District 5, Javok Rain
The morning was crisp. The cool air sent tendrils of fog around the pasture that surrounded our house. Many years ago, corn would have been growing, and cows grazing. Now, after the rebellion, the overgrown grass and wildflowers were set to mock us and our misfortune. Thankfully we had Aunt Adelaide. She lived in the rich person section of town. She held the key to our next meals. Her husband was the great-grandson of our richest relative, long dead. His money had been bestowed upon her. Twice a year, Auntie A (as the commanded we call her) traveled to the Capitol to insure that her funds were well-placed. Of course, she always tapped in on the Capitol's fashions, so her skin was now a sickeningly bright shade of pink. As I stood in the pasture, boots on and overalls buckled, I heard her high-pitched whine from our back door.
"Java!" she screeched. This was her favorite nickname for me, after Java Tootle, her most faithful Capitol companion. He often visited her. His teeth were sharpened to a point, and he was about my age, and about twice as vicious. She called him Tootles. Sighing, I trudged back towards the sagging, misshapen form of our cottage. I opened the back door and slammed it. My mother turned sharp blue eyes on me.
"I've told you many times, Javok, don't slam that door!"
"Yes ma'am." I offered.
I washed my hands up with a barrel of clean-ish water kept around for Adelaide's visits. Today, Java was with us. He was currently forking momentous amounts of shriveled green beans into his mouth. Precious food all washed down with a glass of our only luxury drink: Poppy May's Apple Cider. He gave no thought to us and our money. His cheeks bulged with fat and the food he so noisily chewed. My older sister, Sindy, stared at him in shock. My father coughed.
"So, what's the new style in the Capitol fashion?" he tried. Java smiled through his mouthful of potato salad.
"Well, studded rhinestone heels are positively stunning on the right foot."
My mother looked hopeful, glancing desolately at her calloused heels.
"On the most pampered feet, he means." piped Aunt Adelaide. Mother picked at her green beans. The two exchanged snickers. Aunt Adelaide was Mother's older half-sister. Their difference in age was fifteen years. I set my fork down.
"Well, I'm going to go dress for the Reaping." I announced. Aunt Adelaide parted her grotesquely purpled lips.
"That's right! I almost forgot." Here she added a ridiculous laugh, "Being in the capitol and all. Though while I was there, I did attend the loveliest Hunger Games party…"
I stalked away, disgusted with her. Sindy followed. I went to my room and prepared myself on the reflection of a broken shard of mirror. I combed my hair back. Defeatedly, I grabbed my token: a silver chain to wear around my neck. It was given to me by my favorite cousin: Alec. He died when we were seven. Sometimes, I think that my mother likes Java more than me because she misses Alec, too. I shined my boots, rubbing the shining cloth over the leather until it looked presentable. Sindy had dressed in mother's old party dress: it was a clear, beautiful green, lighter than the moss that grew outside. She tied a ribbon to match in her hair. It was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She looked beautiful. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"Well, let's go." She said sharply. I followed her. Aunt Adelaide began to gush on how beautiful Sindy looked and how I could really use a new pair of jeans and how Java found the most delightful dress at some Capitol boutique the other day….
I tuned her out after that. The Reaping was a solemn event. The silence was deafening. We were late, so the Capitol announcer, Pip, started to announce. He drew the girl's name. She walked up. I didn't notice who she was.
Then the boys name. Pip accidentally dropped the slip of paper. Laughing at her mistake, she opened it up.
"Javok Rain."
The crowd was at a stand-still. My feet kicked the dust up as I walked up onstage.
My life was over….or it would be, all too soon.