Chapter 3 – The Reaping
The days passed faster than I expected, and before I even noticed, it was the day of the reaping. Just like every single year since I could remember we would have to stand amongst a crowd in the district's centre to watch the event, only this time I would be back amongst the potential-tributes, as well as the rest of the district 3's male population. That was just my luck; it would be just like being a teenager all over again, consumed in fear and later on, insecurities.
Around nine o'clock, I head for the square. I'm dressed in my best pieces of clothing, which consist of a black suit, light blue undershirt, navy tie and black shoes. It's not like I'm going to an important gala event or anything, but everyone tend to wear their best clothes when going to the reaping, it must have something to do with the fact that the whole square will be covered by cameras in every wall, filming our faces, our reactions and soon enough, our tears when we watch our loved ones part to pursue a faith that sometimes is worse than a simpler death, they'll be the Capitol's entertainment in their twisted reality show.
Since the presence is mandatory unless you're on death's door, I'm aware that I will most likely end up crossing paths with my older brother, but I try not to let that bother me, I already have enough things to anger me.
Once I'm at the square, I get in the line to sign in silently, a permanent scowl is already settled upon my features, but no one would comment, I knew they felt just the way I did, but even if they didn't, they understood it. We, the potential-tributes, then are herded into roped areas, marked off by ages, twelve through eighteen-years-olds, then nineteen through twenty-nine-years-olds, and so on. They leave the oldest in the front, while the younger ones go toward the back. The family members line up around the perimeter, this year most of them are women, the rest are just boys that haven't reached the age of twelve yet, a sense of dreading visible on all of their faces. I try to look around for Fitz, but the place is too crowded and I can't see him anywhere, I know just how worried he will be, not just for himself, but for both of us.
Looking at my front, all four chairs at the stage by the front of the square are filled, my father is there, being the mayor he has to be there every year, he's taking the seat on the right edge, and on his left side is Phillip Coulson, one of our victors and this year's mentor, beside him is Melinda May, another one of our victors and also this year's second mentor. But on the left edge, where our escort is supposed to sit, is a woman that I do not recognize, she's young and looks far too nice for her own good and not at all like the people from the capitol, and that somehow unsettles me, makes me wonder what happened to our old escort. They are all murmuring amongst themselves, and my eyes remain fixated on them, analysing their body language.
-x-
When the clock strikes ten, my father stands up from his chair and walks up to the podium to read Panem's history, it's the same thing every year. He then proceeds to read the list of District 3's past victors, introducing Phil Coulson and Melinda May who are this year's mentors, only then does he acknowledge the presence of the unknown woman, presenting her to the public as Jemma Simmons, District 3's newest escort, that would be taking up the place of Zalia, our old escort, since apparently the woman died. Jemma takes the microphone from him and starts talking, giving continuation to the reaping.
Jemma Simmons is nothing of what I expected of someone from the Capitol. Her accents is exquisite, almost similar to Fitz' own, and I wonder if she was actually born outside of the Capitol, also she isn't all that cheerful and loving of the games as Zalia was, she looks more like she's here to comply a task, and that immediately makes me despise her a little less than I did Zalia.
Jemma spends some time introducing herself, and telling us what an honour it is to be here being our escort, and what big hopes she has for this year's games. The little speech doesn't last all that long and soon she crosses over to the glass ball containing the names of the potential-tributes. I try not to worry, but I know my name will be there at least twenty-two times, and although some people have their names there way more, I still feel unease at the prospect. With the slip of paper in hand, the woman goes back to the middle of the podium, the mic in front of her as she reads the name in a clear voice. It's Grant Douglas Ward.
I felt like I had been hit with a punch on the stomach, trying to remember how to breathe, unable to speak and stunned. It was me; I would be going to the games this year. As I look around, I finally spot Fitz, the blood is drained from his face, his hands clenched in fists at his sides, but there's nothing he can do.
Taking a deep breath and closing my eyelids briefly, I then start taking small steps toward the stage. I was not afraid, I was not scared, I was angry, and anyone that dared look at my face would be able to see that. I no longer cared about the cameras, or the image I would have to build up for the public if I wanted help. The anger was dominating me. When I finally reach the stage, Jemma Simmons is in front of me, extending her hand at my general direction in an offer for a handshake, which I comply, only to avoid trouble with the peacekeepers. I maintain my cool.
"Let's give a round of applause to our newest tribute." Jemma calls out to the public when I finally release her hand from my hold. I can see that she is extremely uncomfortable doing that, but I bet no one else can notice it, they're blind. I stand there by the woman's right side as the people from the district clap their hands unenthusiastically. It doesn't last long and again Jemma makes her way to the glass ball to draw the name of the second tribute, my expression is schooled, but at this point my insides are boiling.
"Leopold Fitz." The escort called and I got on the verge of losing my mind. No, I think. Not him. Why him? If Leo's face looked like the blood had been drained from it when my name was called, now it looked even worse. He didn't look like he was about to cry, and I knew he wouldn't, but the nervousness could not be hidden from countenance. Fitz was shocked, and he had plenty of reasons for that, after all, what were the odds that we both would be chosen in the reaping? Apparently destiny was keen on playing with us, but this one was a twisted game.
I watched Fitz as he made his way to the stage, face pale and head slightly dropped in defeat. I honestly wished someone would come up and say that this was all a joke, but I knew that would not happen, this was the games and the Capitol would never play with it, it was one of the few things concerning the districts that they took seriously. It didn't take long for Leo to reach the podium, and just like she had done me, Jemma asked the district for a round of applause to Fitz, which was unwanted, but there was nothing the man could do about it. My father, who had walked to the microphone unnoticed, then begins to read the Treaty of Treason, but I'm not paying attention to the words, just to him, he doesn't even seen to mind that his son was chosen for the games, but again, that was expected from him, he didn't care.
As my father finished reading the Treaty of Treason, he motioned for Fitz and I to shake hands, which we did, and when I looked into Fitz' eyes, I saw everything he wanted to say to me, but couldn't because of the cameras there. Leo was sorry that we had both been chosen for the games, he was sorry that no one in my family cared, he was sorry that I had gotten such a weak partner (his opinion, not mine), but mostly he was sorry that there was nothing we could do about it. We then turn to face the crowd as Panem's Anthem starts playing, sealing our demise.
So soon as the anthem is over we're taken to the Justice Building, escorted by peacekeepers, they don't handcuff us or anything, but it's kind of general belief that if anyone tries to flee they're killed in the spot. Once were inside the building, each one of us, Fitz and I, is conducted to a room and left alone. We now had one hour to say our goodbyes to our friends and family, but I didn't expect anyone to come see me. To my surprise my boss and some of my co-workers come to visit me and bid me their farewells, they tell me that they have faith in my abilities as fighter, weapon withholder and marksman, and I am kind of glad for that, but still I act as if I already knew that and treat them as I have always done, putting a barrier between us. Before they leave me they give me something to take to the games, a pin with the symbol of our facility, a black eagle with its wings slightly spread on a silver background. I politely thanked them and then they were gone. My family never came to say goodbye, but I didn't want them to, I was better off without them.
When a peacekeeper enters the room I was in, I know what's coming next, we're going to the train station to take the ride to the Capitol. I was not particularly eager to go to the Capitol already, but at least I would have some hours to appreciate the view of the nature and get my mind off things, school myself a little and start to plan just what I would have to do to keep both Fitz and I alive, so we could return home. The Careers would be the main threat, obviously, but they would not be the only one, and I would have to be prepared for everything that might come our way.
The ride from the Justice Building to the train station is not long, but when we arrive there, the place is filled with reporters with their cameras, all of them trying to be the first to capture images of District 3's newest tributes, if they're lucky enough, their weaknesses and some traits of their personalities. Sadly for them, I'm not about to let anything slip from me before I manage to come up with a whole strategy for the games, so when their cameras focus on me, my face is expressionless and I appear to be almost bored, as to Fitz, which is currently by my side, it was pretty obvious for them that he was not happy with the situation, his eyes were slightly reddened, indicating that he had cried in the past hour and his visage showed distress.
In an attempt to rescue Leo from the spotlights, I turned on my charms and began waving for one of the reporters, my hand was moving in a way that looked almost like I was inviting her to come closer, and when she did, I allowed the corners of my lips to curve in the smallest of smirk, adding to the mischievous expression that my face now contained. Luckily my efforts managed to become valid and soon the other reporters were filming me, too, finally leaving Fitz alone, and from the corner of my eyes I saw him mouthing a 'Thank you' for me.
After more or less half an hour, the peacekeepers finally started blocking the reporters, pushing them away from us and making a barred between our spot and the lunatics. Jemma, Phillip and Melinda were in front of the train's door already, but I didn't go there just yet, instead I extended my arm in order to place a singular palm on Fitz' shoulder, squeezing the flesh reassuringly as I looked at him, and I hoped that he could recognise my words in the gesture, which were 'It's going to be alright'.
Soon the doors of the train were opened and we were pushed towards the entrance of the vehicle, which started moving as soon as we entered it. The ride to the Capitol would only take a few hours, but we would have that time to become acquainted with our mentors as well as our escort, after all they would play a slightly big part on the games, and could make the difference between life and death if we ever needed them during the games. Being social was not exactly my most renowned skill, but I hoped that they would at least be entranced by Fitz' cheerful personality, even though he was not exactly being cheerful right now. These games would be different, it was not only my life at risk here, and I would do my best to bring Fitz and I back home.
The train began moving. It had started.