The earth is dry and cracked but still alive.
That's what my Grandpap used to tell me, before he passed away a few years ago. During the rebellion, the Capitol razed 10 to the ground, and then salted the earth after so we'd never be able to grow crops on our own again. Most of the animal feed we bring in is imported from 11, and the cattle graze on lab-grown turf developed in 3. Grandpap once told me a story about a boat that was taken apart and rebuilt so many times that people didn't know what to call it anymore. At least, I thought that was what it was about. He started to get ramble-y towards the end. Oh well.
I pick up some of the dusty soil and let it crumble through my fingers, the way Grandpap used to. It's an old tribal tradition, he told me, to give someone dirt as a parting gift. It's a reminder of where we come from; of where we'll return when we pass. Pa always hated when he would bring up our roots, but I liked hearing about our ancestors. They stopped teaching about them in school a couple years back.
The fistful of ashy crumbs trickles to the ground, instead of remaining compact in my hand like it normally would. We've heard about the drought in 9 for months now, and though it hasn't quite spread across Panem, it still hasn't rained in some months. Sometimes we get a shipment of water, but those are few and far in between. Pa says it's because all the water goes to 9 and 11. Greedy bastards, he calls them, always taking more than they need.
"KIDS! DINNERTIME!" I hear Ma yell from the back porch. I get up and make my way to our farm house in the center of the barren field. It's not massive or anything, but it's a heck of a lot bigger than what most people have to live by, and I'm grateful. By the time I get to the dinner table, Pa, Boomer, Randy, and Jeremiah are already seated there waiting for me. Jeremiah picks up a spoon and flings it at me.
"What took ya so long, slowpoke?"
Before he can toss the fork too, Pa raises his meaty hand and slaps it out of Jeremiah's grasp.
"Sit yer damn ass down before I smack you silly, ungrateful child," he roars, as Randy and Boomer snicker to the side.
"PLEASE, not at the dinner table!" Ma tells, as Jeremiah ducks under a swiping paw to throw a wadded up ball of paper at me.
"These kids need to learn to respect their elders, Tammy. Otherwise, they'll never— OUCH!"
In the midst of trying to spank Jeremiah, Dad is wrestled to the ground by Boomer, who at 19 is already six foot five and quite the match for him. The whole family runs large, and Ma and I watch as three giants roll around the kitchen destroying all the furniture in sight. Ma lets out a long sigh, then sits down and starts digging in by her lonesome. This happens every year when the reaping comes around. Pa gets ornery, and the boys get all riled up with him.
By the time they calm down, Ma and I are already done and taking care of the dishes. Pa grumbles something about taking care of the yard work, then storms off. As the boys snicker, Ma turns to me and places her hand on my back.
"How're ya feelin', Bertha May?
"Alright," I lie. My stomach is doing flips, but I'm not a little girl anymore. I just got one year left in the reaping, and then our whole family will be done. Plus, my name is only in a single time. The odds are in my favor. And that's not taking into account the situation.
"It'll be okay, hon'. Your Pa is too important. The Capitol wouldn't wanna piss him off, I reckon. You'll be safe. It'll be one of the others."
She's right, I figure. Our family owns one of the biggest farms in all of 10. I don't know much about Capitol folk, but they sure seem to love Cargill steak and milk.
"I still don't think that's quite fair, Ma. Grandpap always told me…"
"Grandpap wasn't in his right mind, hon." Ma cuts me off, reaching past me to grab the scrub brush. "We're lucky enough to be protected, fair be darned. You'll be safe again this year, as long as your Pa has anything to say about it. The odds are in your favor, and all that."
I nod my head and keep quiet. Ma gets real upset about the thought of any of us going into the Games. Our second cousin Ricky went in a couple years ago and got speared by one of them pretty Career fellas. Pa got angry and started yelling at the television like usual, but Ma just shut down and got all quiet like. I wonder if she'd get all quiet if it was me in there.
After we finish the dishes, I go out to the barn to see the cattle. They start mooing the moment I walk through the gate.
"Sorry gals, no snacks this time." I turn my pockets out to show them, and most of them lose interest. Maryanne keeps her head pointed in my direction though, and as I reach her she puts her snout out for me to pet. I oblige, stroking her head like I have thousands of times before.
"It's the reaping tomorrow, Maryanne," I say as she moos in contentment. "I might not be coming back." As if she can sense my stress, she pulls her head back and stares at me with those big brown saucer-shaped eyes.
"It just ain't right. Those other kids, they ain't done nothing wrong. The Capitol has no business treatin' us like that when all we're trying to do is live."
Maryanne nuzzles my hand in agreement, then settles down on the hay beneath them. I exhale deeply, sliding down onto the floor next to her. I wish I could just curl up here and sleep, but Ma will probably come looking for me in an hour or so. It's a shame, really. I only ever really feel comfortable around Maryanne and the rest of the girls. They're a lot easier to talk to than Pa or my brothers, and even Ma doesn't really get me most times. Mostly, they just listen better.
"Bertha!" I hear Ma calling me from the house. Crud. I thought I had more time.
"See ya later, Maryanne." I give her a small peck on the nose, and she lets out one more gentle moo before I run back to Ma. Before I even set foot in the house Ma starts scolding me about spending too much time in the barn.
"You're gonna smell like hay all morning tomorrow. Now get in the bath!" Despite my best protests, she frog-marches me up the stairs and picks me up like I'm still a baby, undresses me, then plops me into the warm water before leaving and closing the door. I let myself sink into the soap and suds and close my eyes. A bath. Most people in the district wouldn't be able to afford this much water over a month, I reckon, but Pa always splurges before the reaping. It's to make us stand out in the crowd better, he says. Grandpap always said the water would be better used on the ground outside. I agree.
My dreams tonight are frightful and restless. I have nightmares of the earth opening up and swallowing me. I see Maryanne's face twist and warp into the face of our District escort, who then reads my name from a glass bowl. When the alarm goes off at six and I wake up, I'm covered in sweat and even more exhausted than when I went to bed.
I hear Ma's voice calling us for breakfast and the subsequent pattering of footsteps as my brothers hurry down the stairs. I take my time like usual, as if today were just an ordinary day. Pa and the boys spend most of breakfast chattering. No fights today. Not with what's coming.
After breakfast, Ma comes up to my room and helps me pick out a skirt. We settle on a yellow one that goes well with my eyes. I can feel how tense she is as she helps me tuck the back in. As she squeezes my left shoulder, I gently rest my hand upon hers and turn to look at her.
"We'll be alright, Ma. It'll all work out."
Her forehead creases and I can see the wrinkles around her eyes grow stronger. Pa is confident that I won't be reaped, but I know Ma is always going to worry about me. She gives me a halfhearted attempt at a smile.
"I know, sweetie. I know."
We get to the reaping almost an hour before it starts. Like always, Pa's reserved a section near the front for us to sit. He says that getting to sit down makes us look important. From what I hear from the other kids at school, I think it mostly makes us look stuck-up. We wait as the rest of the District filters in. It's long and boring, and I distract myself by thinking about the cows. A few of the kids that pass by give me a funny look. I'd say hi, but it's not like any of them are all that friendly with me. I only see them at school, and even there I mostly keep to myself.
The sun is hot, and beads of sweat drip down my forehead into my eyes, ruining my makeup. After what feels like ages, the last few stragglers finally wander in, and a woman in a puffy green dress with little cows on it trots up to the stage. Our escort, Talamina Vogue, gives a long, boring speech about the history of Panem and how the Capitol held it together during the Dark Ages. I hold back a yawn and lean back into my seat. Maybe Pa was right. It sure is nice not standing, that's for sure. I've almost drifted off to sleep when she finally gets to the reaping.
"Ladies first!" My eyes snap wide awake as Talamina reaches a manicured hand into the giant glass bowl holding thousands of names. I hold my breath, just like the thousands of girls around me hoping to stay alive just one more year. Not me, I think. Not me. She plucks one out, and her green lipstick glints under the hot sun as her lips purse. Time stops for just a moment.
"Lassie Marks!" My shoulders relax, and I feel Ma's grip on my wrist loosen as well. I'm safe for another year. I let out a breath that I just now realize I've been holding in and turn my head to see who the unlucky tribute is. It's bright, and the glare from the sun makes it hard to see far, but I eventually am able to focus my vision on a small, shabby-looking girl being dragged away from her screaming parents a few rows ahead of me. She's a withered thing, draped in a faded shawl and tattered dress clothing. Her arms and legs are tan and lean from what I can only imagine is years of fieldwork. Still, she can't be older than 13. Pa turns back with a smirk.
"What did I tell ya, hon. We had nothing to worry about. Don't feel too bad either — she's nobody important."
Nobody important. The words swirl around in my head, making me dizzy. My thoughts from last night come back to join them. It's just not quite fair. I imagine Lassie in the arena, screaming and limbs being torn apart by wolves. A dull throb begins pounding in the back of my head. Before I know it, I'm standing up with my hand held high. The words come out of my mouth before I realize what I've done.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
The next hour is a blur. The peacekeepers drag me to the train station, despite Pa's pleading and protests. While he beats at them with fistfuls of money, begging to change things, Ma nearly collapses and needs to be held up by the boys. Before they can really say goodbye, they're ripped away by gloved hands. I'm still in shock. I have no idea why I did what I did, and I have no idea what I'm going to do next. Talamina strolls past us and gives me a droll smile.
"Perhaps this year will be more interesting, isn't that right, Dearie?"
After nearly another hour of waiting, it's time for me and the male tribute, Dean, to get on the train. The peacekeepers roughly shove Dean aboard, but before they can turn to me a shrill voice cries out "Wait!"
I turn around to see Lassie staring up at me with large, round eyes brimming with tears. I soften and give her the bravest smile I can, considering the circumstances.
"Thank you," she whispers, and quickly sneaks something into my hands before being escorted off the platform. When I'm aboard, I open my fist and see a fistful of dirt. An old tribal tradition. I smile, and finally understood what grandpap meant.
I'm down. I'm out of luck. But I'm still alive.
Author's Note: Down but not out. Life is beating the fuck out of me right now, but Sunrise on the Reaping gave me just enough juice to squeeze this one out.