District 1 Reaping

Agrius Sevent, District 1

So much has happened in the few weeks since the war officially ended. The announcement of the strange new event known as the Hunger Games, the frightening appearance of the Peacekeepers, and small skirmishes are still popping up in various districts, though not so much here in District 1. We've accepted our loss and are ready to move on. Besides, if I recall correctly, we were the last district to agree to the rebellion, anyway. We had always been the Capitol's favorite and weren't willing to endanger that. But hey, the past is the past and you can do nothing but move forward from it.

I keep this thought in my head as I turn off the TV, which was broadcasting the seventh strangling to occur here in the district this past year. It was yet another teenage girl with a face that defines beauty. The reporters aren't yet releasing the name of Rosemary Santino.

A smirk packed with resentment spreads across my face. I only know the girl's name because I was the one who killed her.

Before you go making assumptions, no, I'm not a psychopath or anything. I'm quite sane. I know, that's exactly what a psychopath would say, but just trust me on this one. I'm by far the most attractive boy in my district, a guy most girls can only dream of being with. You can guess how shocking it is when someone declines the opportunity to have a little fun with me. That's simply something that doesn't happen.

Those girls soon learn that I always get my way.

It's been that way ever since I was a child. I happen to be the son of District 1's mayor, making us the wealthiest family in the district. That's saying something, considering that most others have their own line of expensive jewelry. I grew up in luxury, never being denied much of anything. Call me spoiled, I don't care. As long as I've got an entire floor of the house to myself, a personal chef that cooks all my meals, and two loving, wealthy parents, you can call me whatever you want. I'll still be better than you.

"Agrius," my father calls from somewhere downstairs. "Are you dressed? The reaping begins in less than an hour."

I quickly glance at the clock hanging above my television and see that he's right. "I'll be down in a minute!" I shout back, sliding off my bed.

As I hastily pull off my pair of jeans and slip into dark gray dress pants, I think about what this reaping will be like. You'd expect me to be nervous, seeing as I could potentially be thrown into a fight to the death within the hour, but I'm really in an okay mood. After all, I'm eighteen, and next year I'll be too old to compete anyway. Plus, I'm the son of the mayor. We supported the Capitol throughout the entire rebellion. The Hunger Games are supposed to punish the rebels, not us.

Now in just my dress pants and shoes, I grab a freshly washed V-neck off my dresser and put on a dark vest over it. Not too dressy, but apparently it's the newest fad in the Capitol, and I'm all about looking my best.

Making sure my silvery blonde hair is perfectly spiked, I flash an award-winning smile at my reflection in the mirror, satisfied with my appearance. Unlike most of the district, I won't arrive wearing layers upon layers of flashy jewelry and other accessories. Most of that simply looks silly to me.

Set to head off, I bound down the stairs and out the front door of the main hall, assuming my father has already left. He said something earlier about helping mom prepare her speech for the ceremony. So, I hold my head high and stroll down the street on my own, getting looks of envy from many of the other kids.

It's not long before I reach the square. Pretty much everything in District 1 is still intact, even after the war. The fighting took place mostly in the other districts, and we were left alone. That being said, the square looks fantastic. Aside from it's original appearance, it's also decked out in ribbons and banners and posters, trying to glorify the death match scheduled to begin in about a week. Now, I know I've executed my fair amount of murders, but even I know this is messed up. Forcing twenty-four kids to kill each other is absolutely inhumane. At least I don't go around bragging about my victims like I've done some great deed.

The lack of organization in the square astounds me. Attendance is mandatory, but I don't see any sort of person trying to make sure everyone's here. There's only a massive crowd of citizens surging toward the stage we use for special occasions. Anybody could very easily hurry home unseen.

As I push my way about halfway through the crowd, I stare at the stage which has two baskets resting on a table, a microphone just behind them. Each is filled with hundreds of names, one for every child between twelve and eighteen. I can't tell for sure, but I'm assuming one is filled with boys and the other, girls.

The only other thing I notice is the alarming amount of Peacekeepers patrolling the area, each clad in white, trying to separate the eligible tributes from the adults and younger children. Obviously new at their job, it's amusing watching them try to demand authority. They're not as intimidating as they first seemed, running around in the crowd, attempting to get attention.

After several more minutes of scoping out the crowd around me, someone taps the microphone onstage to make sure it's working. "Welcome, citizens of District 1, to the first ever reaping of the Hunger Games."

Recognizing the voice, I turn to notice my own mother standing at the microphone, looking out over the crowd. I smile when she spots me, and her mood seems to lighten a bit. Despite being the mayor, she's really not very good with people and is awkward in front of crowds.

After she tries to stumble through her prepared speech, she decides to save herself the embarrassment and select the tributes. "We'll start with the girls," she says, stepping to her right so she is positioned behind one of the baskets. She plunges her hand in and picks out a name, opening it slowly. A look of terror takes over her face.

"Oh," she says quietly, her hands shaking. She can't seem to take her eyes off the name. "Oh," she says louder, trying to recompose herself. "Well then, I guess…no, I guess this is the basket for the boys." She looks to one of the Peacekeepers. "Perhaps I should put this back and select a girl's name first?"

"Just read it," the man responds.

My mother opens her mouth to read the name, but is apparently unable to do it. She drops the slip and covers her mouth, tears slipping out of her eyes. She finds me in the crowd and I finally realize why she's so upset.

"Come here, Agrius."

The entire crowd gasps. While I may not be the most liked person in the district, I can tell everyone recognizes that my own mother just sentenced me to death, practically.

All eyes on me, I try to stay calm and say the first thing that comes to mind. "No."

For some reason, I have confidence that my refusal will have some sort of effect. My parents always give me what I want, so why shouldn't they now?

Now beginning to sob, my mother counters, "Agrius, please. Just come here."

I'm beginning to get frustrated. Clenching my fists, I step forward. The crowd parts for me. "I said no, mother. I won't."

At a loss for words, my mother says no more until two Peacekeepers come to fetch me. "I said no!" I shout as they grab my arms. I kick and punch and thrash around, trying to get them off of me. "Let go, I'm not going!"

They drag me toward the stage and I can hear my mother let out a wail. She falls to her knees and cries, dropping the microphone on the floor. When I reach the stage, they release me and I turn to face the silent crowd. Glaring at one of the Peacekeepers, I growl, "Look at what you've done. You've gone and made her cry!" With that, I haul back and slam my fist into his unprotected face, blood erupting from his nose as he staggers backward. The other doesn't know what to do as I tackle him to the ground. "You made her cry, are you happy?" I scream, a few tears flowing from my own eyes as I slam my fist into his face several times.

It takes four Peacekeepers to get me off of him.

"Agrius," I hear my mother say. "Just come here. Please."

Not like I have a choice. I'm thrown onstage and forced to walk toward my mother. She gets to her feet and wraps me in a hug, crying into my shoulder. I'm still furious that she's refusing to let me stay here in the district, but I have to hug her back. It's not her fault. I'll find someone else to blame. Someone else to punish for this.

Seeing as my mother can't emotionally handle drawing the girl's name, a Peacekeeper snatches the first slip of paper he sees and calls, "Iska Lorelle, you're next."

Another gasp is heard, but much quieter this time. There's a long pause before a soft voice from the middle of the audience says, "Excuse me. Thank you. Let me through please." I'm wondering what's taking her so long when she finally stumbles into the open, tripping and landing on her knees. She's a pretty girl, with dark brown hair and a face shaped like a heart. She looks to be fairly young, too. "My cane," she says to no one in particular, running her hands along the ground. "I need my cane."

A young man finds her cane and clutches it tightly, deciding to help the girl up the stairs. It's now that the crowd figures out what's going on.

Iska is blind.

As she approaches me, with the help of the young man, I can make out her milky blue eyes and the fresh scars across her face, from the injury that must have blinded her. She stops a few inches from me and turns to the boy who assisted her. "Thank you," she says in a soothing tone. She takes her cane from him and tries to give him a hug, but she can't seem to locate his body until he grabs her himself and returns to the audience.

My mother tries her hardest to close the ceremony, but it's a mess. I stand behind her, fists clenched, as Iska absentmindedly plays with her cane, seeming ridiculously calm about the whole situation. We're told to shake hands and I have to grab hers first.

"Pleasure to meet you," she says.

"Yeah."

I drop her hand and look away. Okay, she can't see. But that won't make killing her any more difficult. Like I said, I always get what I want. And right now, what I want is to come home alive. And I am willing to kill every tribute that stands in my way, Even a blind little girl from my own district.

A/N: Hey guys! I hope you liked the first reaping. You can already see the differences that come with these being the very first Games. No escorts, new Peacekeepers, no tesserae, etc. I'd like to thank HappilyEnding for both of these amazing tributes! Also, so you know, if one tribute doesn't give their point of view in the reapings, they'll have their own Capitol chapter, so everyone gets the same amount of time in the spotlight.

Stay tuned for District 2!

- Connor