Chapter VI - Red Balloon

Spring of 3189

District Six

D6M16 - Sheridan Artega

The air is still kind of chilly from the rough winter we had, but I like it. It's a good wake up from the few hours of sleep I managed to catch last night. I swing my feet over from the ledge by the open window where I've been perched for a few minutes, watching life in District Six pass by on the street. My feet hit the ancient wood of the house, the panels creaking obnoxiously as I make my way towards my dresser. I pull out a plain grey shirt and pants, get dressed, and find my well-worn work boots by my bedroom door.

Not bothering to say anything to mom, I step lightly downstairs and check the cupboards out of habit. It's not like there'll be anything in there, there wasn't anything there last night and since I know my mom was in her room all night jacked up on morphling, there was no way she'd be able to get us food. Like I can count on her for anything, after she basically left me to raise myself. But still, every morning a little voice pipes up that maybe today's the day. Maybe today is the day it all gets better. But it won't. It never does.

Sighing, I throw open the flimsy front door and step out onto the crunchy frost-covered grass. For the middle of spring, we're still experiencing tough mornings. I just hope that the market's produce hasn't been affected much by the cold. I can always count on the market, open every other day, to provide me with a meal.

"Morning," I say, waving politely to my neighbor, who's sitting on their porch sipping a mug of something.

"Good morning, young man! It's always nice to see a friendly face around here," she says, smiling brightly. People here are easy like that. Spare them a kind word and they give you the key to anything you want. Even if the kind word is bullshit.

"Whatcha drinking, Ms. Evans?" I ask, stopping at her gate and digging my hands into my pockets. The scraggly lawn is riddled with holes and weeds, but I don't think anyone cares. It's probably the nicest looking lawn in this part of the district, this shithole that I live in.

"Just some hot cocoa. Did you think it was coffee? Oh honey, coffee is much too expensive for me," she eyes me warily and then beckons with a hand. "You look cold, would you like a mug?"

I nod, and follow her inside. "Thank you, ma'am," I say warmly. She pours hot water into a mug and gestures for me to sit in a creaky chair pushed up against a just as creaky table, splinters standing out at all edges, waiting for an unlucky hand.

"Why are you up so early on Reaping Day?" Ms. Evans asks, not looking up.

"I decided to get an early start, ma'am. I'm headed to the market," I answer, twiddling with my thumbs. It seems almost colder inside her house, so I pull my sleeves up to cover most of my hands, only exposing my slightly tan fingertips to the cold.

"Please, call me Tupelo," she says, handing me the warm mug. I wrap my stiff fingers around it, eyes wide. I think the last time I had hot cocoa was when I was maybe eight. "Be careful it's hot," she warns kindly.

"Thank you, ma'- Tupelo," I say, her name feeling foreign on my tongue.

"Not a problem. Why are you going to the market?" she asks, her dark eyes flicking over my face in an expression that begs to point out how I won't be able to afford even the cheapest thing there.

"Just looking. I have some money saved up from my job at the factory, if I see anything I can afford," I add.

"You should be spending that money on rent," Ms. Evans says(her name still feels uncomfortable to say). "I doubt your devil of a mother has any money left."

"Don't worry, I have rent covered," I answer politely. I've never had many conversations with Ms. Evans, just a few friendly hellos here and there, never more. I've never known why she lives alone, why her left eye seems to always look a different direction than her right, or why she keeps gaining pounds when she can't even afford coffee. But I guess she makes it her business to know everybody's else's business.

"Right," she says, skeptically. I drink my cocoa at record speed, rinse the mug, and put it on a towel to dry.

"I should really be getting on my way," I say, stepping away from the kitchen. "Thanks again for the hot cocoa, Ms. Evans, really."

"Come by anytime, dear. You're always welcome," she answers back, waving. I casually walk through her yard and out her gate, but once I'm in the cobbled street, I dart past the houses, trying to get to the market as fast as I can. It's a hell of a run, too. The market is in the nicer part of town, where people can actually afford to make grocery trips.

I stop just short of it and pat down my black hair, trying to look a little better than 'just a mangy street rat'. Usually the market would be in the district square, but it's been moved a little ways to allow the Peacekeepers more time to set up for the Reapings. Speaking of, the Reapings have never really bothered me. Instead, they've just been a mild annoyance in my life. Sure I've taken my fair share of tesserae, who wouldn't pass up free food? But I'd rather focus on the here and now than what could happen in the future.

Once my breathing is back to normal, I start walking through the market, pausing every now and then to look at the displays, but really just keeping an eye out for someone I can use. Eventually, I spot a well-dressed middle-aged man holding a basket of food in one hand and looking over a loaf of bread skeptically in the other. A little kid sprints past him, accidentally knocking the basket out of his hands. Not my best option, but it'll do. In my experience, the elderly are best as they always seem to have nothing left to lose. Nevertheless, I turn and make my way towards him.

"Let me help you with that," I say, kneeling down and picking up the scattered food.

"Thank you," he says, seeming somewhat surprised. "You seem awfully kind to be living in District Six."

And you seem awfully rich to be living in District Six, I think. "Thank you, sir. I always try to help someone every day."

I place the food in his basket and look at the loaf of bread in his hands. Breakfast. I skim over the shop's sign reading Fresh Bread from District Nine in bold lettering. No wonder this man's the only one here. Who could afford this? "Isn't it strange that we can make bread anywhere in Panem, yet District Nine is centered around it?"

"Yes, I find that very peculiar. But apparently District Nine makes a lot more than just bread. I mean look at all of this!" He gestures at the display of baked goods and the shopkeeper grins broadly. "Try one," the man adds.

"I would, but I'm lacking the cash," I say, still looking at the impressive display of food. "This really is splendidly-made bread." The shopkeeper puffs out his chest slightly. Probably not even from District Nine, I think.

"Tell you what," the well-dressed man says. "Since you were so kind to me, I'll pay it forward. Literally." He hands a few paes to the shopkeeper and points at a large loaf of golden bread.

"Thank you, sir," I say, smiling politely at him. We go our separate ways, and I tear into the bread, sighing gratefully. I could go to the square and wait until the Reapings start, or I could wander around the market. I decide to wander, chewing on my breakfast and looking at the other goods on display. I wave and nod politely to people that I recognize, and have a few small conversations, but I don't expect much else for the day. I've already got everything that I need so far.

The market starts to thin out around 9:00, everyone leaving to get ready for the Reapings. Since I don't have much else to do, I end up helping various shopkeepers close up and clean up. Some of them reward me with food or money, others with just a kind word or two.

A while later, I start on my way towards the square, hands nestled in my pockets again. My mother crosses my mind once, but I ignore the thought and resolve to just get the Reapings over with and find something else to do for the rest of the day. The square is packed by the time I get there. I make idle conversation with anyone I recognize from school or work while waiting in line. Eventually one of the Peacekeepers scans my blood and waves me away, satisfied. I find my place in the sixteen-year-olds' section and wait quietly for the escort.

He appears onstage in no time, waving happily to the cameras. "Hello, people of District Six," he says loudly into the microphone, his cheshire grin never fading. "My name is Manx and I am you're new escort!" He has an impossibly large nose, curved so the tip looks like it's about to drip off of his face. He has skinny bird-like legs that end in a pair of large bright red shoes. His head is round and bald, his pasty white skin shining in the sunlight. "Let's begin, shall we?"

Manx recites the story of Panem and how it came to be, speeding through the Dark Days and the two failed rebellions. Everyone's heard this stuff, not only from the Reapings. It's in our schools and in our media and in our conversations. The Capitol will never forget, they've made that clear. "Now that we've gone over that, let us get started on the real show, shall we?" Manx says, his voice changing from monotone to genuinely excited. "Ladies first!" He steps clumsily over to the glass bowl and pulls out a slip of paper. The entire square goes silent and you can almost hear the slight crinkling as he unfolds the stiff paper. "Adelyn Wrench," he reads out. He could have whispered it and we all would have still heard it.

I look over towards the girls' section of the square and catch a rustling in the seventeen-year-olds' section. Immediately after I notice this, a girl steps out of the crowd and heads towards the stage. Her brown hair bounces around her face, a little shorter than shoulder length. Once she reaches the stage and turns towards the audience, I can see her more clearly. She has sharp features and dark eyes that look brown, like mine. She's slim, not stick-thin like I am, more of a slightly athletic figure. She's wearing toned down clothes in shades of black and grey and her expression is stony. She looks different from all the other past tributes, almost like she could actually stand a chance.

"Wonderful! Now for the boys," Manx says, not even looking at Adelyn. He snatches a piece of paper from the identical glass bowl and unfolds it carefully. "Sheridan Artega!" he reads. My breath catches in my throat and when I release it, I think maybe it'll be a sob but it's a low chuckle. The boy next to me turns to stare curiously and that just gets me chuckling more. More people turn to look, making it obvious who I am. By the time Peacekeepers have arrived, ready to escort me to the stage, I'm laughing shamelessly. The goddamn Hunger Games! Out of everything, all my effort to survive, I get pegged by this. Peacekeepers push through the crowd and haul me towards the stage, but I don't stop laughing, not yet. And in that moment - the entire district looking at me, I guess all of Panem looking at me - I decide to not give a crap about the Games. I'll enjoy my few days of luxury and I'll survive when it comes down to it, but I won't worry about the Games. I'm not going to stress about them and I'm not going to try harder than I have been all my life because really what does it matter? I'm hopeless.

The Peacekeepers push me up the stairs and my laughter shudders to a stop. My legs carry me towards my designated spot. They don't feel like jelly, they just feel hollow. I realize a few things once I'm onstage. First of all, Manx's grin hasn't faded at all. If anything, it's only gotten more unhinged and deranged-looking. Second of all, Adelyn doesn't have brown eyes, she has dark blue eyes, blinking curiously at me from across the stage. She also has a smattering of freckles across her face, a tiny detail I hadn't noticed from a distance. Faintly, I can hear Manx closing the Reapings, but I tune him out and instead subconsciously search for my mother's face in the back of the square. Maybe she didn't come, a voice says. But I hold out and keep looking for her hopelessly, even as I'm being told to shake hands with Adelyn, even as I'm being escorted into the building where I may or may not see her for the last time.

D6F17 - Adelyn Wrench

"Up and at 'em," my dad says, throwing a pillow at me.

"Dude!" I say, blocking it with my arm and rolling over in my bed. "Let me sleep," I groan.

"Not a chance. C'mon, it's the first day I've had work off in ages!" my dad says. That's not exactly true. Yesterday morning he came back from one of his cargo trips, telling stories of how the sunsets in Seven paled compared to ours. Not exactly surprising, seeing as how factory emissions always seem to cloud the air.
"Fine," I say, rolling out of bed.

"Great! Jessamine is making breakfast, thought you might want to help her," my dad adds as he leaves my room.

"Make breakfast?" I ask incredulously. "You want me to poison everyone?" He just shrugs and laughs down the hallway. Sighing, I comb a hand through my not-quite-shoulder-length brown hair and look at the outfit I'd picked out last night for the Reapings: a black skater skirt paired with a short-sleeved grey top. Since it's a pretty cold day, I decide to throw on a black jacket before heading down to the kitchen.

"What's up, Jess?" I greet, hopping down the stairs and giving her my signature grin.

"Bacon. Your mom got it from one of the butchers yesterday," my cousin replies. My dad's sister died giving birth to her, so we took her in. She's the same age as me, so really she's only ever been another sister and a best friend. Like a twin.

"Mm," I say, my stomach growling. Hammer, the family dog, comes bounding up behind me and nudges the inside of my knee. I scratch the top of his head lovingly. "They almost done?" I ask, pulling a bag of dog food out of a cupboard and pouring it into Hammer's bowl.

"I mean I guess," Jess says with uncertainty. "I don't really know. Wanna be the guinea pig?"

"Definitely," I say, leaning over the counter. I take a bite out of a particularly crisp-looking piece of bacon. "Mmm. These are good, dude."

"Bacon?" my little brother, Marcus, says from the stairs. Hammer bounds towards him happily. Marcus has always been kind of the complete opposite of me: shy and sensitive and no humor whatsoever. "Thanks, Jess," he adds.

"You would not believe how beautiful the fields of Ten are looking this time of year," my dad says from the kitchen, his feet kicked up casually on the table. "Flowers everywhere, of all different colors!" Sometimes I think maybe he exaggerates things from other districts to make up for the drab of Six.

"Sounds beautiful," my older sister, Cora, says from the seat across from him. I can almost see the slight bulge of her womb if I really look for it. I wonder what she's going to name the baby. Hopefully it's better than Adelyn. I've never really liked my name. It's always sounded like I'm some ditzy rich girl from District One.

"I think I'm gonna ditch," I say, jerking a thumb in the direction of the door. "You wanna come, Jess?"

"Nah, I still have to get ready for the Reapings," she says, always being the more sensible one.

"Fine, but you're missing out, babe!" I say, laughing.

My shoes make rhythmic tapping sounds against the cracked sidewalk as I wander down our street and eventually, although I had no particular destination in mind, I end up at my friend's garage.

The sound of clinking tools suddenly interrupts the few bird calls. Smiling, I make my way into the garage to see Lillian leaning over the front of an old car, her dark eyebrows pinched together in concentration. Her light brown hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of her head, loose tendrils of it falling in front of her face. I lean casually against the side of the car and cross my arms, waiting for her to finish. Eventually she twists around to put a tool away and spots me. A grin blossoms across her perfect face. "M'lady," she greets.

I tip an imaginary hat at her and smirk. "Business on Reaping Day?" I ask skeptically, nodding towards the car.

"Yeah, you wanna help? We could add it to your paycheck," she says, her light blue eyes flicking back down at the car.

"Not really," I say honestly, walking around to stand next to her. "Can't this wait til like tomorrow?" I ask, reaching a hand up to the hood of the car and tilting my head at her.

"I guess," Lillian says, wiping her hands on a towel and then putting her tools away. "What do you want to do?" she asks as she cleans up. I help her, since I know where everything goes from years of working here.

"Let's go on an adventure," I say.

"On Reaping Day? There's going to be so many Peacekeepers," Lillian groans.

"Psh," I say, waving a hand to show they're merely a faint annoyance. "No big deal. It'll just add to the fun," I say, winking at her.

She rolls her eyes, but I can see the familiar glint in them. That constant hollow feeling in my chest comes back, like a dull flame reignited every time I see her smile or her eyes or the little freckles on the nose of her bridge that you need to search for to see. My stomach doesn't do backflips and my throat doesn't close up like a little girl sick on puppy love, I just know it's there. The feeling that I would do anything to be with her, I just don't know how. I've never been the best at showing affection. Instead I just crack jokes and avoid any serious or awkward situations.

"Ready?" I ask, shuffling backwards out of the garage. She follows me outside and we talk and laugh loudly until we eventually reach the old abandoned trainyard off on the outskirts of the district. "Really, just an amazing environment," I say, mimicking the voice of a Capitolite. "Full of real life nature and…" I pause to over-enthusiastically sniff the air. "...Definitely interesting scents."

"Smells like rat shit," Lillian mutters, wrinkling her nose.

"You would know," I answer back with a crude laugh.

"Hey, fuck you," Lillian retorts jokingly. She sidles up beside me as I wander through the rusty train graveyard. "I've never seen you in a skirt before," she says.

"Really? I'm sure I've worn one before," I say, holding my arms out and spinning so the skirt floats up around me.

"You're too gay for skirts," Lillian says, hopping up on one of the olds railroads beside me and putting one foot in front of the other, her arms spread out on either side in an effort to balance herself as she walks.

"Hey man, that's homophobic," I say sarcastically. She can't really be homophobic, especially since she's about as gay as I am, if not more. I'm just bi, but I swing more towards girls than boys. It wasn't the most comfortable thing at first, especially since everybody else was different than me. That is, until Lillian told me she's into girls, too. And bashing gays when you are gay is kind of like making self-deprecating jokes. It's totally fine if you do it, but once someone else does, it's completely uncalled for.

I spot a flipped train, lying on its side like a dead animal, and point it out to Lillian. She hops off the old railroad and follows me to it, watching as I climb it. My arms pull me up quickly, my muscles toned from years of working in the garage and going on spontaneous adventures or dares like these. When I reach the top, I flip around and lean on my elbows, letting my legs dangle off the edge.

For a few seconds while Lillian's making her way up, I'm alone. And it feels nice. However extroverted I am, I will always appreciate a little alone time. Even when I'm not alone, sometimes I feel it. Like I'm lost or empty… Maybe that's why I take so many risks and live life so boldly. Maybe it's just so that I don't feel like an empty shell any longer. But however hard I try to run away from it or drown my loneliness by surrounding myself with friends, I can't. It's just there, the same way my feelings for Lillian are.

"It's quiet here, huh?" Lillian says softly, pulling herself up next to me. She reaches behind her and pulls her hair out of its bun.

"Yeah," I say. "Is that what you're wearing to the Reapings?" I ask, looking over her grease-stained clothes.

"I mean, I was going to change into something nicer, but you kinda whisked me away," she says. "But hey, now you'll look a lot better compared to me."

"Dude, you have no idea how sexy that is," I joke. "You'll probably start an entirely new trend. You know, look-like-you-work-but-don't-really. Let's hope you get reaped so the entirety of Panem can see this."

"You're dumb, Addie," Lillian says in response, but I can hear a hint of a laugh in her voice.

"Sick burn. Really got me there," I say sarcastically.

…

We spend a while at the trainyard, playing around with random shit we find until we decide to head back. Lillian changes into a lacy white blouse tucked into black shorts and then pulls me along to our friend Ida's house, which is conveniently along the way to the Square. Ida, as per usual, doesn't say much as we walk, instead leaving the conversation to Lillian and me.

"What's up, pals," Bailey Isaac, another part of the group, says once we arrive at the square, pushing through poor nervous kids to reach us. "How are you not cold, Lily?" she adds, not waiting for an answer. "Have any of you seen Ana? She said she'd meet me here, but I can't find her."

"She's probably off making out with someone," Ida pipes up.

"You know, I wouldn't doubt it," Lillian says, smirking.

"Hey, I'm not that desperate," a voice says behind me. I whip around to see Ana flicking her hair behind her shoulders, one hand on her hip. "Can we go, maybe? It's cold and I'm tired," she says.

"Welcome to the club," I mutter, leading the squad into the line. We have a mildly interesting conversation while we get our blood scanned and shuffle slowly to our designated spots, but Ana dominates it quickly, gushing about some hot guys she saw at school the other day. I share an amused, slightly annoyed look with Lillian, but we don't say anything. However, Bailey, who has absolutely no filter, interrupts Ana with a strangled, exasperated, almost animalistic noise that erupts from the depths of her throat.

"Same," Ida says beside her.

"Hello, people of District Six," our escort says loudly into the microphone, commanding all the attention.

"He looks like a toucan," Bailey whispers loudly. Ida snickers, covering her mouth with one hand.

"More like a clown, really," Ana says, wrinkling her nose. But his face is okay. I give him… a solid four out of ten."

"Really, only a four?" I say in mock disappointment as he quickly skims through the mandatory history lesson. Next to me, I can see Lillian open her mouth to add something, but then Manx moves abruptly towards the girls' reaping bowl and her mouth slams shut like a trapdoor. The entire square goes silent and I can hear my heart pounding in my chest like a jackrabbit. It's so loud in my mind that I can feel my ears go red and my eyes dart around to make sure nobody else can hear it. Maybe they're all too focussed on their own jackrabbit hearts. It's not like it's my first time in the Reapings, and it won't be my last, but my chances of being reaped are high. Not as high as some other girls' chances, but still high. It won't be me, I think. Why would it be me?

"Adelyn Wrench," Manx says clearly into the microphone, pronouncing every letter, except he says ad-uh-line instead of ad-uh-lyn and it throws me off for maybe half a second until it clicks almost audibly in my mind. Fuck. The word repeats in my head like a broken record, clear and slowly at first and then blurry because no this isn't happening. I can feel my hands start to shake so I instinctively try to push them into my pants pockets, only to feel them slip across the fabric of my skirt. I ball them into tight fists at my sides and take a shaky breath. I can feel first Lillian's eyes on me, and then Ida's, and then Ana's, and finally Bailey's, and then it feels like everyone's looking at me and maybe they are because somehow I found my footing and I'm walking out to the aisle and now I'm walking out to the stage except I can't feel my feet or my legs or really anything. It's like that hollow feeling I feel when I see Lillian mixed with that empty feeling I get when I'm alone but not really alone, except it's all amplified and really I'm just terrified, but I clench my teeth together tightly and set my face and I can feel my jaw muscles pulsing from the pressure. And now the entire district is in front of me and, yes, they are all watching me. I swallow, but the tightness in my throat doesn't really let it go down, so I just stand there, really wishing I could breath, but not daring to. Not yet.

A/N:surprise! i'm baaack boyos.. and really sorry about how long it took me to crank out this chapter :/
but since it's summer, i'm supposed to have more free time but also my dudes life goes by so quickly i mean i thought i would have tons of time to kill, but damn these days go by fast and i still have so much shit to do oof
this was a fun chapter though, i miss writing :) also, guys we're halfway done with the reapings! crazy, right?

just so you don't get too disappointed, the next chapter isn't going to be district seven reapings, it's actually going to be like one of the prologues, from either estella's pov or cetus's.. i'm planning to scatter chapters like those around this syot, so i probably won't warn you anymore haha

also, i definitely didn't plan very well because i totally forgot how big roman numerals can be, so once i finish the reapings, i'll probably stop writing the chapter number in the title and just name it cause otherwise there's no way they'll fit on the table of contents haha

don't forget to show me you're still reading this & review! :) which of these two do you like best? any tributes that stand out to you yet? also if you have a shower thought, pm me :)

also, thank you to iridescenteverdeen for Adelyn Wrench and Elim9 for Sheridan Artega

- knifey :)

shower thought of the day: a bowl cut is just infinite bangs (courtesy of iridescenteverdeen)