands. I realize that I bumped into her in my rush to stand unobtrusively among the seventeen group. I would have that she would be ticked at me, but I don't see any signs of resentment in her blank face.
As we turn to enter the Justice Building, though, I swear I glimpse the faintest of smiles surfacing on her lips.
Please, oh please review so that I know that there are still people who have stuck with me and continue to follow this story even though it's probably more trouble than it's worth!
-Tasting Raindrops-