A lot of you guys probably don't check this story anymore. Some of you guys probably don't even check the entire website anymore… But believe it or not, I'm still here! And I love all of you so much, in a non-awkward way, for giving me a chance with this story, and I hope you'll give me the chance to continue this story. I know I'm terrible at following through with all the things I say I'll do. I'll admit it. And admitting it is the first step to fixing the problem. So that's what I'm going to try to do.
I'm on summer break from school now, so hopefully I'll be able to get further in this story. I know I say this all the time, but some time it's gotta be true! ;)
I appreciate any and all feedback, so whether it's good or not so good, I'd appreciate it if you take the time to share your thoughts. :)
Without further ado, this is District 9's reaping! We're getting closer and closer to the exciting part of the story…
DISCLAIMER: The Hunger Games belongs to the amazing Suzanne Collins, definitely not me.
-Corwin Saelem, District 9-
Dark branches swing solemnly above my head, menacing in their stances. Their swishing leaves sound like whispered secrets all around me, and my eyes dart around with paranoia. The sky is black, a leering grimace over me without even the comfort of a moon.
Where am I? I wonder. The trees have a certain familiarity to them, but I can't place my finger on it.
There's a sudden burst of noise at my right: a crash, followed by a victorious shout. Some more scrambling and then the boom of cannon fire. With a start, I realize I must be in the Hunger Games.
Then all is silent. Even the branches and leaves have stopped telling their secrets for this brief moment. I hold my breathe in anticipation, hyperaware that the killer is nearby, and hold perfectly still.
Something, though, must have caught the killer's attention because, suddenly, it's no longer quiet. The killer is crashing through the underbrush towards me, and I scramble, as a reflex, up the tree nearest me. I go by feel alone, but I've become so accustomed to climbing that it doesn't take much more effort on my part than usual. By the time the killer is where I was previously standing, I'm too many feet off the ground for any person to reach me.
Both of us are statues as we wait for the other to make a move.
My eyes have adjusted more to the night, and I can distinguish the silhouette standing on the ground. I watch as a thin-fingered hand pulls a glimmering knife out from the inside of a jacket and holds it in a tight, prepared fist.
The clouds move just then, and the moon is no longer hidden. The sudden light illuminates everything around me, and I'm able to see clearly the hand pull back and then whip forward, releasing the knife. It spirals through the air in graceful circles towards me, as if in slow motion. I take a deep breath and get a tighter hold of the tree. I can't help closing my eyes right as the knife is about to hit me.
But the hit never comes.
There's a pain-filled scream from someone in the tree behind me. I whip my head around in time to see a small girl fall from the branches behind me and hit the ground, the knife protruding gruesomely from her chest.
With a sick feeling, I recognize the girl, and my hand's slip.
"Mabel!" I cry as gravity takes over, and I fall backwards.
Pain lances through my arm as I make impact with the very solid, very real dirt ground, the air whooshing out of my lungs.
"[Shoot]," I gasp when I can breath again. My head is throbbing, but it's my right arm that hurts the most. Grimacing, I use my left to prop myself into a sitting position and look around.
I'm at the base of the giant tree behind my house, the one I always climb when I'm stressed or upset. The sky is still the deep indigo of night.
I groan as I remember how I had climbed it earlier in the evening, worried about the reaping today and my sister's death in the Games. I must have accidentally fallen asleep.
I make a mental note not to ever do that again.
Cursing lightly, I wrap my good arm around the wide tree trunk and pull myself to my feet. It's shaky at first, but I'm able to hobble around the side of the house and up the front steps, my left arm supporting my right across my chest.
Inside the house, I find the clock in the kitchen. It's early enough for me to relax a while before Dad will inevitably wake me up for training.
Relieved, I tiptoe to my bedroom and gently lie down on my bed, adjusting my arm in a position that doesn't hurt too much, and close my eyes.
-Artemis deLune, District 9-
The advantage of having no friends: no extra people to worry about on reaping day.
Arms crossed, I survey the melancholy seventeen-year-olds standing around me, either lonesome like myself or huddled in small clusters, shoulders hunched over as if shielding themselves from an icy wind. Soft words are exchanged, but they don't mean anything at all. Shallow comforts and reassurances that even they know aren't true.
My lips tighten into a short scowl. Having just one fifteen-year-old brother is more than enough to be anxious about today.
I swear, if that [darned] escort so much as touches Chance's name in that stupid glass ball, I'll…
I spend the next few minutes of waiting imagining what exactly I could do to the poor soul of an escort who tries to pick Chance. None are what I would call pretty fates, to say the least.
-Corwin Saelem, District 9-
When I arrive at the square in front of the Justice Building, I quickly find my two best friends, and we exchange brief greetings. I'm not really in the mood to say much besides that, but Seete—being Seete, after all—continues talking with Lina, who lingers in our section despite the fact that she is a year younger. I try to appear somewhat attentive to the conversation, but I'm much more content just waiting in silence.
As I wait, my left arm finds its way over to my right, and I hold it carefully.
Earlier this morning, my dad came in to wake me up, whistling and wailing that this could very well be my last chance to save my sorry [butt] from dying if I should be lucky enough to get chosen for the Games today.
Needless to say, my training today was brutal, having only one fully functioning arm, but I managed. The hard part was disguising my injury from my father, but, somehow, I managed. Thankfully our lesson was cut short seeing as we had to wrap things up sooner in order to get to the reaping on time.
Standing here waiting for the reaping to take place, seeing the morose faces of everyone — of Lina, even of Seete, though he hides it well — my mind wanders back to seeing Mabel in the same situation a year ago at her first — and last — reaping….
It makes me remember my mother's sadness after Mabel's death, and the feeling in my chest when my father came home a week later saying she was found dead in the Hunting Grounds, an arrow through her chest. Makes me remember how my father cried for days, locked alone in his room whenever he wasn't working….
I remember being shocked when I first heard him there; he was, and still is, such a strong, stoic figure that I didn't believe it was him, at first. I thought he had shattered. I thought he had finally been broken. I was wrong, though. After that, he was back full force with his usual harshness, and my training with him became almost unbearable, but I knew he was determined to do anything he could to prevent losing me, too, to prevent losing everyone he loved….
My thoughts are cut off when the mayor stands to deliver his speech, a hush falling over the crowd as he begins to speak the same words of years previous.
Lina, taking that as her cue to return to the thirteens' section, whispers a goodbye to Seete, and, with her eyes down and a pink blush creeping up her cheeks, gives a quick peck on my cheek before hurrying away. For a moment, I'm stunned and ignore Seete's raised eyebrows and funny grin. My face grows hot, and red I'm sure. And even though it's reaping day, my stomach does a weird, happy flip, and I think I might even be smiling.
-Artemis deLune, District 9-
With a grand wave and flourish, our district's escort replaces the mayor at the microphone and says gaily, "Hello! District 9! How have you been?" I actually have to struggle to hold back a laugh at that; apparently I'm the only one, though, as everyone else remains perfects quiet.
He continues, his slanted copper eyes practically glowing. "Let us begin. Ladies!" With an elegant twist of his wrist, he plucks a slip from the glass ball containing the girls' names and reads, "Artemis deLune!"
My head cocks to the side. Then I find myself laughing in bemusement, mostly at the fact that I completely forgot to worry about myself along with my brother. "You mean," I chuckle, looking directly at the escort and pointing at my chest, "me?"
The escort, clearly taken aback, clears his throat. "Ah, yes. You. If you're deLune."
I nod emphatically, my giggles subsiding, and begin to walk towards the stage. The people around me part instantly, as though I have a wicked disease that they might catch within my proximity. Their expressions are shocked. It must seem as though I've lost it to them. Fine by me. Makes me stand out more to the sponsors and gives me an element of unpredictability.
Yeah, that's right, I think as I stare down at people below me as I stand on the platform, hoping the cameras get a good picture of my face. Be weary of me.
-Corwin Saelem, District 9-
I raise my eyebrows at the girl on stage, not quite sure how to take her reaction. She appears to almost be giggling again, her mouth twitching at the corners.
"Well then. Gentlemen!" the escort shouts to capture our attention again.
The leftover lightness in my chest from Lina disappears as he prepares to choose the male tribute. Not me, I pray. My father wouldn't be able to take it if I were gone, too. I know he wouldn't.
"Corwin Saelem!"
My eyes narrow, and my nose crinkles. Of course. Of course this would happen.
Stiff, my legs take me to stand side-by-side with the girl, Artemis. The entire way my brain is flashing through everything I've ever learned from Dad. He did whatever he could to teach me to live. And now I'm going to use it.
Raising his arms above his head, the escort — now our, meaning Artemis's and my own, escort — declares that, "These are your tributes!"
I glance at Artemis and nod to her, and she does the same, albeit with a humorous smirk.
Thank you for reading!
-Tasting Raindrops-