District One Reaping

Sash's POV

I had been laying awake in bed for the past couple of hours. My mind refused to shut off. All I could think about was the Reaping today. That's the only thing that's crossed my mind for the past couple of days. And now here it is.

In a couple of hours I will stand in the Square wearing my best dress and hoping that I would not be Reaped. Until then, though, there are some things that I need to do.

The first of those things is to get out of bed. I can barely manage to do so. I make my way to my bathroom which I'm so fortunate is connected to my room. That makes sure that I don't have a long walk in the morning, and it also means that I don't have to share it with my brother. I mean, I love the kid, but he's a slob.

I turn on the shower. Maybe the warm water will calm my nerves. I don't know why I'm like this. Most District One girls would love to be Reaped. Most of them train for the Games for their whole lives. I haven't actually trained. Like everyone else, I've watched the Games, but I haven't studied them. I don't get too much physical exercise. My body can attest to that.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not fat. But I'm by no means the stick-thin girl that District One usually has. I'm not blonde either. Nor am I a Career tribute.

As I jump into the shower I think the thoughts that I think every year on Reaping Day. It won't be me. My name is only in there _ times. (The number changes every year. This year it's seven) Even if I do get picked, which won't happen, someone will volunteer for me. I'll be fine. Come on, Sash. You need to calm down.

I run my hands through my long, dark hair. I massage my head with the shampoo in hopes that it'll help calm me. It doesn't. My face tingles with the citrus scrub that I use to wash it. My very favorite face wash, and not even that helps me feel even marginally better. I try using my favorite body wash, the one I get for my birthday every year. It has the scent of pine needles. It reminds me of all of the outlying districts that I'll never get the chance to visit. As I lather my body with it, I inhale its intoxicating scent. It comes from District Eleven, I think. I'm not sure though, seeing as I've never been there. And I never will.

I get out of the shower and bundle myself in a towel. I wrap my hair in another one. As I sit down in front of my mirror, I grab my makeup. I prefer it to be subtle rather than obvious like so many of my peers do. I put on some black mascara to elongate my eyelashes. I put some eye shadow on. I've mastered the technique by now. It's just light enough to be barely noticeable yet dark enough to give off the smokey appearance. I use some light, neutral lipstick and I'm done with my makeup.

My skin is fine as it is. I don't need cover-up or blush and of that other stuff. My skin is fair, but not nearly white as so many other District One girls' are.

I walk to my closet and immediately pick out my dress. It's the dress I wear every year to the Reaping. Well, it's not the same dress seeing as I've grown a bit since I was twelve, but it's pretty much the same style. A simple black dress that stops just above the knee. It's not tight. In fact, it's rather loose compared to how the other girls dress. It hides my muffin-top well. I select a pair of black flats to wear with it. I don't need heels. I'm tall enough as is.

Having finished everything I need to do in my room, I head downstairs. Along the way, I knock on my brother's door.

"Hey, Grant. You up?"

I hear no reply, so I slowly open his door. He's still asleep. I walk over to his bed and sit down next to him. I comb through his messy, thick hair with my fingers. I give him a kiss on the cheek and whisper in his ear, "Grant, sweetie. It's time to get up." This is his first Reaping. I don't even allow myself to think that he may be Reaped. It just won't happen.

I see him stir a bit, but he's still very much asleep. Okay, Grant. I didn't want to have to do this. I walk to his bathroom and grab a cup. I fill it with cold water. As I walk back into his room I notice the mess. His clothes are all over the floor. There's barely any floor to walk on. "This is for the mess," I say as I pour the water over his head.

He awakes with a start, "What the-"

"It's okay, Grant. It's Reaping Day. You need to get up." I tell him to wear his best clothes. Realizing that he has no idea what those might be, I go to his closet and pick them out for him. Boys are so clueless. I throw him a pair of black slacks and a pink, silk shirt. "Here. Take a shower and put these on. And make sure to wear your nice shoes, not the beaten up sneakers you usually wear. Got it?"

"Ew, pink." is the only thing he says in response.

"It'll make your eyes stand out. Now go," I say with the kindness and sharpness that only a big sister could possibly manage.

He walks to the bathroom and I head downstairs. My parents aren't there. They're probably trying to finish up work before the Reaping starts. My parents work as jewelers at a friend's store. My father is given the raw gemstones. He cuts them and my mom sells them to the countless women who spend more on a couple of jewels than some families do on food for a month.

We're not by any means rich, but we're definitely not poor. We don't have a chef to cook our meals, but we've never gone hunger either. I'm the main cook for the family. I walk to the kitchen and turn on the stove. I know what Grant wants, so I put out three pans. One for the eggs, scrambled of course, another for the hash browns, and the final one for the sausage. I then put four slices of bread in the toaster. Three will be for him and one for me. Though I may have sixty plus pounds on his scrawny ass, he can still out-eat me any day. Such is the nature of boys, I suppose.

Grant walks in just as I'm finishing breakfast. He has his outfit on all wrong. His tie is not only down to his thighs, but it's also green. What in the world would possess him to believe that green goes with pink? I'll have to redress him after breakfast.

We sit down at the table after I put the food on it. He digs in immediately. I prefer to eat slowly. Though I can't eat much seeing as it's Reaping Day. I don't think Grant fully understands what the Reaping is. He knows about the Hunger Games, but I don't think he gets that it could be one of us in them.

After we finish eating I tell him, "Grant. Come with me. We need to fix you up. You obviously do not know how to put on or pick out a tie. And your hair is a disaster." He knows better than to fight me on it, so he acquiesces and walks with me to his room. I pick out a light purple tie. "See, Sweetie," I say as hold it up to him. "Purple goes with pink. Green does not,"

He shoots me look as if to say, "And I care why?" After I change his ties and make sure his new one only comes down to his waist, I guide him to his bathroom. Once inside, I turn on the water in the sink and wet my hands. As I'm combing my fingers through his hair I comment about how his hair always seems to be messy no matter what I do to it. After about five minutes of attempting to tame it, I give up. If only he would just cut it this would be so much easier.

Finally, I think we're ready. We walk downstairs and head out the door toward the Square. My nerves begin to go haywire again. I try talking to Grant to distract myself, but he isn't up for conversation right now.

At last we reach the Square. I tell him to head over to the twelve-year-old's section after we check in. I walk over to the seventeen-year-old's section. After a couple of minutes of anxious waiting, a man walks onto the stage. That's odd, I think to myself. Usually it's that creepy woman with tye-dye skin. The man is wearing a black suit with a pink shirt and, get this, a green bowtie. I silently hope Grant now understands how ridiculous it looks. If a Capitol person is wearing it, it's a good indication that it's not fashionable.

I tune out his obligatory speech about how the Hunger Games are our punishment and the other stuff. After he's finished, he says that it's time to select the female tribute. My heart is racing. I feel as if it's about to leap into my throat and force its way out through my mouth. I can picture myself standing up there with my still-beating heart bouncing across the stage.

He pulls the name.

"Andrea Presley!"

I see the girl slowly walk up to the stage. I don't know what it is. It might be that she's the daughter of my parents' employers. It might be that she's only twelve years old. It might be that her dark, short-cropped, messy hair reminds me of my brother. It might be because I know that if I win, I'll finally be able to visit the other districts. Maybe it's because I'm so bored here that anything would be a welcome change. It may be because I know that there's only one way to get over my fears. It may be because I don't want to have to live through another Reaping. Whatever the reason, though, at that moment something inside of me snapped. At that moment I raised my voice to yell the words I swore I would never utter. "I volunteer as tribute!"

I see Andrea stop just as she is about to step up to the stage. "It appears we have a volunteer," the Capitol man says. "You can go back, dear," Andrea slowly walks back to her section and gives me a look of gratitude as we pass each other on my way to the stage.

I mount the stage and the Capitol man asks me my name. "Sash Vespa," I respond. He smiles and presents me to the crowd. There is a mild applause. They're all confused; I can tell. The man then announces that it is time to choose the boy tribute.

He pulls the piece of paper out of the bowl. Then he reads the name. And that's when I faint.

Tourmaline's POV

I hear the name for the male tribute announced. It wouldn't have mattered to me if it was any other name. But it had to be that name.

"Grant Vespa!"

The name belongs to the brother of the girl who volunteered. The girl's twelve-year-old brother. The girl who just fainted on stage. The girl I've been in love with for nearly ten years.

Without a second thought I scream out the words that will surely end my life. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Little Grant doesn't even have time to leave his section before I volunteer in his place. I proudly walk up to the stage thinking that if I seem like I know what I'm doing the other tributes might believe me to be a Career.

As I walk onto the stage I see the Peacekeepers holding up the unconscious body of Sash. They say she'll be coming around soon. They still make me shake hands with her even though she can't feel a thing. Even if she could, she'd think I'm her brother.

I shake her lifeless hand. This is the first time I've ever touched her body. The first time I ever touch her is when she's unconscious. How creepy does that make me? Very, I'm thinking.

And with that, they take us to the Justice Building. They place me in a holding room. Why did I do this to myself? I think. I plop down onto a chair and place my head in my hands. I'm not going to make it out alive. I just know I'm not going to. But at least little Grant will. And I'm going to do everything possible to ensure that Sash does to. I can guarantee that I will if it's the last thing I do. The sad part is that it will be the last thing I do.

Nobody comes to see me off. My mother is working and father probably just doesn't care. Why should he? I'm just his stupid, fat, useless kid. I've never once in my entire life done anything right. I've never been good enough for him. I'm so much less important than my siblings. Apple is a useful model for the new items that their store has. Merrick is a strong, well-muscled guy who can dig and carry the stones and whatnot for the jewels. Rickey is the brains of the family, and Andrea is at least cute. I'm so incredibly thankful that Sash volunteered for her. I guess it's a morbid kind of irony that she volunteered for my sister and I volunteered for her brother.

But none of that matters. I'm nothing. My parents gave me a special name because they thought that it would make me special. It didn't. All I am is a sad, pathetic, little boy who can't even manage to evoke enough sympathy from his eminent death to get his own flesh and blood to say goodbye.

I'm not allowed to wallow in my misery for long. The Capitol people come into my room and tell me that it's time to board the train. I suppose I have no choice now. Not that it matters anymore. All that matters is keeping Sash safe. I'll be glad when I'm dead and don't have to deal with this cruel world any longer.

So, I'm going to be out of town for 4 days and I wanted to post this before I left. Let me know what you think. I'll probably have District Two and Three ready in a week or so.