District Eight, the District of textiles, could be described easily in one word: hell. The District itself was conveniently placed in an area where the climate was constantly cloudy and dry. Whether the clouds were actual water or pollution, no one really knew. Being the District of textiles, they had a multitude of factories that had all sorts of machines alongside their workers that were constantly in use. The pollution that ran from the factory floated up to the sky and stayed there, the lack of wind keeping in there, therefore killing all the plants and wildlife within the District. The living conditions were less than ideal, but the factories provided good money, and money meant survival, so the residents didn't bother to leave. Like anything, there was a price to pay, and that was the weakness they all acquired.
Golden blonde hair was stroked underneath the bristles of a simple brown hairbrush. Keri Ray admired herself in the mirror for a moment, putting the brush down. She took note of the way her hair flowed down in gentle waves of gold and the twinkle in her green eyes that always seemed to be there. Keri wasn't a rich girl, she was far from it, but she was a lucky girl. Maybe the green of her eyes reflected the luck she felt on the inside. After all, she did have many blessings for her simple life. She had a healthy and loving family even though she was just an only child, she had a reliable, trustworthy best friend and wing-woman, Caroline, and, most importantly, she had her amazing boyfriend, Joe. Indeed, she had a lot to be grateful for.
Taking one last look at her reflection in the mirror, she wondered why she looked as pretty as she did for a poor girl. Keri suddenly shook her head, refusing to even internally sound self-centered. But Keri wasn't blind, no one was. Her good looks was one of the reasons why Caroline and her were as popular as they were. Personality had nothing to do with it, neither did whatever money and clothes she had, it was all about her frame, her figure. Guys always looked at her and offered to help her out however they could in order to get her attention and affection, but she would always brush them off, not wanting charity.
She stepped away from her makeshift vanity and walked downstairs where she was greeted by a kiss on the cheek from her boyfriend, Joe. Joe had been through a lot for his young age. His mother died from an unknown illness about three years ago, leaving him in the care of his father for a short amount of time. About two years later though, only a few months in to his relationship with Keri, his father was found dead on the kitchen floor, blood spilling from the man's arm onto the wooden flooring, staining it a dark crimson. After his father's suicide, Keri, being the caring girl she is, took him in and he's been living with her ever since.
"Good morning honey," Joe flashed Keri his award-winning smile that lit up his already bright blue eyes. Keri couldn't help but smile back at him, giving him a kiss.
"Morning to you too," she replied happily. Her mood suddenly went colder, "Today's the big day."
"Don't remind me," he grumbled in return. Keri simply rolled her eyes, a small grin spreading on her lips.
"I can remind you of a lot of things yet you choose this for me not to talk about?" she teased, "Alright...well then remember that time about a week ago-"
"You can shut up now," Joe intruded, "Now stop being immature and join me for some breakfast."
The two walked over to the table where Keri's parents had left two plates out. Not much was on that plate, just some bread with what looked like jam, but it was better than nothing. Keri and Joe sat down at the small wooden table and began to eat their jam and bread. No words fell between the two as they ate. Joe was the first to finish and kindly waited for Keri to finish before picking up both of the dirty dishes and placing them in the sink.
"Why must you be so good to me?" Keri questioned.
"The same reason why you're annoying, it's just in my blood," he responded with a wicked grin.
"Okay now you're just being rude," Keri paused for a moment, "Did my parents leave or something?"
"Not sure. They told me to give this to you though." Joe handed Keri a small slip of paper with some scribbles on it.
Keri, we are sorry we can't see you before the Reaping. Good luck and don't worry, the odds of being chosen aren't in your favor. With love, Mom and Dad
Keri sighed as she finished the note and tucked it away in a pocket. Her parents wouldn't be there so support her on the most stressful and scary day of the year. She suddenly thought that if she were to look in a mirror right now, her bright green eyes would be dark, a less lucky color. Hopefully the green of her eyes wouldn't mess up her good luck she's had all her life.
The definition of sadness in any District Eight dictionary would have a picture of a unhealthy, pale boy with small features and washed out brown hair that sat on his head like a mop. Underneath the picture would be two words that identified the poor boy as Bradley Keystone. The boy was confusing to interact with. He would refuse to speak, but whenever it was about him, he would be chatty. He was always honest, but sometimes he would be too honest and hurt the person he was talking to with his antics. It was because people's dislike towards him that his selfish nature came about, despite his quietness. Bradley just wants to be noticed, and he would go to extremes to do so.
"Bradley! Come downstairs!" his mother yelled from the bottom of their small two-story house. Bradley rushed downstairs knowing better than to ignore his mother.
"Yes?" his stiff voice echoed in the living room. His brown eyes met his mother's and the two stared at each other for a slight moment. She looked exhausted with her hair a mess and bags underneath her brown eyes. The wrinkles on her face were more prominent.
"Bradley, dear, could you go and take these old clothes to the market for me?" his mother all but begged.
"Why?"
"Because I am your mother and if you still want a roof over your head you will help me."
"But I don't want to!" Bradley whined.
"Bradley," his mother warned him.
He felt his jaw clench and anger build up in his chest as he growled out, "No."
"Bradley Keystone you will be decent and take out these goddamn clothes," his mother looked on the verge of yelling.
"No."
"Bradley. Don't make me bring in your father."
"No! You can't make me!" he screamed.
"Yes I can and I am. Do as I say," his mother walked out of the room leaving behind a red-faced Bradley. Bradley walked over to the cloth bag and grabbed it with a frustrated scream. As he walked outside his front door, he passed his father. Proving to his father that he didn't want to do the job at hand, he screamed again and began stomping on the ground. His father simply pointed at the door before walking away to go find his wife. Bradley let out another shrill scream as he stomped his feet against the ground, striding outside.
As soon as he was outside, Bradley inhaled a deep breath of the still, humid air. He huffed the air back out with a grunt, upset. He dragged the bag against the gravel floor, probably cutting holes in it as he walked. His feet carried him to the nearest clothing store that was right outside the main circle of shops in the market. As soon as he arrived at the little shack that had seen better years, he opened the door and threw himself in. He left the bag of his old clothes near the counter before walking back outside in his usual silence. As he went back home, he saw several young kids running around, playing games. He nearly scoffed at the sight of people actually being as happy as they were on most terrifying day of the year.
Bradley made it back to his house and stood on the front porch for a second, thinking, contemplating, wondering. The only thought that plagued his mind was that he could only hope that in his mental dictionary his face and name would be listed next to the word redeem.
Keri flattened down her lavender dress with one hand, the other being held by Joe. The two stood in line with each other as they waited for their blood to be drawn for the Reaping. Being only fourteen and in a relationship raised a few eyebrows throughout the months from adults, but other fourteen year-olds saw them as endearing and models for what they wanted in life one day.
The two stuck out their arms and got their blood drawn. Shortly after, Joe and Keri were cleared and moved on towards the already massive group of people waiting for the Reaping. Their eyes met before they split their hands, gave each other weak smiles, and made their way over to their respected fourteen year-old sections.
Keri looked around and found Caroline making her way through the crowd to meet up. The two shared a quick hug when they met before they linked arms and power walked over to the second to last line for girls of their age.
"You nervous?" Caroline asked in her typical high-pitched voice.
The note that Keri's parents wrote her this morning which she brought with her to the Reaping seemed to weigh more after Caroline asked that question. She hesitated a moment before putting on a happy smile and responding with, "Not at all. We'll be okay."
In that moment, Keri's words barely convinced either girl as they stood in line, arms linked and fear in their eyes. Caroline smiled back at her best friend before responding with, "Your eyes are darker than usual."
Keri was about to respond but never got the chance to thanks to the Capital's anthem playing loud and clear to all the children. A man in a purple shirt, stunning silver pants, and zebra patterned boots made an appearance onstage halfway through the anthem. His blonde hair was curled, little purple streamers weaved within each curl, the effect of shine smothering his head. The Streamer Hair Man twisted his wrists around in either nervousness or anticipation as he practically bounced towards the microphone.
"Hello, hello, hello everyone! I hope you all are excited! Two of you lucky children out there will escape this dump!" And suddenly, the Streamer Hair Man clasped his mouth and looked around him, clearly not meaning to have said that. A nearby Peacekeeper rolled his eyes at the amateur and grunted, nodding his head to motion him along. The Streamer Hair Man caught the cue and removed his hand from his face. With a hesitant smile, the man continued.
"A-Anyways...let's watch the Capital video! Shall we?" His hands flaunted towards the monitors around him and the video played on cue. The video was old, recycled, and, without a doubt, outdated. District Eight always got the short end of every stick in the Capital whether it be on new videos, new machines, whatever.
When the videos on the monitor ceased and the Capital's logo took over, the Streamer Hair Man took it as his cue to start talking once more.
"I know you all are eager," he practically bounced as he spoke, "so lets start the Reaping Drawings!"
His tanned hand dug around in the Girl's Bowl for a moment before he pulled out a cluster of different slips. He sieved the names through his fingers until one name remained. Going to the microphone, his deep voice called out, "Keri Ray!"
A collective series of gasps ran out amongst the fourteen year-olds. The most popular of them all had been Reaped? The girl with gold hair and a gentle curl? Had the lucky shade of green in her eyes betrayed her? Keri Ray also contemplated these questions as she walked up the center isle towards the stage where the Streamer Hair Man stood, motioning her towards him, a tight smile on his lips. He held out his hand to Keri and she took it, feeling a bit wobbly as she mounted the stage.
"Aren't you a pretty girl?" he commented before walking to the microphone. Of all the times to be complimented, Keri dreaded it right then and there. She felt sick to her stomach, her face probably turning an unattractive shade of green that matched her eyes.
Bradley Keystone couldn't help but notice the girl's shift in demeanor from afar. Being only thirteen, he could have been close to the stage, but decided to take the back row and blend in with the crowd. Besides, there was an abundance on twelve year-old boys, he would have been far from the stage regardless.
"Shall we go on to the boys now? I think we should!" The Streamer Hair Man physically bounced his way over to the Boy's Bowl, nearly knocking it over in the process. Once again, the tanned hand dug around in a sea of white and black before it settled on one slip. Fingers gingerly undid the tape the kept the slip folded and secretive.
"Bradley Keystone!"
Suddenly, Bradley thought back to this morning, and then he thought about his walk over to the Reaping Center. He had been utterly ignored, his spotlight stolen. And then he remembered the burning anger he couldn't get rid of this morning, and the new anger of being Reaped added on top of that right now. An idea sprung to his head: They can't un-Reap me or force a boy to volunteer, plus everyone in the Capital and Districts are watching me right now. This is a time worth taking advantage of. It only took a second for the plan to be put into action.
A scream of "No!" was heard. It was not sad, heartbroken, terrified, or panicked. Instead, it was angry and it was Bradley. He was screaming a series of different "no!"'s at different ranges and altitudes, attracting the attention of everyone. To add icing to the cake, he began stomping around and shoving people around him. Immediately, Peacekeepers began to fight their way through the boy towards the screaming thirteen year-old. They grabbed his arms and began to drag him away from where he was standing. Bradley fought and felt his face turn a bright red, his ears undoubtedly the same shade. He began kicking the legs of the Peacekeepers, but in their stiff outfit they didn't feel anything or even flinch at the young boy.
Bradley was practically thrown onstage by the Peacekeepers. He struggled to gain balance, the Streamer Hair Man offering a hand for help. Bradley smacked his hand away and stood straight as a board, arms crossed, a scowl on his red face.
"Uh, here are our tributes! Keri Ray and Bradley Keystone!" The Streamer Hair Man motioned for the two to shake hands, but Keri felt like if she moved her hand away from her mouth, she would vomit everywhere, and Bradley refused to listen to the man, still angry.
After watching the Reaping's Replay later that night, the two of them combined would be later found in Bradley's mental dictionary under the word unlucky.
The District Eight Reapings are completed! Quick heads-up: I'm reposting this because I just bothered to proof-read it. Also, sorry that I haven't updated for another month. My end of July trip got bumped up a couple weeks and I just got back from it. I would have written this chapter on my vacation since I had a lot of downtime, but sadly, I had no Wi-Fi, therefore writing was impossible.
I'm going to sound desperate here but please, please, please review this chapter! I asked for people to do that last chapter and only one person did. I would appreciate any feedback so that these don't become repeated chapters but with different tribute names for each District. It would mean the world to me if you could do that, plus it gives me some good motivation and inspiration to write more. Besides, we're almost done with these Reapings! Help me out so that we can get to the good stuff? Thanks!
And a side note you reviewers: you guys always make me laugh because 99% of the time you will write your opinion on the tributes I've written about in a Reaping. What makes me laugh is that you guys tend to start your opinions on them with "This isn't against you...", "No offense to you...", or something along those lines. Please don't think I take offense for your honest opinion on these characters, I'm just writing based off of what the creators gave me when they submitted these tributes. Plus, getting your opinions helps me get ideas towards how the Capital will think of these tributes. So please, don't be shy to give your honest opinion about anyone mentioned in these chapters or any previous chapters.
Aut viam inveniam aut faciam. ("I'll either find a way or make one.")