We all join the long queues that wind their way through the streets, the people slowly shuffling forward to the square. Every mouth is a downcast line, every face is weary and bitter. I can't understand how the Capitol can rule like this, torturing its people so. Sure, they say it's to prevent another rebellion, but they're practically begging for one.
Some part of me knows that someday people aren't going to take it any more, someday they will rise and fight back. But I don't know when, all I can hope for is that it's going to be soon. I tell myself I just have to sit it out for a while, and just do what they ask of me. Still, I feel wrong deciding someone's fate, even if I don't know them. Now, after a lot of spying, weighing chances and tons of thinking, I finally have narrowed it down to four people.
There's Amanda Galeo, a cute little girl of twelve years old, surely nobody would pick her... She was too innocent and pure, everybody loved her. She'd be safe if I voted for her, right?
Then I could maybe vote on Anthony Galeo, Amanda's eighteen year old big brother. He's strong, at least three feet bigger than I am, length and width. He could have a chance, even if it's a slight one. But what gnaws at me is that if I vote on him, and others do too, Amanda will lose her big brother, her only protection.
I shake my head, I really hate this.
My third option is Dives Calidus. She's one of the wealthier people in the district and trained in fighting. Probably to give her an edge if she was chosen, all I know that she could do some wicked moves with the two curved short-swords she carried around. She would have a chance, I'm sure.
But there is one more option, Rufus Aquila. He's strong, not as strong as Anthony, but strong enough to survive on his own. He's a bully, conspiring with the peacekeepers, helping to identify people who committed 'crimes', sucking up to the Capitol. Everybody hates him, but nobody dares to oppose him, he's got the peacekeepers eating from his hand after all. The risk is, if he's chosen, the peacekeepers won't be happy, and that's not something we need, absolutely not.
These are my choices, none of them I like, but they're the best I can come up with. I don't know who my brothers and sisters are going to vote for, maybe it's best I don't know. The sick thing is, even Julia and Valeria have to vote, I mean, they're just kids! You can't demand such things of them! But then again, the world we live in is a harsh one.
As we slowly approach the square, my thoughts go over my options again and again. I discover that no matter who I choose, I will end up hating myself. So I decide to just jot down the first name that comes to mind when I'm there.
I can see the stage and the screens already. Suddenly two tiny, cold hands squeeze mine. I look down at Julia and Valeria, both pale and scared little girls. I feel all weird inside again and I stroke their dark hair. They both look up at me, surprised. They smile when I smile at them, it feels weird, like the muscles in my face aren't used to being used.
I look back at Cessia, Fabian and Joshua, who walk right behind us. Their faces show surprise when I smile at them too. I figure, since it's probably the last time I can make myself smile, I'd better do it, for them.
We're reaching the end of the queue, four black boxes made of a glossy material are positioned on even intervals on the square. Two for the girls, two for the boys. The queue splits in two when it reaches an intersection of ropes. It really looks like the Reaping, it gives me an uneasy feeling.
I pull Julia and Valeria with me, but we get separated from Cessia and Joshua, who join the other queue. Fabian is still behind us and Valeria releases my hand to take his.
It's sad and sweet at the same time. Sad because Fabian is just one year older, yet he has less hope than Valeria does. Sweet because their faces light up a little, it makes me feel funny again, these little kids holding hands to support each other.
Julia looks up to me too, with less empty eyes this time. It's strange, we're doing something despicable, something cruel. But somehow one smile made them hopeful... I decide that I would never underestimate the power of a smile again.
I reach the first box first and I'm forced to release Julia's hand. I take the pen, jot down a name, throw the paper in the box and walk away as quickly as I can, ignoring the painful protests of my now-probably-worse-than-sprained knee. I scribble down another name when I reach the second box, not even looking at the paper when I let it fall down the slot, ignoring the rows of peacekeepers that watch me go.
When I've put a good distance between me and the boxes, I wait for my family to join me. First comes Cessia, the eyebrows on her eleven year old face knit together when she sees me, and she comes running into my arms.
"I hate it!" she sobs.
I wrap my arms around her, "Shh, not here."
Joshua and Julia have already joined us by the time she stops crying. She wipes her face, leaving clean streaks behind, but doesn't release me. Finally Valeria comes walking towards us, her face unreadable, and we all make our way back home.
We don't talk when we get home, we just go to sleep. Well, I don't sleep, I never do the night before the Reaping and tonight is even worse. I try to avoid thinking of the names I'd written down, I just hope I don't hear them tomorrow.
=''=
Morning comes but it's hard to get up. I haven't had any sleep and by the looks of my brothers and sister, they didn't either.
At last, I rise and dress. Afterwards I take two buckets to the tap and fill them with water. When I get back home they're all done, dressed in their best outfits (the only one we have apart with our working clothes) and sitting on their mattresses.
We clean our faces with the water in the buckets, and I empty them in a dusty groove behind our house. I search for the only comb we have and I begin with the impossible task to comb my hair and that of my sisters. My brother's hair is cropped short so it doesn't need any combing, but my sisters have the long dark hair that is wrapped in a bun or ponytail most of the time. Today we wear it loose. Julia's and Valeria's hair has the exact same length, reaching just beyond their shoulders. Cessia's hair is almost as long as mine, brushing the lower part of her back.
The only time of the year I really see it, is today. It's also one of the few times we take the effort of cleaning and combing it. Our family is a kind of exception, most of the women have curly or frizzy hair, while ours is completely straight.
The light already protrudes through the one window in the left wall, which means it's nearly noon. I quickly disentangle the last of Cessia's hair and then I usher them all outside. I throw the comb on one of the mattresses and don't even bother to lock the door, since we don't have a lock.
We hurry to the square, occasionally encountering other families with their best clothes on and cleaned faces surrounded by dark glossy hair. We're one of the last to reach the square, quickly joining the queues in the right roped area's. I join the cluster of seventeen-year-olds and Joshua joins the group of age fourteen. We file in, leaving a bloody fingerprint on a white square especially assigned for us.
Cessia, Fabian, Julia and Valeria have to join the crowds in the streets around the square. The population of our district is such a size that the square is reserved for the participants only, their families in the adjacent streets, following the entire thing on screens. If I had to estimate numbers, we had more than twenty-thousand people living in district 11, peacekeepers not included.
When all the children are signed in and positioned in the appropriate areas, the crowd grows silent. I throw Joshua one more reassuring smile, ignoring the thought that it's probably going to be my last, and then I focus on the wooden stage before us.
Instead of the usual see-through reaping balls, there are two black boxes like the ones we had to put our votes in yesterday. They must have counted over forty-thousand votes overnight, I can't help but admire such a feat.
My attention is drawn to a rather bony man ascending the stairs. His name is Carlo Quivera, the escort of the annual tributes. He's got golden hair that fans like a halo around his unhealthily pale face. He wears white gloves with golden swirls decorating each one of his fingers, his white suit with a low v-neck is made of a see-through material and reveals a golden and black trousers and shirt. His tie reflects the still-morning-sun with such ferocity it blinds me when I look directly at it. His Capitol-accent is clearly audible, but it doesn't hide the fact that he's from here, district 11. Gone over to the dark side. Nevertheless, if it's me today, he is one of the few people that will help me survive, although he has never succeeded in keeping our tributes alive.
That, however, rests on the shoulders of a rather short and plump woman. Don't be fooled, the plumpness is because of the impressive collection of muscles hidden underneath the long-sleeved midnight-blue dress, probably designed to make her look like a phoenix, but failing desperately if she so much as moves a muscle. I always forget her name, it's long and difficult, and I was never interested anyway.
Carlo Quivera has now reached the microphone and starts his never-ending speech about the Capitol and it's 'incredibility'. The tutor and the major (a greying ordinary-looking man) sit behind him looking bored beyond their wits. It's an unusual sight, the tutor I mean. She's supposed to worship the Capitol and the president, so why does she looks so infinitely bored during the speech each year?
Much later the major adds something about the uprising and the birth of the Hunger Games, shooting a few annoyed glances at Carlo whenever he tries to interrupt to add a very important detail that really can't be overlooked.
The major is actually obligated to read our list of winners out loud, but since we haven't won the Games even once in 25 years, he just skips the non-existent list.
The whole things is actually quite silly, maybe even funny, if it weren't for the constant feeling of doom hanging only inches above our heads.
Finally, speech-time is over, and Carlo rises to his feet (wrapped in a pair of ugly golden sandals) and walks over to the mic.
"Well, all is said, but nothing's done yet!" he says cheerily, waving his hands as if he is addressing a very lively and enthusiastic audience.
"Let's get going then, oh and, may the odds be ever in you favour!" he says. He then darts to one of the black boxes and opens it. He takes a small white envelope out of it and nearly hops back to the mic.
"Ladies first." he says, flashing a wide grin of golden teeth.
The moment of opening the envelope seems to go on forever, the children holding in their breaths, the sick feeling in my stomach growing and growing. And then, finally, his voice tears the tension apart.
"With exactly 1021 votes... the female tribute of this year has become, Aelia Merula!"
It takes a while for me to comprehend. 1021 votes? That's less than one-twentieth of the population! And then it hits me... I was right, it's me.
They all look at me now, after seventeen years of ignoring everybody looks at me. I can't help but wonder who voted for me, but somehow I can't feel the hate I want to feel. I'm numb, empty. I look at Joshua and he looks back, his eyes beyond desperate.
As I make my way through the crowd to the stage, I don't look down but I meet everyone's eyes. I try to look accusing, I try to make them feel ashamed, but really I'm just completely paralysed inside.
Carlo beckons me with his creepy golden smile while two peacekeepers grab my arms and force me to increase my tempo, causing the pain in my swollen knee to increase.
As I ascend the stage I'm greeted by thousands of eyes aimed at me, I just look at them impassively while Carlo congratulates me. He then darts over the the other box, cheerily announcing he's going to read the male tribute's name out loud right now.
"With exactly 2136 votes, this year's male tribute will be... Joshua Marula!"
Someone punches me in the stomach and all the air is knocked out of me, but there's no-one near me. My head is reeling, it can't be.
There's no way, just no way that this is happening! They can't send us both! Our family will die, we will die! I watch as my younger brother makes his way to the middle, stumbling through the crowd of people.
And now I don't feel numb any more, I look at them with a fire in my eyes, my hatred growing beyond control. The only thing stopping me is a large warm hand on my shoulder. I don't even look who it is, I just curl my fingers into a fist and dig my nails in the calloused skin of my own hands. I grit my teeth with incredible force as Joshua climbs the stage with great effort, the major quickly helping him up when it's clear he can't do it on his own.
"Why, what a special turn of events. I'd bet one of my teeth you're brother and sister, am I right?" Carlo says exited while darting around me.
I glare at him with such force I see his eternal smile waver, but when he turns to the audience it's back full-force.
"Well, it's almost a conspiracy!" he jokes. To my surprise, the silent crowd gives him the same death-glare I just directed at him.
Now he's really out of his element, finishing quickly with another "Happy Hunger Games!" and then he's gone, not even shaking our hands.
Joshua finally reaches me and I wrap my arms around him, my chin of the crown of his head. Like that I look into the crowd.
I am unforgiving.
Thanks for reading and if you have the time and desire, please do review!
Next up: Saying goodbye to district 11