*DISTRICT 5*
*SADIE JOHANAST*
*FOURTEEN*
Sadie nudges her horse, Roana, into a gallop, listening to the even rhythm of hooves thumping against packed dirt. As she's about to jump the three-foot pasture fence, she hears someone calling her name.
"Sadie!" Georgia shouts. "Mom says breakfast is on the table."
"What?" Sadie yells back to her older sister.
"Breakfast is on the table!" Georgia screams, wildly waving her arms.
"I'll be there in ten minutes!" With an aggravated sigh, she steers Roana back to the well, where she slips off the mare's back and ties her to a stake. She picks up a bucket full of oats, and Roana gratefully chows them down. Then Sadie tucks a blanket around her and heads inside.
"Happy Reaping," Dave says sourly, chomping on a piece of bread.
"You eat like an animal," she teases as she reaches for her own slice. "Even Roana would be ashamed of you."
Dave grins. "Hey, kiddo, this isn't the day to be making bad karma for yourself."
"Hay is for horses," Sadie quips back.
"Come on, kids." Mrs. Nicole Johanast turns the stove off to face her children. "Can we get through one daywithout fighting?"
"They're not really fighting." Georgia rolls her eyes playfully.
Nicole forks eggs onto their plates. "Whatever it is, Reaping Day isn't the time to do it."
"Fine." Sadie pouts as she spreads jam on her toast. "Where's Dad?"
"Probably out in the stables," her mother replies, sitting down and gesturing for everyone to eat.
"So he's allowed to spend breakfast riding the horses, but I can't?"
"Exactly. Hurry and eat, Sadie, we have to get you dressed for the Reapings. You have a little over an hour."
Usually, she would say something along the lines of, "I'm fourteen, Mom; I can get dressed myself." But today, she finds comfort in getting ready with someone. On the off chance she goes into the Games, she wants as much time as she can get with her family.
*GRIFFITH NAVA*
*SEVENTEEN*
Ear-shattering screams pierce the pale pink dawn. In his room, Griffith automatically scoops up the matches from their spot on his bedside table, lights a candle stub, and skulks to his sister's room.
More screams.
"Angel? Angel? Are you okay?" He sets the flickering light on the floor and leans over the girl's bed. "Are you alright?"
She sits up, her gray-blue eyes glassy with pain. Pointing at a shadow on the wall, she gasps out, "They're here. They're coming for me. Griffith. They're coming!"
"Shh, shh." He smoothes back her mousy brown hair. Slowly, although she is only nine, tinges of gray have begun to shoot through it. It's a sure sign she won't last much longer.
The illness she has is called electritis, and it's unique to District 5. Most children age five and up work long, tiring hours in power plants, creating, storing and sending energy and electricity to the Capitol. About one in thirty children contract electritis, a condition in which the victim is directly electrocuted. The power will spread through their bodies via their blood. Nasty side effects include sudden allergies, horrible head and stomach pains, and, of course, hallucinations. Most children will last about three years if they're lucky. Angel has already had it for almost two.
"I'm going to die, Griffith," she whispers. "I don't have much longer."
He knows that. He does. But he can't bring himself to face it. He likes to pretend she'll get better, that working in the factories will bring in enough money. But it never does, and money wouldn't save her anyway.
When he was little, and she was a tiny infant, curled up in a hand-me-down cradle, she meant the world to him. His little eight-year-old body would sit guard over her, and as she grew older, they'd fall asleep next to each other, their tiny chests moving up and down to what seemed like one heartbeat.
Then she got sick.
There's nothing he can do for her, nothing at all. And it almost makes him ill, watching her health decrease slowly but surely, inching her towards death.
He's thought about killing himself plenty of times, but recalling even the meager amount of money he makes from the factories reminds him that even a pouch of coins could mean food and water for Angel, or immediate death. And dutifully, he keeps showing up, on time, every day, to earn a living for his family.
He's not sure how much longer he can keep himself going.
*DISTRICT 5 REAPING*
"Good morning, good morning!" Bright and chipper Jayla Moxford bounces onto the stage in her signature trampoline shoes. "And it is very early." She looks up, as though to judge the sun's place in the sky. Like she doesn't have a huge, thousand-dollar platinum watch fastened around her pale wrist. "Only 10:00?" She clucks her tongue. "My, my, I don't know how you do it every day!"
They refrain from reminding her that most of them are usually awake before dawn.
"Well, I won't waste any more of your precious time! After all, every moment counts! We don't want a power outage in the Capitol!"
Even her goddamn voice is bouncy. Griffith rolls his eyes as she selects the girl tribute's name.
"Sadie Johanast!"
With a startled gasp, Sadie chances a glance at her family. Everyone looks heartbroken, so it's no wonder her own heart is breaking. She begins plodding toward the stage. Left, right, left, right, step, step, step, step. It takes tremendous willpower just to walk.
"Good, good, and now for the boys. Griffith Nava!"
At least it's a change of scene.
But by the time he gets back, he knows in his heart Angel will be dead. So maybe there's nothing to live for in the Games.
R&R please! :)