I knew from the moment I had awoken that morning that something was different. Of course, it was Reaping Day. Slowly, I rose, soaking in the suffocatingly still air. Panic had a taste, and district anxiety was splashed across my tongue. At least the entire District had that in common. Eight, and every other district, too.
Nobody was safe from the Games.
My bare feet made shivers run up my spine as they came in contact with the cold floor. My younger brother's and sister sleeping breaths were stirring the air softly, small twirls of dust dancing in the morning sunbeams filtering through the window.
I was nearly always the first awake in my house. I could hear my mom and older brother starting to stir downstairs, and decided that the sooner I got out of bed, the sooner this nightmare was over with. It never really was over, though. The Games had the immense ability to stay with you every day of the year. It was never over. It was never finished. The Games would never set the districts free.
With a light hum, I lifted the blankets away from my body, standing in a fluid motion and making my way quietly across our shared room to the chest. Once every year, the Dyne family dug out our fancier dresses and suit jackets. I remembered when I was younger, I asked my parents why we had to dress so nicely. They said it is so that one would look proper in front of the cameras and when one would have to be escorted to the Capitol. But now that I'm older I think of it as a funeral when you doll up the dead.
I picked up a long piece of cloth that made my negative thoughts disappear. I smiled fondly at my mother's scarf. Micah, had made it for her, giving mom the gift of a mismatched jumble of ribbons sewn together into a scarf. He was so proud of it. She wore it every year since, without fail. Along with the scarf, I picked up my mother's dress, and my brother's nice suit jackets, folding them and sweeping out of the room.
I paused at the top of the stairs, inhaling a fresh breath of air, tinged with morning dew and the bitterness of the morning to come. Ever since I could remember, it was always my job to bring down my family's Reaping Day clothes and set them down on the chair just outside their room. Without fail, I brought them down every year, and this year would be no different. Completing my job, I walked back up the stairs, and paused in the doorway to find my siblings sleepy forms sitting up in bed.
"Up and at 'em," I grinned softly, striding across the room and removing my own maroon dress from the chest and throwing it over my shoulder.
It was designed especially for thus grim occasion.
I felt someone bump into the back of my leg and I turned my head, looking down. It was Indira. I smiled softly at her and faced my body toward her and picked her up, leading her to the corner of the small room. The sisters always helped each other get ready.
"Let's get you dressed, hmm," I hummed, pulling a sheet forward for me to help her get changed.
She removed her raggedy night clothes and I helped her into the dress. She wore a blue dress, youthful and perfect with her curly black hair. After pulling the cover back I began to putt the finishing touches to Indira when Mather, my eldest brother came in gave us a half-smile.
"Good morning, little ones," Mather greeted.
Mather is older than me by two years but his height makes it look like much more. He's has short black hair and his eyes are the dark brown most people in our district have and he inherited our mother's flat nose. Mather helped Aidan and Micah with their suits and I made sure everything was in place.
Mather picked up Indira, "Paige , go wash up. I got it from here," Mather assured, sending me a small smile.
I nodded, "Best of luck, little saplings," I wished, a small smile of my own on my lips.
Leaving the room I head back downstairs again and fill up the near by water basin with cold water from the sink. I've heard that in the Capitol, they have these fancy machines called bathtubs and showers. Here in District 8, we simply strip and wash ourselves with the water from the basin with a cloth. I glanced at the clock—11 AM. Reaping starts at one. I dry myself with a thin towel nearby and slipped into the dress. I looked at myself in the mirror. I don't normally pay attention to my looks but every Reaping, I tried to really look at myself, because I'm scared that one day, the last time anyone will see my face is when it flashes in the arena, on television and then my face will disappear off of this world forever.
My dark brown eyes slightly widen, taking in my appearance. In District 8, there was a wide range of diversity. Skin tone ranged from being pale a to a mahogany brown complexion. The eye color in the district varies just like our skin although, brown to dark brown eyes is the most common. Most of us are thin or average size because of the hours spent working in the factories. It's not hard labor like in District 10 or District 11, but the work is still dangerous.
Although most of us here work in the factories, there are a few lucky families who have the luxury of owning businesses that doesn't involve almost losing a finger or limb. There the "townies." They own sweetshops, shoe stores, retails. Things we can never afford anyway. They always carry umbrellas around. Very expensive items, umbrellas are. In fact, my family only owns one. Nowhere near enough to shade a family of four.
I stared at my reflection longer in the grimy mirror. My complexion, the color of sepia brown leather, seemed paler from terror. I fiddle with my chin-length, dark cloud-like hair that framed my round face. I smoothed out the dress on my small frame. Living in District Eight gave me a slender and slightly strong upper body from working with the machines and walking to and fro with all sorts of textiles all day. We were nowhere as well fed as the Careers but we weren't as emaciated as District Twelve. At least, most of us weren't.
Giving myself another once over I walked out of the bathroom and go to our small kitchen, a soft smile on my face looking at who's in there. There she was. My mother, her eyes fixed upon the bowl and whisk in her hand. The pecan skin color accented her black hair that was graying at the frays of certain strands of hair perfectly in the hazy shadows of early morning. She looked up, half heartedly smiling, trying not to think of the day ahead.
"Good morning, Paige," she half-whispered, you could tell the friendliness in her voice was strained.
I wedge myself in between Mather and Aidan. Everyone looked nervous. I stared down at my plate. Two eggs and a slice of bread. Breakfast was a rushed affair. Nobody had the heart to eat, but we did in an attempt to lessen our anxiety. Mather handed Indira to Mom as she walked back into the kitchen after changing into her dress.
"Okay, you know where to go after the Reaping?" I asked Aidan and Micah they nod their heads, the springy coils atop their head moving with them. "Where?" I asked just to make sure.
"We come straight back here and wait outside the door," they said at the exact same time then burst into laughter.
Mom waved her hand towards the door Micah, Aidan, Mather, and I scurried out and Mom locked the door. Micah and Aidan gave Mather and a big hug and we returned it.
"You won't get reaped sis," Micah said, letting go of my neck and gripping onto my hand.
"You haven't even got many slips in the bowl," Aidan said, in a hopeful voice and I nodded my head to both of them.
"Guys, I don't think I'll get reaped so don't worry about it," I said in a reassuring way, and they nodded their heads happily.
Mather squatted down so we could be at eye level with each other and he gently took my hands in his.
"You'll be fine, it's just another slip added in. We'll be fine like we always are," Mather assured and squeezed my hand and I squeezed back.
I heard a woman sobbing and Mather and I turned our heads in that direction, and saw Mom was walking towards our neighbor's house. I grabbed Aidan's and Mather grabbed Micah's hand and we followed Mom where she was talking to a middle-aged woman with tears streaming down her cheeks. The woman is hysterical; she spits words out faster than than my ears could comprehend. Mom shook her head and said something soothingly. I don't know what Mom and the woman are talking about, but obviously my neighbor isn't taking it well.
Finally, my neighbor disappeared into the house and came back out with a girl. She can't be older than twelve. By the look on the girl's face, it's her first Reaping. I let go of Aidan's and hand and took the girl by the hand and led her away from her crying mother.
"Let's go boys," I said quietly, when I'm within earshot.
Neither Mather, Aidan, or Micah asked what had happened between our mother and the neighbor. The walk to the town square is a quiet one, and I thought back on my conversation with Aidan just as Mather started to play game like we do every year to distract us as we walked to the Reapings, you have to rhyme every sentence. Micah and Aidan are trying to come up with harder and harder words to rhyme with.
I don't think I'll get reaped. Aidan's right I haven't got many slips in the bowl and there is plenty of girls in District 8. My life would be over if they chose me. What chance would I have of getting out? I'm fast and can climb but what else am I good at? I guess I would be good with knives and I could try new weapons in the training center. Anyways, why am I thinking about getting reaped when I know I won't. I looked towards the three boys, my mom and my sister who are strolling quite happily to the stage in front of me.
I won't get reaped. Everything will be fine.
I shook my head to banish my negative thoughts as we approached the center of the District. The urban area of District Eight was actually quite beautiful. It was set up on a cross between two main roads with side roads and allies all along every the two roads. The outside on the outside were large and were the more important shops such as a department store, a grocery store, a hospital, the court house. The inside shops were the ones of shop owners with moderate money. At the very core were the rich shops and the town square with the most divine architecture and gardens I've ever seen. A lot of trees and gardens lined every street. Every brick seemed to just compliment just compliment every other brick in the town so that everything seemed to fit in seamlessly.
Usually this was a happy place, but today it was grim.
Mather and I said our farewells to our family, but before we can take a step towards the table for the girls' and boys' areas, someone touched us on the shoulder. It's Mom, with a pained look on her face. She's tried to conceal it with a smile, and the outcome is horrible.
I can't bear to look at her anymore, "I'll see you later, alright?" I assured, as I headed towards the table. But I turned around and gave Mather a quick hug and whispered, "May the odds be ever in your favor," into his ear and I received a smile for my effort.
I walked to the check-in table where there was steel chain stanchains surrounding us as boundaries for us to stand in. As the line disbursed into the large area, it was my turn. A small lady with white hair cut short to her head was sitting at the desk. As I went to step forward I felt a hard tug on my right arm, I looked back to see the little girl's face even paler before we left my house. Her body began to tremble and she let out short gasps while shaking her head from side to side.
"Hey, hey," I began, turning to fully face her. "Everything is okay, they're just take our blood," I explained softly. "It'll be a small pinch and then it's over," I assured, using the same tone from before and squeezed her hand.
I walked up to the table with the little girl in tow.
"Hand please," the woman demanded, I stuck out my hand. She gripped my hand tightly before hovering the device over my index finger and pressed down, a sharp pricking sensation was felt in my finger and my name appeared on the device. "You're done," She announced.
I held the girl's hand as she went through the same procedure as I did, her hand tighented around mine and she winced when the woman behind the table and took her blood sample. We walked into the perimeter of where all the kids were supposed to stand, there were peacekeeper stationed everywhere street, and before the peackeeper sepreated us I wished the small girl luck. After being escorted to my proper section I was locked into a sea of people with a single stretch of rope.
There were more peacekeepers today, littered all around the square. The Justice Building has been decorated with the lavish gold and red colors of Panem banners. It's laughable how the Capitol decorates the whole area to make it feel like an actual festivity rather than an execution block. Considering all the years that tributes have tried to run away, many would think a more efficient way of keeping the kids where they were would have been installed. But the kids knew. Run away and you die. Stay put and you have the potential to die. Many choose the latter.
I stood in the fourteen year-old girl section and unlike last year, I can see the stage more clearly now. Above it is a large television screen where the emblem of Panem dances. There are four chairs set up on the stage, and I know who they are for: one for the mayor, two for our living victors, and one for the district escort. I remember my conversation with Lycra yesterday; what will Amora Flowers look like this year? It seemed that her style changed every year. One year she would come with her skin painted green, and the next she would have eyelashes longer than her fingers.
The large clock of the Justice Building showed it was fifteen minutes from one o'clock. That's when they start taking the stage, our victors. Woof, dressed in a simple dark blue suit, comes up, escorted by Cecelia, she's the same age as Mom and has the same patient eyes as Mom as Cecelia helped up her fellow mentor. Woof's not as strong and sharp as he used to be. Woof is stooped with age and seems like standing is almost too much of a chore for him. He wavers but Cecelia is quick to grab onto his shoulders and holds him close to her, in almost a hug. He's now a senile victor, but a victor nonetheless. Cecelia has to help him take a seat, too. Mom said once that it's a miracle that Woof is still alive. The age expectancy of our district doesn't go beyond seventy, seventy-five on a good day.
I looked over to my sides. All of the girls in my line looked grim. We've had these looks ever since our eligibility for the Reaping began. Not only because of the solemnity of the ceremony, but mainly because of our impending doom, like soot filling the sky. I sighed and looked at the pavement beneath me. It took a few minutes more before Lycra squeezed herself next to me, wearing a red dress which complimented her tan complexion and her brown hair which is tied up in an intricate bun.
"Happy Hunger Games," She breathed, before sucking in air to catch her breath.
"You too," I replied, forcing back a smile.
I pray that Lycra won't get reaped. She has a much higher chance than I do. She had to sign up for tesserae for her two younger siblings every year. I set my attention back to the stage. Head Peacekeeper Slayter nodded to Mayor Lockhearst, when everyone was checked in and sorted into their appropriate sections. The Mayor stood up and mounted the podium that stood at the front of the stage.
"Good day District Eight," Mayor Lockhearst boomed into the microphone, "Today we celebrate another Reaping Day where two lucky tributes from our District have the opportunity of a lifetime to have a chance at bringing our District glory!" His voice expressed enthusiasm, but his facial expression showed pain and disgust.
"The Hunger Games were bestowed upon our country as a result of the actions our ancestors made more than 67 years ago-"
I stopped listening at that point. I can't stand listening to the long speech about how 'we as people of the Districts deserve what we are forced to do because we felt the Capitol was wrong.' It sickens me. I looked down at my feet trying not to pay any attention to the speech. It's difficult, but I'm able to tone out the speech until the shrill voice of our escort broke my concentration.
"Gooooood Morning, District Eighttt!" Amora Flowers shrieked into the microphone, making it pop under the intense frequency.
This year Amora had thin red hair. She's wearing a blue and yellow dress which drapes about two meters behind her and a small black cardigan over the top. Her skin was painted in a pale pink.
"Hello District 8, I'm Amora Flowers! Is everyone as excited as I am?" she asked excitedly, placing her hand by her ear for answers.
There is a few mumbles and she smiled at us like we just cheered as loud as we could, "That's the spirit. Now please enjoy this video brought to you by the wonderful people in the Capitol and then we will get the festivites underway," she chirped waving her hand towards a large screen appearing from behind a curtain.
War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. The people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost and the traitors were defeated. We swore as a nation we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future.
The reaping bowls are brought to her, "Now the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District 8 in the 67th annual Hunger Games. As usual, ladies first," Amora announced excitedly.
Is this how all the Capitol citizens are?
She walked over slowly to the bowl and hand dug deep into the glass bowl filled with the girls' names of my district. My stomach tightened and I reached for Lycra's hand, my breath catching in my throat. With all those slips of paper in the bowl, the odds of mine being picked are astronomical, but I still always get this same fluttery feeling like I'm going to pass out right before the name is called.
Amora seemed to be taking forever in selecting this year's unlucky victim and I focused instead on breathing evenly. I closed my eyes and told myself it'll be alright, I won't get picked. I can almost feel the worry leaving my body when Amora finally lifted her hand up and opened the small piece of paper.
"Paige Dyne!" Amora called out, her voice piercing the audible silence.
My heart dropped down to my toes and I feel the blood drain from my face.
I've been reaped.
AN: Let me know what you think!