Bailey Fera – District 11
Sometimes, I think about all the possibilities in the world, and to be honest, there are just too many possibilities. Scientists said that with every decision we make, there is an alternative reality that is created. There's a time in everyone's life when they reflect on their choices. For me, it's mostly regretting choices I've made. Although, I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn't made a certain decision.
"Bailey! Pick up the pace!" my brother, Deuce, snaps at me.
"Come on, slow poke," Micah says, shoving me forward. He and Bond heave bags of cotton over their shoulders. Soon, we'll be sending the cotton to District Eight in exchange for a low price. District Eleven deserves more than what we get. We work our, excuse my language, asses off and in return, we receive meager payments and rewards. As soon as I turn eighteen, and my last Reaping is done with, I'm going to leave. It's not that I don't love my family, but I have bigger plans. I want to do something really useful, like be a doctor or scientist.
"Oi!" Bond shouts. "Quit reminiscing, Bailey, and get to work!"
"You don't even know the meaning of reminisce!" I yell back at him. Deuce, Micah, and Bond are much larger than I am and obviously have more muscle. They will end up doing more work anyway. I'm weak and skinny Bailey Fera with very few uses besides picking cotton. And trust me, cotton picking is not that easy. Sure, it's easy to just pick the cotton, but to get out the seeds is pure hell. My gloves that are about four years old now are getting torn up by the sharp, pointy seeds. Why they don't have a machine to remove the seeds is beyond me.
I stuff some more cotton into my sack and carry it to the main building. It takes me a while to catch up with my older brothers. The only person in my family that doesn't work is Aimee, who's three. People like her more than they do me. The people that seem to like me are Thorn and Benn, the town pranksters that often drag me into their evil schemes. I'm shocked they haven't been caught more than three times. The first time, they had a warning, but the second time they were whipped five times in front of everyone. I had escaped that fate when my brothers backed me up and said I was at the fields the entire time. Although that was a lie.
"Bailey! Come on!" my father sneers at me. He roughly pushes me forward. Unlike my brothers, he is harsh and has a bad temper. He loves me, I think; he just wants me to be someone completely different. He wants me to be like Deuce, the tough one in the family that can lift something three times his weight, or like Bond who has a knack for repairing things, or even like Micah who probably has an affinity for something useful. "Hurry up. Get to the house, eat something, then get to the District Square."
I don't nod; I immediately go to the back of the building and put all of the cotton I'd picked onto a scale. My father isn't much of a dad. I don't really acknowledge him when he's around. He's my biological father, but he won't be a dad to me. I measure how much I've collected, record it, and set it neatly in the cargo. My brothers have collected much more than I have. The four of us run to the house, greeting Mom on the way in.
"Hold on, boys," she says softly. She smiles at us, setting down plates with a little bit of food. "Breakfast. Come on." She beckons us to sit down.
"Mom, we have to get ready for the Reapings." Micah reminds her.
"I know that," Mom says with a soft sigh. "But eat. You all got up early this morning and need something to eat." She hates the fact that she has four children eligible to go to the Games, and all of us sign up for tesserae. Deuce is eighteen, meaning this is his last year. Micah is seventeen, so he has another year. Bond is sixteen, and after Micah's last year, he's going to have to step up and collect more tesserae along with me. I'm fifteen and I'll be taking a lot of tesserae after Bond's last year. Aimee is lucky since she doesn't know anything about the Games yet.
"Okay," Bond says, throwing himself in a seat. My brothers eat quickly, but I take my time. They all sprint up the stairs as I sit with mom.
"How is it in the fields?" she asks me, messing with my hair. I'm a forever bed head, so it's impossible to make my hair look even decent. Once, my mom used chicken fat because she was so desperate to get my hair to stay down. My hair was worse flat than standing up all over the place.
"It's fine, I suppose," I say. "Dad's been kind of antsy since it's the end of cotton picking season."
"Well, don't let him get you down, sweetheart," Mom tells me. She smiles, standing up to clean the table. "You should get ready for the Reapings. I don't want you to be late. And I don't want you to run into that Shark boy either." She ties her hair back and begins cleaning, something she does every day.
After finishing my sorry excuse for breakfast, which was a bowl of some sort of porridge, I head upstairs. My mom tries, I know she does, and my whole family works hard, but we just can't seem to get the income to give us decent meals every day. Usually, we'll go with one or two small meals a day. At least we get water each day, although there's no telling if it's always clean or not.
"Ready to go, little brother?" Deuce asks. He ruffles my raven black hair and ties his tie. I finish buttoning my shirt and tuck it into my too big pants. Hand me downs are the worst, especially when they don't fit.
"We better get going," Micah says, poking his head in the room. Bond is downstairs already, playing with Aimee and telling her goodbye for now. Actually, we say "see you later" because goodbyes are too painful for my mother, who had her sister go to the Games when she was younger. Mom's never told me the full story, but I think I get the idea.
Outside, I'm greeted by my best mates, Thorn and Benn. By the stupid grins on their faces, I suspect they pulled off another brilliant prank. "So, whatever you do, don't go to the flower store for a few days," Thorn says, stifling a laugh.
I raise an eyebrow curiously. "Why not?"
Benn bits his lip. "You'll see soon enough, young grasshopper!" He bursts out into laughter. They usually leave me out of the loop, something that gets on my nerves, but not enough to make me explode at them. "What kind of outfit is Colatia Pannus going to wear this year? We should take bets to see who's closest to what she's going to wear!"
"It's going to be something ostentatious like every year. That's the Capitol. A bunch of grandiose, colorful pigs." I crack a smile, chuckling at what I'd just said.
"Grandiose?" Thorn obviously doesn't know what the word means.
"Ostentatious?" And Benn doesn't know what that word is either.
"Eh, forget about it." Most of the time, people don't really know the words I use. In my free time, I look up words, just for fun. It's interesting to see all the words people don't use anymore.
We arrive in the District Square just in time. There's about five minutes before the Reaping start. All of the crowd isn't there yet, but Shark is, a large eighteen year old boy that loathes my guts. He stands proudly and strides over to me.
"Oi! Shark! Get your fat arse out of here," Thorn growls at Shark.
"Yeah, go run to be with your little—" Benn begins to say.
"Get out of my way." Shark pushes him aside and stands in front of me. "Just because you've got your little posse here doesn't mean I'm not coming after you." He glares at me and walks away. I let out a breath I'd been holding. What a relief. He wasn't going to beat me up today.
"Whew!" Benn says, wiping a hand across his forehead. "That was close."
"You're so lucky to have us, mate," Thorn says, hanging a long arm across my narrow shoulders.
I smile at them, definitely thankful that I met them. Colatia Pannus, our rambunctious escort, shuffles across the stage. She's wearing a multitude of shades of orange, red, and yellow. Her shoes are almost blinding they're so bright. And how can she possibly walk in five inch heels with that ridiculous hair do? And why is she wearing a mini version of our sun hats? Is she trying to mock us?
Our District Victor, Fibro Algodon, is the complete opposite and sighs all the time. He messes with his hair. He could care less about the whole ordeal. I can see why too. Most of our tributes die early on in the Games. We haven't had a victor in a while; therefore we have a pretty old mentor.
Colatia squeals, greeting the whole District. "Salutations, District Eleven. Goodness, goodness, goodness," she says with her Capitol accent. "What a day! Can you believe the 35th Hunger Games are just around the corner?" She wiggles her fingers in the air for dramatic effect. "Let's see who our lady tribute is." She picks up a slip of paper and reads the name. "Maize Koranon!" She throws the paper in the air, clapping her hands.
A dark skinned girl with chocolate brown hair emerges from the crowd of sixteen year olds. I've seen her around and heard stories about her. I met her once when I ran into her. She is a nice girl and definitely doesn't deserve to go to the Games. What's really surprising is that she has eighteen cousins and has eight siblings. Even though she has a huge family and has to help take care of it in deep poverty, she keeps on an optimistic attitude.
"Bailey Fera!"
"Psst! Get up there!"
"Come on, dummy!"
"Are you freaking deaf?"
"Hurry before the Peacekeepers come over."
I don't know why these guys behind me keep whispering at me. Suddenly, two hands seize my arms and start dragging me to the stage. Deuce's gaze is trained on me. Micah's expression lacks emotion. Bond has his arms wrapped around his girlfriend. He refuses to look at me. Did I do something wrong?
"Wait. Wait, stop!" I cry out. Then, it hits me. I've been Reaped. The Peacekeeper tosses me onto the stage, not even caring when I fall onto the ground. Maize promptly rises from her seat and helps me up. My eyes meet the crowd's gaze. Shark is there, smirking. I'll show him though. I'll win the Games and show him. He won't be able to pick on me anymore.
"You'll be okay," Maize whispers as she shakes my hand. She smiles sweetly at me as Colatia continues blabbing to the district. It's impossible for her to shut her mouth. Even during the worst of times.
"I hope so," I reply.
If there is such thing as an alternate reality, am I a tribute? If I'm not, I wish I could travel to that reality right now. Now, I'm regretting things more than ever. Why didn't I do it when I had the chance?
