Welcome back, everyone!
This chapter contains some portions of text that were taken from The Hunger Games (both the book and movie) so that we can all hear some of the Capitol's propaganda. It is Reaping Day, after all.
~ Meghan
"It is a bitter disappointment when you have sown benefits, to reap injuries."
- Titus Maccius Plautus, 245 BC - 184 BC, Roman Republic
The Reaping.
...
Amethyst Amberdust - 17 y.o.
...
- District 1 -
Amethyst awoke to someone jumping on her bed.
"Today is the day!"
Wiping the sleep from her eyes, Amethyst sat up to give a drowsy smile to the blonde girl staring at her. "Good morning, Saph. Happy Reaping Day."
Sapphire grinned. "Daddy and Grandpa are making pancakes with strawberries. Don't tell them I told you, they wanted it to be a surprise."
Amethyst smiled, rolling her eyes. "Noted." She swung her legs out of bed, curling her toes in the plush rug covering her room. Any other morning, she'd be hitting the alarm clock with a groan, willing time to move slower before she'd have to go to the Academy at 8 o'clock. But not today. Besides, the Reapings in District 1 didn't start until 5 o'clock, so she had time.
And it would be needed to get ready. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity; she couldn't show up to the Capitol in shambles.
"Go ahead and get changed," Amethyst told her little sister.
Sapphire pouted. "Can't I see your dress?"
Amethyst shook her head with a playful smile. "That's staying a surprise."
With a dramatic sigh, Sapphire got down from the bed piled with throw pillows and headed out of the room, shutting the double-doors behind her. Usually it was silent in the mornings with her door shut, but today Amethyst could already hear the noise from further away in town. She could picture the district in full swing, hanging up banners, giving the Justice Building one final scrubbing, and checking that all the flowers were perfectly in order. The Capitol entourage would have arrived at sunrise, no doubt, carried on the train.
A thrill ran through Amethyst. Later today, she would be on the same train, on the way to the rest of her life. A victor in the waiting.
Amethyst bit her lip, suppressing the laugh that threatened to bubble up, and hurried to her closet.
Despite owning well over fifty dresses, her mother had commissioned a special dress for the occasion. Of course, no seamstress was going to turn down the mayor of District 1, so they dropped everything else and got to work on Amethyst's gown.
"It's one-of-a-kind," her mother had said as Amethyst opened the creamy box with a violet ribbon. "Perfect for your special day."
She took her time getting ready/ She hummed as she watched the morning light slowly enveloping her room in washes of gold and rosy pink. It shimmered off the crystal chandelier above her bed, painting flecks of rainbows around the walls, and Amethyst couldn't help but think it was like she was inside a gemstone herself.
She twirled in front of the large mirror propped in a corner.
Mirror Amethyst beamed back, a violet dress fluttering to her mid-calf, matching kitten heels on her feet.
"Beautiful," Mirror Amethyst said.
She walked to her vanity, running her hands along the silk dress and marveling at how it looked when she moved. It was like water, like something even more luxurious than some women in the Capitol wore. And it was hers because today was her day. No one else's.
Amethyst went to work. Her thick blonde hair already had some natural curls to it, but with an iron wand, she worked some magic worthy of a Games stylist and transformed it into a mass of golden ringlets, and pinned the front strands back to frame her face. Thankfully, it was a good skin day. All those honey masks were paying off, and not a single breakout was on her ivory face. Not that there usually were.
Next came a diamond necklace and earrings, the same ones she'd gotten for her 16th birthday. Then the final touch: a small bracelet made of silver with shimmering amethysts set in it - a token for her to remember who she was in the arena.
"You are Amethyst Amberdust," she said to Mirror Amethyst. Her reflection blinked its turquoise eyes. "You are going to be the first of your family to win."
The doorbell rang. Amethyst didn't have to guess who it was.
She was up and hurrying to the bathroom to brush her teeth before rushing down the upstairs hallway, her heels clicking with each quickened step. She slowed down near the balcony, brushing off her already spotless dress, and fluffed her curls. With a deep breath, she emerged grandly at the top of the stairs.
The auburn-haired girl in the foyer looked up, her lips breaking into a grin. "Look at you!"
"No, look at you!" Amethyst laughed, running down the steps as fast as she could. "You look amazing, Opal!"
Opal laughed and smoothed her blue chiffon dress before Amethyst threw her arms around her. "We both look fantastic."
"And that's why we're best friends." Amethyst struck a pose. "What do you think? Next edition of the Academy Tribune: Amethyst Amberdust and Opal Brightgaze dazzle the competition."
With a smirk, Opal lifted an eyebrow. "Speaking of competition. Scarlett was apparently telling everyone who would listen last night that you cheated during the final exam in Strategy and Analytics class. Apparently she was out in the main square during the party last night."
Amethyst scoffed. "Of course she was."
If ever there was an arch-nemesis outside of the storybooks her grandmother read to her as a little girl, it was Scarlett Copperhair. It was almost sad how often Scarlett challenged her in training class. It didn't matter if it was a hand-to-hand combat fight, or a ranged weapon simulation, or anything else. Scarlett was always determined to beat her, and Amethyst always came out on top. Three weeks ago, Amethyst beat Scarlett in the first round of competitions during the Academy trials for the spot of this year's tribute.
"Have fun in the arena," Scarlett had spat on the last day of school. "I'll see you when you get shipped back from the arena in a box."
Amethyst had just turned to the friends surrounding her, smiled graciously, and kept walking. She'd learned a long time ago not to pay attention to Scarlett Coppherhair and her petty insults.
People would always try to take shots when someone else was clearly better.
The doorbell rang again.
Amethyst walked over and turned the crystal doorknob. Before she even had the door open the whole way, a girl in a yellow jumpsuit attacked her with a hug.
"Ammie!" the girl cried, pulling back and beaming, hazel eyes crinkling with happiness. "You look like a Capitol model. I can't believe today's really the day."
"Let her breathe, Sable," the redheaded boy behind her laughed.
Sable smacked him on the arm. "Shut up, it's Reaping Day." She hurried over to slip her arm around Opal, and leaned her head on her girlfriend's shoulder. "We won't get to hug our Amethyst for a few weeks until she comes back a victor."
Amethyst gave a pretend pout. "Garnet, do you really think I don't want my friends hugging me on the most important day of my life?"
"Obviously not," Garnet joked with his usual lopsided smile.
Once again, the doorbell rang.
This time, Amethyst couldn't count how many people came inside the Amberdust Estate, but she greeted them all with a diamond-bright smile and a hug, as if they were all as close to her as Opal, Sable and Garnet. Most of them were the friends that hung around her at school and said hello outside when they spotted her walking around District 1. All of them, Amethyst was sure, had been at her party yesterday evening.
"How are you feeling?" Luminescent asked.
Amethyst sighed. "Well, I just can't believe I won't see you all for so long."
"We're going to miss you so much," Damask agreed with a nod.
Karat shook his head. "You're such a brave one, Amethyst."
Behind them, someone whispered "I can't believe we know somebody who's going to be a victor!" as if she wasn't standing right there. Amethyst clenched her jaw and pretended not to notice. She forced a smile.
Footsteps sounded before Jade Amberdust appeared from the hall, walking as gracefully as her daughter. Amethyst had always thought she looked most like her mother. She had the same slim, tall figure, and blonde tresses. They certainly were alike personality-wise, too. Both were natural-born leaders as her mother loved to say. But her mother was a politician, not tribute material.
"The ring of politics isn't that different from the arena," Mrs. Amberdust had said one summer, when she took Amethyst to work with her. "It's just different kinds of fighting."
"Hello, Mayor Amberdust," Amethyst's friends chimed.
Her mother smiled. "Hello, children. Lovely morning, isn't it? Why don't you all come into the kitchen. We've prepared a feast fit for the president himself."
The newest arrivals cheered, rushing towards the hallway where an aroma of maple syrup and baked bread was started to float around. Opal, Sable and Garnet waited for Amethyst as she took a step towards the kitchen.
"Not you, precious," Mrs. Amberdust said with a smile. "Your grandmother wants a word in the parlor. But you can join after." She swept her hand out as she started guiding Amethyst's closest friends away. "Now, who would like a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice?"
Her curiosity piqued, Amethyst turned and headed the opposite way. Her grandmother was drinking from a crystal glass in the parlor. It was one of the fanciest rooms in the entire house, which was saying something. The whole thing was mostly for show when her mother had Capitol visitors over for political visits, but still. It was impressive to say the least. The glass shelves were dotted with gold and silver china, bronze clocks, jeweled pendants, and even the intricately painted, empty sheath where - in ancient times - a sword might've been.
"Hello, Amethyst," her grandmother said in her soft yet clear voice. She sat on the silver-brocaded couch next to two windows letting sunlight stream in and bounce off the items along the walls. "Come sit."
Amethyst did as her grandmother said, and gave her a delicate hug. "Good morning, Gran-Gran."
Her grandmother smiled in that wry way of hers, as if she knew something Amethyst didn't. She was the most interesting person Amethyst had ever met. At 67, even being so well-known in their part of town, she still asked the neighbors to call her by her first name: just Ruby. The woman brushed a piece of her hair back, still blonde even after her skin had begun to age.
"My wrinkles add to my beauty," she had always told Amethyst when they would watch the Games on television, where all the Capitol-born stylists never seemed to get older. "They're a privilege not everyone I grew up with got to have."
As if she could read Amethyst's thoughts, her grandmother laid a warm hand on her arm. "Do you know what the world was like when I was your age?"
"It was before the war," Amethyst parroted, like she always did when this question came up. Her grandfather never seemed to ask it as much as her grandmother. "It was Panem back when there were thirteen districts."
"A world without the Hunger Games," her grandmother finished. "I was twenty-five when it ended... when the Games began. Your father was born in a world where the Games had always existed for him. And his brother. And his sisters."
Amethyst laid her own hand on her grandmother's. Her amethyst bracelet glittered in a shaft of sunlight. "I'm going to be okay, Gran-Gran." She didn't have to say the words that hung unsaid between them: I won't end up like Aunt Emerald. I won't end up like any of my cousins who couldn't do what I will.
Her grandmother was quiet, watching her. "Do you really want this, Amethyst?"
"This?" Amethyst blinked in surprise. "To volunteer? Of course I do. It's been my dream since I was little, you know that."
"You wouldn't rather become a mayor like your mother?" her grandmother prodded. "Or stay home this summer and take extra classes? Or spend time with all your friends? Maybe start dating?"
"I don't want a relationship," Amethyst lied.
"You wouldn't rather be someone else - someone who isn't a tribute?"
Amethyst sat up straighter. "I'm Amethyst Amberdust. I'm going to be the first in our family to win." She shook her head. "There's no one else I'd rather be. I'm proud to do this."
Her grandmother nodded slowly. "You can change your mind, though. If you want to be someone else."
"No." Amethyst furrowed her brows. "Why? Are you alright, Gran-Gran?"
"I just want you to be sure of who you want to be." Her grandmother breathed out slowly, turning to look out one of the parlor windows.
This side of the house overlooked the gardens behind their house, just a small space full of all the plants her grandfather loved to grow. When Amethyst had turned twelve, the first year that her name was in the Reaping bowl, her grandfather had come back on her birthday with a little, purple giftbag. Amethyst thought it might be more hairbows or jewelry like the rest of her family had given her, but when she pulled out the little sachet inside, it was full of tiny seeds.
"They're violets," her grandfather had said. "Your favorite color for a flower."
They'd planted them together while her grandmother had watched, right next to the ruby-colored poppies, the sapphire-hued bluebells, and the emerald-green dahlias.
"They're beautiful," Amethyst has said once they'd bloomed that spring.
From this spot here on the couch next to her grandmother, she could see the violets waving in the summer breeze.
I'm Amethyst Amberdust. She sat up straighter. I'm going to be first in my family to win.
Newt Littlesmith - 15 y.o.
...
- District 5 -
Power braided the last lock of sandy-blonde hair.
"All done," he said, taking a hairband and tying it - not too loose, not too tight, making sure it wouldn't pull on her hair. He smoothed the braid once, tucking in a few flyaway strands, and gentle tugged on the end. "You look beautiful."
Maddie smiled over her shoulder. She turned the rickety, wooden chair around to face him. "Thank you." She looked down at her outfit for today: a simple blouse, a knee-length black skirt, and white socks with black leather shoes. It looked like one of the second-hand outfits that plenty of the less well-off girls wore, but Power knew that it had actually come from a basket of clothes that even other people had passed over. But he had covered up where the faults had been before giving it to his sister. The shirt had had stains at the hem that he cut off, the skirt had a massive rip he'd sewn up, and the socks weren't identical. The shoes were one of the few treasures a neighbor had given him for her.
"Do I really look nice?" Maddie murmured, her brows furrowing. She pinched at the collar of her top.
Power smiled, poking Maddie on the nose. "Don't be silly. You always look perfect."
She smiled back, missing front tooth and all, but in the next second her smile faded and her eyes welled up. "I guess I have to look nice if I - if they pick..."
With a frown, Power ducked his head to catch her eyes. "Maddie, hey, look at me. You aren't going to get picked. You only have your name in the bowl one time. We've talked about this before. How many people are in District Five? Maddie, c'mon, answer me, how many people are in District Five?"
"Over one-hundred thousand," Maddie muttered.
"Exactly." Power forced a smile. "You're going to be okay. You're name is only one in thousands."
Maddie sniffled. A tear plopped onto her skirt. "I would've had my name in more times if you'd let me take tesserae."
"Don't joke about that," Power said, his smile vanishing. "It's not funny. Don't you ever take tesserae. Never. Promise me that you won't take it, even if I don't come back."
"But-"
"Promise me."
Maddie looked up at him, her cheeks red from crying. "I promise. But only if you promise you'll come back."
Power was quiet for a moment, watching his little sister.
It hadn't been a good day when he'd told her he was going to volunteer. She hadn't completely believed him, but his mind was made up. District 5 didn't have many impoverished people and they liked to pretend the poor didn't exist. As much as he hated the word, poor was generous to apply to him and his sister. They barely scraped by. Last winter, he'd made the decision when he watched Maddie shivering and coughing on the threadbare, moth-eaten couch he'd brought home from the dump one day.
He'd wrapped her up in a blanket and put her in every layer of clothing they had, trying to stave off the sickness he didn't want to name. Pneumonia was a word for the dead. He didn't want it to be his little sister.
She'd survived, by the generosity of one of Power's friends that he'd confided in.
And just like that, he knew he was going to volunteer for the Hunger Games. He couldn't let another winter come and go. It would be a death sentence for Maddie. He would need to become a victor, no one else would save them. Then they would move into the Victor's Village together, and he would use the money to ensure that neither of them had to go to sleep worried about where their next meal was coming from. No more hunger. No more cold nights trying to cover the drafty windows with plastic tarps. No more working all night after school just to be exhausted in class, and do it all over again.
He would save them both.
"I promise," he finally whispered.
Maddie threw her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face against his chest.
He didn't care about the tears that made his Reaping shirt wet, he just let her cry, and tried to hold in the tears himself. He didn't want her to see him crying on the last day they'd be together before the Games. He'd already gotten out the tears last night after Maddie had fallen asleep.
"I wish Mom was here," Maddie sobbed, her voice muffled.
Newt's throat constricted. He wrapped his arm around Maddie, sighing. "I miss her too."
It would be six years since she had passed this October. He still remembered the semester that Ms. Lear, the school nurse, had asked Power about his life at home. He had lied, of course, out of fear that the Peacekeepers would show up and take him and Maddie away from their mother. But Ms. Lear had been kind. She'd called in a favor from her brother-in-law at the hospital when Power had come to her crying about his mother when she got sick.
It was the next day that his mother had given Power a smile he could tell she was trying to put on for him.
The words breast cancer became something that changed all of their lives after that.
And now his mother was buried under the ground, wrapped up in an old sheet because he couldn't afford a coffin. He'd dug the grave himself, and found the rock to use as a marker. It had taken him many meticulous hours of carving to cut her name into the stone in rough letters.
And then it had just been him to care for Maddie ever since.
Power's eyes drifted around their small home: just a one-room place with an old table, two chairs, a couch - which had been his bed since their mother died - and a small mattress for Maddie. Random odds-and-ends were tucked in baskets. The fireplace with a pot in the corner didn't really count as a kitchen, but they made it work. It wasn't a place where a twelve-year-old should grow up. It wasn't a place where he should've had to grow up. He didn't want the same for his sister.
"Remember yesterday? And the cookies?" Power said, pulling back to look Maddie in her watery eyes.
She wiped at her eyes. "Yeah. You traded some of your tesserae oil rations to get a bit of cookie dough. For my favorite dessert."
"And what did I say?"
"That you would always be here to take care of me."
"And I will," Power said. He glanced out the nearest window as the afternoon sun shone across District 5. "I promised my friends I'd meet them out by the library before the Reaping."
Maddie sighed. She finally wiped away the last tear and no more fell. "Right. Your little tradition."
"Wanna join?" he asked, offering a smile.
They were ready to leave in five minutes, and Maddie waited by the door, straightening her outfit, as Power walked over to the fireplace mantle and picked up one of the frameless photographs they'd propped up. On it, he and his sister were laughing, frozen in time last summer, snapped by one of his friends who'd just gotten a new camera. It used to be his favorite photo to look at whenever he was having one of the days where it was painful to get off the couch, when he didn't feel like doing anything, and thought that maybe the world was better off without him.
Maddie smiled back in the photo, reminding him that she was his world. And she needed him.
He needed to come home to her, a victor.
Power took the photo and tucked it into his pants pocket. He turned, peering at the dusty, cracked mirror hanging on the wall next to the fireplace. His own brown eyes stared back. Sometimes he wouldn't look in the mirror, like he was surprised every time he looked in it and got older. Sometimes he still imagined himself as that terrified little nine-year-old holding his mother's hand as she died.
He looked away from the mirror and led his sister outside into the heat of summer.
"You go on ahead to the tree," Power said, smiling at Maddie.
She gave him a curious look but nodded, walking on ahead down the cracked street to the large oak tree marking the end of their run-down neighborhood.
Power walked towards the other side of their small house. Just on the edge, beside a pair of buttonbush shrubs - his mother had loved those - a small stone sat. On it were etched mismatched letters:
Gemma Littlesmith
Died Oct. 23
"I'm going to be away from home for a bit, Mom," Power said. He fell silent, letting the sound of the summer bugs fill the space. "I'm going to take care of her. Just like you told me to."
He hesitated, and then leaned forward, plucking one of the white buttonbush flowers and set it down on the gravestone.
Once he was a victor, he could pay for a real one.
He stepped back, took one last look at his mother's grave, and then rounded the corner, jogging down the road to catch up with Maddie. She stood at the stop sign beneath the oak tree, waiting patiently like she always did before school.
"Talking to Mom?" Maddie asked. She held out her small hand.
Wordlessly, Power took it with a nod.
They walked together through the neighborhood, listening to the noises that had become so familiar: the barking dog from the Olar's yard, the chirping of the finches on the powerlines crisscrossing above, the humming of the generators lining the street. He'd always resented the sort of sounds that didn't stop even at night when he tried to fall asleep, but now he almost couldn't imagine falling asleep without it.
"Newt," Maddie said as they started across the park leading to the library.
Power looked down at her. Nobody really ever called him by his real name anymore. His mother and Maddie had been the only ones ever since his friends started using that new nickname, and eventually Maddie caught onto it.
She squeezed Power's hand. "I love you. Promise me you'll remember that?"
Power squeezed back. "Always. I love you too."
"Hey!"
They both looked up at the knot of teenagers sitting on the library steps. Power's heart lifted a bit at seeing his friends' faces. The group of them were as close as he thought anyone could be. Well. Almost. Not all of them knew exactly what kind of a home he went to, but they all just knew he'd lost his mother years ago and took care of his little sister now. And he was fine with them just knowing that.
"Happy Hunger Games, everyone," Power said, giving them a mocking smile.
One of the girls shook her head. She give him a disapproving look. "Not funny, Power."
"You're still volunteering?" another asked, his expression solemn.
Power nodded. They'd all been over this dozens of times ever since he announced to them that he was going to be volunteering. At first they'd thought it was a joke, and then they eventually realized he was serious. That he was really going to raise his hand this year and put himself into the arena. That he was going to come out as a victor.
Having volunteers in 5 wasn't completely unheard of. Sure, they were nothing like 1,2, and 4, but they also weren't all practically dead inside like the tributes from 10 and 12 usually seemed to be. Every now and then, every few years or so, there would be a volunteer from 5 for this reason or that. And this time it was Power's turn.
"How are you doing, Mads?" one of the redheaded girls said, smiling at Maddie. She held up a hand.
Maddie let go of Power's hand, smacking the girl's palm. "Hi, Robin."
Another one of the group complimented Maddie's outfit, which made her smile. Power gave his friends a grateful look. They were always kind to his sister.
Robin lifted an eyebrow at him, nodding to the side as she stood up.
Power took the hint, following her as they walked a bit away from the group.
The girl turned to face him. "I talked to my mom. We'll check in on Maddie once a day, make sure she's getting enough to eat. But we can't keep doing it forever, Power. I barely could explain that whole pneumonia situation to my dad. You know how he is."
He nodded. "I know." She didn't have to say the words aloud: if you don't win, we can't take care of your sister forever. You have to come back. "Thank you."
Robin nodded. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say more, but closed it, and her lip trembled. "Just come back alive, alright?"
"I will," Power said, the words coming out by reflex.
Off in the distance, an alarm sounded, deep and rumbling throughout District 5.
Power felt Maddie's hand slip back into his. His hand tightened.
Juniper Argus - 16 y.o.
...
- District 11 -
Juniper listened as Mable pulled a tray out of the oven.
The sharp smell of ginger flooded the room, enveloping Juniper in a warmth she'd become accustomed to. For so many in District 11, dessert was a treat, but Mable always managed to haggle her way into baking ingredients through trading clothing scraps. She kept Juniper in a steady stream of sweets.
"Ginger cake for the road," Mable said.
Juniper sighed happily. "You always spoil me rotten."
"Someone has to."
Juniper laughed. Her smile faded as Mable's footsteps shuffled across the worn rug beneath her. Juniper listened as the older woman set down the cooling tray on the wooden table she sat at. Mable wasn't laughing. Reaping Day usually didn't draw much laughter from either of them. For Juniper, it was the most dreaded day of the year. It was the one day that the fields fell silent and even the Peacekeepers were less likely to beat someone than usual.
For Mable, it was a reminder of her only granddaughter dying in the arena four years ago.
Juniper could still hear the girl screaming on the television screen as the boy from District 1 stabbed her once, twice, three times. The sound was almost as bad as the noise of Mable wailing as Juniper held her.
"My baby is dead. My baby is dead."
Juniper swallowed hard, shoving the memories back to the quiet corner of her mind they usually stayed in. Today had an uncanny way of drawing them out.
"Rowan will love the cake," Juniper said.
"Don't let him eat it all," Mable snapped. She sighed. "You'll have to get going soon."
Juniper nodded. She glanced in Mable's direction as she heard the woman set a cloth on the table and line it with the ginger cake. Here in Mable's house, it was always like a refuge from the rest of Juniper's life. She wasn't the delicate kid that everyone seemed to think she was. When she visited Mable, it was like she was part of her family. Mable was the grandmother Juniper never had. Besides, none of Mable's family visited her often, especially not after her granddaughter died. Still, the woman was active at 75 with her seamstress job. It had been her who had taught Juniper how to sew.
"I know you can't see well," Mable had said, "but your hands can create worlds if you learn."
Juniper's fingers moved to her blouse. It was a pretty one, made with yellow and blue fabric and layered with a blue cardigan. She had made it herself for today, just as she had the past two years since she'd begun making her own outfits with fabric Mable had left over.
"It's a nice outfit."
"Thank you, Miss Mable," Juniper said. She smiled at the woman. "You're a good teacher."
Mable walked over, setting the soft fabric bundle of warm cake into Juniper's hands. "Now go on. You need to get home, I'm sure your family's starting to wonder when you'll be back."
"I'll see you tomorrow," Juniper said, standing up.
Mable nodded. She squeezed Juniper's shoulder. "See you then."
Juniper leaned forward, pulling Mable into a hug. They said it every year now, a silent plea that Juniper might not get chosen. As much as Juniper tried to remind herself of how small the chances were of her name being drawn from the bowl, she always found herself unable to sleep the night before. During her first year of being in the pool of potential tributes, back when she was just twelve years old, she'd had to watch Mable's granddaughter climb the steps to the Justice Building.
No one volunteered. And the girl never came home.
"I really do mean it, Juniper," Mable said, the smile in her voice gentle. Her hands were wrinkled and soft and familiar. "I really will leave my clothing shop to you one day."
Juniper shook her head, like she always did when Mable said this. "Not yet. You've still got plenty of living left to do."
And then Mable was walking to her the door and Juniper was reluctantly walking out into the balmy summer day. Throughout the sprawling town, shutters were drawn against the heat - and prying eyes. No doubt, families were inside sitting together or finishing getting ready. They would be holding their children and assuring them that they would be alright. Some parents wouldn't lie, and would instead just try to distract their kids. Siblings would comfort one another with stories. Most of them would go to sleep tonight knowing they were safe for another year.
Juniper sighed, hugging the bundle of ginger cake close to her. As she walked further along, the dirt road kicking up dust that brushed her ankles, the fields came into view. Usually, Juniper would look out at the greenish blurs of the field and try to imagine where her father and brother were out there. Her father had managed to earn a foreman's position a couple years ago, which meant he came home more tired but also with more money. Juniper's mother was pleased, because with Mr. Argus at the helm, Juniper's brother was less likely to get in trouble if he ever messed up out there. But Juniper knew her brother. He wasn't one to mess up.
At the last house on the lane, Juniper turned and held out a hand, brushing over the familiar cuts in the bark of the tree next to their home. It was Rowan's symbol. He'd carved all the trees in their backyard too, each one marked with notches from dual-blades, helping to guide Juniper around when she was little and Rowan was off at work. Now she knew the place by heart. But there was something calming about remembering the marks in the trees, rough and distinct under her fingertips.
Just as Juniper stepped up onto their creaky porch, the door opened, hinges squeaking.
"Where have you been?" Artemis Argus asked breathlessly.
Juniper smiled tensely. She held out the wrapped ginger cake as an offering for her mother. "I was just visiting Ms. Crestharth. She made us some treats, Momma."
The door squeaked wider, and Rowan was huffing. "We thought you'd be back sooner, June. It's almost time."
There, framed by the doorway, just a foot away, her mother and brother were less fuzzy. If she were maybe six inches closer, Juniper would be able to see them better. But even from this distance, she could see the difference between the two that had always made her giggle.
Rowan was the spitting image of their father, except his skin was a tad darker than Mr. Argus, and even more tanned from all the days spent in the fields of 11. Still, he had their father's red hair and blue eyes, even had his height and muscular build. He towered over their mother at 20 years old. In contrast to her son, Mrs. Argus was a petite, sturdy woman, with dark skin, warm brown eyes, and hair as black as night.
Juniper had always thought she leaned more towards her mother in looks, except for her skin being a few shades lighter. But she definitely had her father's height now that she was already 5'10" at sixteen years old. Her hair used to be long, but one day on a whim she'd cut it off. Her mother about had a heart attack, and her father worried. But Rowan had thought it looked great. So she'd kept it shorter, growing it out into the blonde afro it was now.
No one in the Argus family looked perfectly alike. But Juniper liked to think they were like the patchwork quilts in Mable's shop.
Different, but made beautiful because of it.
"Just like you," Mable had told her.
Juniper held up Mable's ginger cake to her brother, close enough that she knew he could smell the spices. "Ms. Crestharth made us some desserts."
"Well I won't say no to that," Rowan said, reaching for the treats.
Mrs. Argus shot him a look.
"Oh." Rowan glanced between her and his sister. He drew his hand back. "Right. June, it's almost time to go."
As if to prove his point, a whistle blew.
A shudder ran down Juniper's spine. It's time.
Her mother gently took the ginger cake from her hands, setting it down on a table inside their house. Usually that table held a display of that day's bread that Juniper's mother had baked, along with the smell of soft loaves of everything from braided sweet bread to dark sprouted bread. The bakery shop existed on the lower level while their family lived on the floor above, and it had been that way for as long as Juniper could remember. Just like the fields, Reaping Day was the one day each year that the bakery didn't have its ovens glowing.
Somehow the whole thing always made it feel less like home to Juniper.
"Let's go," Rowan said, stepping down onto the porch.
All along the dirt lane, Juniper could hear the sound of doors opening and wooden steps creaking. Voices began to murmur as people started walking.
She felt her mother's arm slide around her waist as they walked. Mrs. Argus always seemed to think that Juniper needed to be guided around, like she would fall right over without her mother showing the way. When would she learn that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself? That she wasn't the fragile girl that her parents always seemed to think she was?
Rowan was the only one who seemed to think she wasn't fragile. Well, Rowan and Mable, of course.
A tall figure appeared along with the usual smear of red hair at the top of his head.
"Hi, Daddy," Juniper said. She gave a shaky laugh. "I was starting to think you'd overslept."
"I'm here, sweetheart," Warren Argus responded softly. His calloused hand found her fingers, holding them delicately.
The four of them joined the flow of District 11 as they all meandered like a tired, quiet brook, snaking their way through town to the Justice Building. Sunshine burned down from above and Juniper felt sweat beading underneath her beautiful yellow and blue blouse. By the time she arrived at the gray fuzzy block that made up the Justice Building, she was wiping a sheen of sweat off her forehead. Summers in 11 always promised sweltering days, and today was no exception.
Juniper felt her father's hand slip from hers as they got to the front of the line to sign in. One of the Capitol attendants pricked her finger, smearing a smudge of red blood on a book. A scanner beeped in her hand.
On it, Juniper knew that it would read ARGUS, JUNIPER, 16 Y/O on the tiny screen. She was properly accounted for now.
Her parents and brother did the same, and then the flow of the crowd was pushing them apart. Children of reaping age were to go left and join the lines. Everyone else had to stand along the perimeter.
"See you right after, June," Rowan said. He embraced Juniper quickly.
Her mother let go slowly, begrudgingly. It was one of the few times Juniper wanted her mother's arms back around her. No matter how old she got, no matter how many times she stood there with the other children, she only felt safe after when her parents held her again.
"I'll be right behind you," her mother said. She cupped Juniper's chin, close enough for Juniper to see her mother's eyes clearly, and then she was moving aside towards Rowan. At least one of her kids finally didn't have their name in the bowls.
Mr. Argus kissed her forehead, no words necessary, and then Juniper was walking, reaching her hands out to grab the ropes that marked off the areas where the children stood. First there was the section in the back for the youngest ones, the small twelve-year-old's holding one another, and then thirteen, fourteen, fifteen years old. Then sixteen.
Juniper carefully maneuvered her way around the rope. She focused on the faded colors of a girl's dress right in front of her, so close she could sense the girl shaking, and stood very still among the others her age.
It always seemed like an eternity until someone on stage started to speak. Juniper was never sure if she wanted it to be over with, or to drag out.
But it always came.
"Welcome," Mayor Loam's deep voice sounded once the clocktower struck 3 o'clock. The crowd fell even more silent than it had already been. "Panem. We are a nation risen from the ashes. What once was a land known as North America fallen into drought, storm and fire. The seas encroached on the land, and war raged for what sustenance remained. And then arose Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens."
Juniper bit back a sigh. She had these lines memorized from every class in school, every assembly, every Reaping Day.
"Then came the Dark Days," Mayor Loam continued. "War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the Capitol that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace. Hard fought, sorely won. Twelve districts were defeated, the thirteenth destroyed. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. As the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed by the Treaty of Treason that each year the various districts would offer up in tribute one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."
Juniper dug her nails into her palms, fighting back the urge to mockingly mouth the next, final words.
"As a reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, the Hunger Games rose from the flames. It is a time for repentance and a time for thanks."
There was a crinkle of paper in the microphone on stage.
"And now the glorious victors of District Eleven: Husk Rusor, victor of the Second Hunger Games. Ara Ivory, victor of the Eighth Hunger Games."
This Ara Ivory was a victor Juniper had never met, and who wasn't on the stage now. She'd died a while ago, though nobody talked about her much anymore.
"Seeder Amatus, victor of the Twenty-first Hunger Games. Kera Grandover, victor of the Thirty-sixth Hunger Games. Winnow Redpath, victor of the Forty-first Hunger Games."
But she did know about Winnow. The girl had won the past year after being thrown into an arena with a salt marsh ringed by dense forest. Winnow had been a longshot, but she turned out to be excellent at hiding and camouflage. The boy from 2 was wounded by the time it came down the final two tributes, and Winnow had been silent as she'd shoved him in the marsh and watched him drown.
Juniper could still the sound of him screaming as water filled his mouth. She shuddered.
"May I welcome Decimus Bagatelle to the stage," the mayor said.
Decimus' voice came over the microphone, as slimy and sleek as ever. "Welcome, dear all, to this Forty-second year of our shining Games. Might I wish you all a very happy Hunger Games. I'm honored to be here today in this... this beautiful district. So honored. But I know you and I want to get to the exciting part! So let's begin, shall we?" There was the distinct metallic noise of him flipping a coin like he always did.
Juniper crossed her fingers. Please be boys this time. Boys first.
"And it's girls!"
She bit back a groan.
There was the sound of Decimus walking, his lanky lime-green form loping across the stage, and then Juniper listened as all the paper slips in the bowl fluttered while Decimus swirled his arm around. He loved to drag out the choosing.
Finally, he pulled out a slip.
Juniper's heart constricted. She closed her eyes as he walked back to the microphone. And then the crowd was drawing in a big breath, and Juniper thought she was definitely going to be sick, and couldn't this Capitol idiot read the damn name alrea-
"Juniper Argus!"
Her eyes flew open.
And that's two introduction chapters done!
I hope this chapter was interesting to read! I chose these three tributes to show different perspectives on Reaping Day: a Career volunteer, an untrained volunteer, and someone chosen at random.
Here are the questions for this chapter!
Question 1). What would you take as your token into the arena? Or would you choose a token at all?
Question 2). Who is your favorite character in The Hunger Games series, and why?
As usual, please let me know how I portrayed your characters if they were shown in this chapter!
Have a wonderful New Year's, everyone. Thank you for reading!
~ Meghan