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Sorry for the shorter chapter. Memorial Day weekend was busy and I didn't have as much time to write as usual. Hope everyone enjoys!
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Chapter V The Reapings Part 5
District 9
There was a debate happening outside of Darley's bedroom door, one that his younger siblings weren't doing well at hiding.
"Just knock."
"He could be asleep."
"But's he's not!"
"Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!"
"Just come in!" Darley called from his bed, happy for the attention. The door opened and his three siblings, Baldwin, Lilac, and Fern entered. Baldwin, the eldest of the three at thirteen, had a wooden tray with breakfast for him.
"You missed breakfast. Again." Lilac said sadly.
"It's the most important meal of the day!" Fern cried, always the most excitable of the four Garlain children.
"Ever meal is the most important meal of the day." Lilac countered, attempting to sound wise.
"We wanted to see how you were doing. And make sure you're eating." Baldwin said, laying the tray in front of his older brother. Darley perked up, eager to eat. Being locked in a bedroom for four days took it's toll.
"I'm fine." Darley said, picking at his food.
"Why don't you two wait outside?" Baldwin asked. There was arguments followed by a lot of quick, high pitched shouting as Fern tried to give Darley an update on everything that happened the last four days in less than thirty seconds, but the two younger Garlain's children were removed from the room and Baldwin, proper and maddeningly formal for some reason, remained, standing at attention at the edge of the bed while Darley ate.
"Mom asked how you are." Baldwin stated, emphasizing how badly Darley behavior seemed. When he had been alive, their dad was the parent how looked after the children. Mom was busy with her work as a doctor. She wasn't one of those medics who wandered District 9's endless fields of grain and wheat and barely tending to heat stoke victims or frostbite. Mom cared for the Mayor, the Head Peacekeeper, and other notables and was one of the few doctors in 9 certified to perform surgery.
Her work kept her busy, and thus far from her role as a parent which Darley suspected she liked.
"The execution is in four days." Darley said, absent mindedly scoping up some scrabbled egg and dabbing it on toast.
"I heard." Baldwin replied.
"Should I go?"
Baldwin gave a small shift in his standing. "Do you want to?"
"I don't know. You're better with this stuff than I am. What's the etiquette on going to your ex-boyfriend's hanging for killing the girl he left you for?"
Baldwin, dry as ever, shrugged. "You're probably a trailblazer in that."
Darley didn't laugh, shaking his head sadly, knowing just the angle to do it to elicit sympathy. "Baldwin, I don't know… I don't know… I loved him."
"I know you did."
"I still do." Darley confessed.
"Then you should go. Be there for him at the end. Even if he's a murderer."
Darley considered that, very thoughtfully, and nibbled on the toast and egg. A little runny, but good. "I will go. For what we were. And… what we could have been."
Baldwin left it at that and let Darley finish the rest of his breakfast in silence. He waited a few moments after the door closed and then devoured the food, starved after being locked up in his room for four days. It was nice of his younger siblings to check on him, and even hearing that Mom had said something was pleasing. Getting her attention typically required money, and lots of it.
He lay in bed, setting aside the now finished tray of food. He'd have to make a presentable showing at the Reaping. Dress well – as was befitting his family's wealth – but physically look unwell. Baggy eyes, ruffled hair, maybe a button on his dress shirt out of place. Enough to trigger comments and elicit attention.
Attention, but never questions, Darley reminded himself.
He remembered the party, the last time he saw Clinton and his girlfriend, Valerie. They had argued. Valerie had been drinking something, some odd pink drink. Their argument got worse. And the next day she was dead and Clinton and cuffs.
A tragedy.
Best that people remember it that way.
There was misery in the air as children lined up for Reaping check in, but Greta's adoptive parents taught her well: no matter the mood, never turn down an opportunity.
"Ice! Fresh, cold ice!" Greta hollered, voice going hoarse from a morning in the sun and exertion. She pushed the heavy, rickety cart with coolers strapped on down the check in lines, rolling down dirt that qualified as "roads" for District 9. The sound of jingling money in the purse made the effort worth it.
As she was waved down by a another customer, Greta took pride in her scheme. Her adoptive parents – really her true parents – owned a trading depot on an important junction between the District's amber grain fields and settlements and were well off for it – minus the high taxes business ownership incurred. The business also had an ice machine that had been broken. Greta was nothing if not resourceful, and after four barters had acquired a yellow paged manual for repairs. She fixed the ice machine and, throw in three old coolers, she had a small business going.
'Look what you can do when you use your mind a little.' Greta thought.
It wasn't without its flaws though. One of the coolers was a bit leaky and the others couldn't fully keep out the heat of the day. The ice was almost all gone and what remained was starting to slosh around inside the coolers. Heat waves baked across the dirt roads and off the dilapidated buildings, the peeling chips of paint giving the impression the building was melting just like Greta's ice.
She took a moment to stop and fan herself with her hat, sweat dripping off her face as she did. She doubted she was a pretty picture, but Greta knew beauty wasn't her thing.
Peacekeepers approached her, towering over her as everyone, even small children, did. There was a flash of fear at their approach, but it turned out they just wanted ice like the rest. Their money was as good as anyone's so she cut them the last bit of good ice, took the payment and decided that was a wrap on her sales.
She turned around, ignoring the sad looks from the other children and the few just eyeing her suspiciously or with muted laughter. Greta ignored the looks and laughter and taunts. They were most gone now that she was eighteen and almost done with Reapings, but it still brought back the sour taste of her life in the orphanage and how cruel the children could be.
Her adoptive parents were just outside the reaping at their own stall, hawking odd bits of junks that farmers could use to repair tools. They smiled at her proudly as she approached with a purse full of money.
"A good haul! I think you ought to this every year." His dad encouraged.
"I wish. Not sure I could though. I don't think they'll let nineteen year olds near the lines." Greta told them.
"Well…" her mom began, smile on her sun worn face. "If that doesn't pan out you'll have another business."
"What do you mean?" Greta asked.
Her parents looked at each other, eyeing each other with pride. "We're getting old, Greta." Her dad began. "We don't work like we used to. My mind too is… drifting. Don't know why. Hard to keep thoughts straight. And your mom and I have talked, and decided that you should take over the day to day of the business. It's what you deserve. And it would make us proud."
Greta had long suspected that this was coming, but it's was still a shock to hear it. Both her adopted parents were older, almost sixty, and adopted her late. They had no kids, never wanted any due to the Reapings. But as they got older they realized they wanted someone to carry on for them. They found her in the orphanage, already a teenager, and adopted her. They had loved her since. Better than the orphanage where a little person, left by her parents, found nothing good for her.
They had saved her.
And Greta was more than happy to pay it forward.
She ran up to them and hugged them tightly, her parents leaning over and embracing her.
A family. A future.
It's all she ever wanted.
"Greta Doe-Liebert!"
A tiny girl stepped out of the eighteen year old section. Darley looked at her, as did most of the District, and believed that she was a Bloodbath. Most people knew Greta of course, she was the adopted daughter of the Liebert's, a kindly elderly family who ran a profitable storm.
To her credit, Greta walked to the stage with great composure. She took the stage and said nothing as the Escort coo'd over her briefly before going to the boys bowl. A name was called and Darley's world collapsed.
"Darlington Garlain!"
He was shaky, by Darley made it out of his section and manage to walk to the stage, shaky but moving. He passed by Baldwin, look of shock in his face. For a moment, Darley wondered if he'd volunteer. That would be something. But Baldwin didn't and Darley kept making his way to the front.
As he passed, he heard whispers.
'It's Clinton's boyfriend.'
'Poor guy.'
'Such shit luck.'
'He always seemed like a good guy.'
He heard all the comments.
All the people talking about him.
And despite himself, Darley felt a tinge of excitement at that.
District 10
There was much cruelty in the world, one only had to go into town and see the charnel houses to prove that, but Sierra Barrett also thought she was one of the luckier ones.
Dawn had just broke in District 10, flooding the hilly, open plains of District 10 with soft light. Sierra, on horseback, looked out over the hills, watching her family's sheep graze lazily, totally at peace with their lives. An occasional bleat of displeasure as one sheep accidentally stepped in front of one sheep's grazing spot was the only annoyance in these animals lives thanks to the Barrett's safe care.
The horse whinnied beneath her and Sierra gave it an appreciative pet on the neck. Riding on a horse made her feel as powerful as a Capitolite, and everyday she was happy her family could afford to take care of horses. Of course, they received stipends from the government for horse care as did most families in the District. 10 was too big and ranching required horses to properly handle things.
Of course, the stipend was always carefully monitored by the Capitol to make sure it was being used for it's intended purpose. Nobody was allowed to use stipend money to pay for food and care for humans.
Dawn also meant that grazing time was over and Sierra sounded her whistle, calling in the herding dogs and begun bringing the animals back to the pens. At seventeen, herding was second nature to Sierra and it was easy enough to collect the sheep. The sun had risen higher by the time she got back to the Barrett ranch and locked the animals locked the padlock, her morning done and her mind now stuck with only the Reaping before her.
A cool breeze swept over the ranch, promising a rare cool summer day. Sierra took off her hat, letting the wind cut through her long blond hair. As she walked up the porch steps of her family home, Sierra took one last moment to look out over the plains, trying to look into the horizon beyond them.
In that moment, the Reaping before her, childish dreams came back to Sierra. She dreamed of riding her horse to the edge of 10, escaping it's borders and riding on with just her wits and pack of supplies. She'd camp in the wild, find a place just to herself, where nobody would bother her know her name and she'd be free.
She always stopped herself. Not out of fear of the Peacekeepers or the wild or the unknown, but for her family.
She could hear them inside the house, preparing for the day, mom, dad, her three sisters and her older brother. The chattering, the banging of plates with scraps of food, the liveliness.
In her heart, Sierra knew she could never do life alone.
She went back into the home, embracing it's warmth.
The slaughterhouses are what everyone thought of when they considered the awful stench of District 10's main town, but Oscar thought people always forgot about the endless pens just outside the town.
He was leaning over one now, resting on the metal grating and looking into a bunch of goats. His father was next to him, hand on his shoulder. "Tell me which you think is best." He instructed his son.
Oscar scanned the billies, eyeing each one carefully. The seller, standing a little ways off, never let them get to close so a sharp eye was needed when buying and selling. Thankfully, Oscar had a good teacher. He pointed out a goat, who's legs were tucked underneath it and lightly chewing feed in front of him.
"That one." Oscar said. He looked at his father, who's face looked disappointed and a bit angry. Through it though, his dad offered him a wink, a signal for just the two of them Oscar had gotten the right answer.
"Hmm… suppose it would do." He said, turning to the sellers. "My son doesn't have the sense for this stuff, but I can tell you've got a bad billy there. I'll take him off your hands, at a third."
The seller was indignant. "You joking? A third? That's a stud right there!"
Oscar said nothing, letting his dad negotiate and play the sellers. He wasn't sure how, but his dad had somehow gotten a reputation as a hard ass, which was pretty far from the truth for Oscar and his siblings. Dad was a jovial, caring man, always cracking jokes to his wife and children and checking in on the neighbors after bad storms.
In town though, that morphed into someone Oscar didn't know. A no nonsense, hard man who could brow beat anyone down on price and make a man double their initial offer when he was selling. Oscar wondered how his dad could play both roles.
In the end, he got what he want, the goat at a low price though he was a prime candidate for breeding. A receipt was provided, stamped and approved by the appraiser Peacekeeper licensed by the Capitol, and the deal done. They'd pick up the goat after the Reaping. Once they were out of sight, Oscar's dad's face slipped and smile came to his face.
"Good work. You always know how the pick them." He complimented, snagging his arm around Oscar's neck and pulling him in for a hug.
"I can't believe they couldn't tell you were bluffing."
"People see what they want." His dad told him. "Sometimes you just gotta… sell a certain version of things."
"If you say so." Oscar replied.
"We'll get the Reaping done and head back to the ranch afterwards." His dad continued. "Shouldn't be any issues with introduce the new billy to the herd. If there is, I know you can handle it."
"Of course." Oscar replied. His dad looked at him, sensing his sudden discomfort and knowing what it was.
"Hit with another wave of it?" His dad asked. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. Just like your sisters."
"I hope so." Oscar replied. "It's just… every year I can't believe the Reapings are happening."
"World's just like that." His dad replied.
"But why?"
His dad stopped and turned, putting his hands on Oscar's shoulders. "Don't think like that." He replied, trying to tamper his thoughts. "Just don't. That's the quick way to the noose."
Oscar nodded and they continued on, ignoring the thoughts that plagued young Oscar's mind. The terror, the fear, the feeling that the District was nothing mor than chattel to the Capitol.
He tired to keep his mind off it. But like every year, he failed.
The air around the Reaping was humming with tension. Last year, they had come so close to victory with Hayley Butcher, only to have it snatched away by Victor Echeberría. As Sierra waited in her section with the other seventeen year olds, her friend Leah was whispering to her.
"Think we'll get someone good this year again?" She asked Sierra.
"I hope so."
"Hayley almost had it." Leah said. Around her, some of the other girls were nodding bitterly. The summer had been good so far, but winter had been cruel as all hell. The monthly rations that a Victor would provide to their District would have been sorely appreciated.
The Escort, as was most of Panem, was still enamored with the "Butcher of 10", an awful title that Sierra hated. She hadn't known Hayley – she had been a recluse though the rest of her family, particularly grandparents were quite active – but it was well accepted that she had been a good person that had been put into an impossible situation. It angered most of 10 that nobody else in Panem seemed to see it and only portrayed her as the ultimate villain for Victor Echeberría to take down.
"Let's see who's going to follow the Butcher up!" The Escort cheered happily as she pulled a name from the Reaping bowl. She ran back to the microphone, an impressive feat in her high heels and too tight red outfit. She read of the name quickly. "Sierra Barrett!"
A silence fell over the crowed, except for Leah who gasped next to her. She was whispering something to Sierra, but she couldn't hear her friend over the hurricane brewing in her mind. The anger, roiling and forming into something deadly.
How had this happened? Out of everyone in the District.. her?
She must have waited for too long because a Peacekeeper was pulling her from the crowd and directing her towards the stage. She walked in silence, eyes down, not wanting to show her true feelings, but knowing she was failing so badly. She stood next to the bubbly escort and said nothing. The woman instead ran to the boy's bowl and pulled a name.
"Oscar Cabrera!"
Sierra looked over the assembled crowd and saw a light brown skin boy with a mop of black hair emerge form the sixteen year old section. She recognized him instantly as one of the goatherders. She had seen him around on market day, when all the ranches brought in their livestock for the slaughterhouses. The boy was one of many who brought goats.
He took the stage, his face a better mask than her own. He stood next to the Escort, eyes down, as the she grabbed both his and Sierra's hands and raised them high. "To your Tributes for the 59th Hunger Games!"
There were no cheers. There never were. Sierra and Oscar were herded into the Justice Building in silence, both of them certain of their ends.
Up Next: The final Reaping chapter, Districts 11 & 12!
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