The crowd was huge, and constantly shifting, our bodies crammed uncomfortably close together inside the fenced off area. In One Reapings were always a big event, not that it wasn't elsewhere, but here, it was almost a spectators sport, watching the vies and bids for a spot as a Tribute. It was ridiculous, volunteering, arguing even for the chance to die. I didn't dwell on it though, knowing that I would be doing exactly that in a moment, ever the hypocrit.
I had gone to work this morning, I didn't have to, or rather wasn't supposed to, but there was something about the heat of the forge, and making something with my hands that breathed life into me and gave me purpose. It brought me peace of mind. Even now standing amid the other young men in only my boots, trousers, and leather appron I could feel that sense of ease and relaxation reaching deep into my bones. I knew the sweat I had worked up was bothersome to those around me, but no one made mention of it, not today, not when all focus was on the stage. Still even with all the excitement if I closed my eyes I could smell the fire's heat, taste the acrid, sour tang of the hot gold as it stretched and formed by my hand.
I was a Career only out of my step father's demand though, even over being a goldsmith which I felt was my true calling. We were easy to spot, those of us who trained, thick, muscular, and rippling. Even the girls on the other side of the divide could be told apart, their arms and abdomens, strengthened with thick, though less showy bands of muscle that peaked through garments, or were left exposed completely. By contrast those among us who worked the diamond mines were thin, sickly, with a pallor to their skin that made them almost appear to be slick. I'd heard that there were gasses deep under the earth where the prized and glittering gems blossomed like flowers that could kill a person, seeing the miners now beside their fellows, it was not impossible to imagine.
It was overcast and shadowy with the distinct promise of rain. Glancing about I spotted my mom among the observers with my sister Celeste who was two years too old for the honor of being down here. I smiled when Celeste smiled, and waved at them. I loved my mom, honestly I did, but she was also the most idiotic person who has ever lived. Lynx, her husband and evidence of her stupidity walked out of my blind spot and headed towards them, Phoebe the only child the two of them had, had together at hand. My smile vanished. I was a Career because of that man, I was going to volunteer, again, because of him, and I had lost my left eye because of him as well. Of all the monstrously abusive individuals my mother could have fallen 'in love' with, I was fairly sure that he was the worst.
I turned away fuming just as Alexandri Colt, a Capitol man with a single fringe of turquoise hair that stood up on the center of his head before laying to the right just above his brow like a wave, stepped out on stage. He beamed at us proudly, being District One's escort was a great honor and he relished it each and year. "Ladies first!" he piped out in his shrill, overly feminine voice. I always found him to be ridiculous, and needlessly flamboyant, big surprise given where he called home, and I had to stifle a laugh.
Most of the time the drawings in Career Districts were meaningless, and more for show than anything else. The man reached his hand into one of the large bowls and gave the papers inside a short whirl before pulling out a slip. "Amber Mace." Alexandri's voice whined nasally.
"I volunteer!" came a dozen or more female voices, so in unison they seemed almost militaristic in their discipline.
Alexandri sighed heavily into the mic as all around him the red lights of cameras shut off, no one wanted to watch the nit picking, and without the public eye there was no need for public show. "Really, every year!" he complained to seemingly no one and everyone at the same time. "Don't get me wrong," he went on turning to an equally garish, but clearly disinterested camera man. "I love the glamour, but I could really do without the politics."
All of the volunteers were taken to the stage where the preliminaries would begin, in which the girls would discuss among themselves their reasons and choose who would best be suited the Reaping. This almost never went well, and this year was a keen example of how badly such situations could go as it devolved into brief but bloody fistfight.
"Oh, sweet Jesus!" Colt lamented, still connected to the audio system as he swore in the name of one long lost god or another.
At last we were able to move on, to part two of the selection process, open debate. Of the remaining six to move onto this part three girls were voted upon by the general public. Those names would then be re-submitted into the bowl and only one could be drawn. Stepping up the the restocked container Colt fished around again and pulled out a slip. "Snowflake Trest" he called having regained his camera face and none too late, though a subtle twitch in his mouth at the surname gave away how plain and common he found it. The girl however was anything but common. She was tall, pale, with hair of white gold, and violet eyes dangerously alive with her victory.
Everyone applauded, her family was led away for the voting, and Colt stepped up to the boy's bowl. At that moment without any build up the heavens opened.
"This day, could it get any worse?" The Capitol escort practically sobbed as his makeup began to run in drab muddied smears. When his hair fell flat he began to scoff and preen like a cat with a hairball before sputtering desperately for all to hear, "For the boy's this year, the year of the 82nd Hunger Games, the Reaping will stand as a state of urgency is declared. There will be no further debate." he said laying down the law. Everyone around me suddenly tensed with anticipation as he withdrew a soggy paper and shook it off. That was it, this year, whoever it was, they were stuck. "Apollo Kovalev." he sneered, pronouncing my adopted surname poorly.
Of course it had to be me. There was no way it could have been any other, the universe itself had allied against me. First the long debate of the girls, the fistfight, the rain itself and the sniveling man whose face ran like a ruined painting. No one else could have luck like mine. Actually come to think of it, only twenty-five others could have luck like mine. I was numb, floating and weightless with not even reality to hold me to the ground as they came to collect me. Yes I had been going to volunteer, but all I had to do was give a poor argument, be disparaging and no one would vote me in, because, more than anything District One liked to win.
It seemed like eons and milliseconds, a lifetime, and a single breath, in the time it took me and my family to be gathered in that tight little room. So, here I was facing a near assured death sentence, and I had to vote someone I loved to join me. We all stood in a small circle, as the official scribe of votes waited in the corner, her innate pen poised. I couldn't bare to look up, stand to see the pain on my mother and sister's faces. Tears, hot and remorseful stung at the back of my eye, the socket a beating too many had left void burned also, but this was a phantom pain. I choked back what tears I could, and then Lynx cleared his throat.
My heart skipped a beat and my head shot up. It was so absurd a concept that it had taken me a moment to realize what it meant. I hadn't, not ever, considered that bastard to be a part of my family, but apparently the Capitol saw things differently. I took one look at his grizzled, hollow face and laughed, loud, long, and bright.
"I cast my vote," I declared feeling freer than I ever had in my entire life. Ironic given that my future had all but just been taken from me. "I vote for Lynx Kovalev." I laughed out, intoxicated with relief and joy. The pen scratched down his name.
Lynx gave a half cry, half gasp that caused him to choke and gag on his rage. Peacekeepers stationed in the corners of the room leveled their weapons at him, as with one hand Lynx gripped the front of my apron, while the other reeled back in a fist and my mother yelled for him to stop. "Release the Tribute." one of their steady voices said, though I could not see the speaker, a disadvantage of the half-blind.
"This is ridiculous!" Lynx chuckled nervously as he let go and backed off. "The boy didn't mean it!" he pleaded to the woman's who looked rather smug. He was swallowing hard, face becoming gaunt as if in all the years of beating and belittling, the cost of my eye and the forced position of Career he hadn't even expected this as a possibility. He and my mom argued briefly before Lynx shouted above the din, "Fine, I cast my vote, Celeste Kovalev!"
"Lynx!" My mother shrieked grabbing onto both my sister and I. She wasn't keen on losing any of her children. "She's my daughter!"
"Exactly," the bastard said his tone low and threatening. "She's your daughter."
Suddenly the glass of my mother's perfect fantasy world shattered, and it was as if she was seeing him for the first time. With tears in her eyes she whispered a barley audioble, "I cast my vote for Lynx Kovalev." Celeste quickly followed suit. No matter what little Phoebe said now his fate was sealed and two armed guards stepped forward to take him into custody. He was deathly pale, and his knees kept giving out on him, not quite so strong anymore, not when he was the one on the receiving end.
"Love you mom, love you Celeste. Phoebe, kid, you be good I love you too." I said managing to give them a brief group hug before being hauled away too, but in the opposite direction. "Oh, and Lynx," I called out. "I'm really, really sorry!" I couldn't help myself, the laugher erupted from me in a violent uncontrollable bout, one that would last and cause me to question my own sanity long after District One had faded from the train window.