[95th] The Reaping - District Six

Michael didn’t want to walk to the reaping with me. Which left me with Jillian. Like, boring much? I literally shared a womb with her - whyyy would I want to walk with her today? She’ll just bug me about boy problems, and like, I don’t know. Regardless I have like all day of every day of the year for eternity to spend with Jillian. I shared a womb with her. Like, we’ve seen enough of each other. I’m the peanut butter to her jelly; the jazz to her hands. Another day of J&J is just… another day in the life I’ve already lived.

I also needed the test answers for our upcoming chemistry exam. Jillian, well, she’s not expected to have the answers off the top of her head. Or I don’t want her to, at least. If she finds out I needed help in an area of her expertise ripred forbid I don’t ask for her help. Like, sorry, I don’t need you to nag me. Our mom’s as absent as she is and I don’t need you playing her role.

It takes her ages to get ready. Not that I don’t take long - Michael complained to me that I was too concerned about wearing the right colors to our latest tennis outing. Like if I’m gonna sweat I want to look good. You want me to look both sweaty and ugly? Absolutely not! I can’t let Michael see that, not yet, it’s like seeing an ogre or something. Or it might as well be. I essentially turn green and smell like rotted onion and Michael is the last person I need to be smelling me like that. Is that so complicated to want?

Anyway - Jillian, she took ages. I was able to sit down, eat my breakfast and wash the dishes before she came down. And her hair was still wet! Like, we can’t exactly skip the reaping, sis. She did look good, though, I’d give her that. But would you expect anything less from District 6’s hottest pair of fourteen-year-olds? I sported a simple red shirt, though a dull shade of the color to allow my hair to pop in contrast. ”Girl, we’ve got to go.”

Pause. Jillian’s never been very time conscious. Me neither, but I don’t fuck around with the Games. What if we got like, reaped, and we weren’t there? Would we get shot on sight? They wouldn’t do that to us though. We’re Flynns family, after all…

Right?

I huffed, watching her spend more of her time on her food. It felt like I was going to need to run by this point. Can’t do that though. I’ve got to keep the clean looks, you know, in case any capitolite spectator sees me. Modeling had never been a frequent memory, but if a contract were to land into my hands and sweep me to the Capitol, I wouldn’t be mad. Make me your toy, girl, I get to be as gay and glamorous in the gayest place ever? Check. Mate. Homophobia. Jillian decided she wanted a breakfast of her own, which included just an apple, and I had to sit and watch her crunch on the fruit with all of the time in the world within her jaws. I stared at her, hands on my hips like how our mom would do when she gets impatient. Or we do something she doesn’t approve of - which is rare, since she normally doesn’t care about us until we have to go to a family event. Our lives aren’t relevant to her until we have to impress the relatives.

”Okay, okay!” She gives, finally as she tossed the core of the apple away. She took her sweet old time putting her shoes on before we stepped outside, the crisp morning air being relieved by a golden sun’s peak. ”I don’t know why you’re rushing to get there! They don’t kill pretty people.” Now, I don’t know about that, Jill. ”At least us. We’re like, royalty.” She continued to suggest, and girl, just pack it up. As if royalty is the claim that protects us.

”I don’t know what I’d do if you got thrown up there.” I realized, out loud. We both always knew it but never spoke of it. We’re just… not like that. We like to talk shit.

Like, did you hear about Alex Farlett? He was caught kissing another girl - yeah, gag, right? I heard about it, but I never believed it until I passed the band room and who do I see right there? Alex. Fucking. Farlett.

Jill and I gobble those types of shit talks up. Where we sit and point and convince ourselves that our lives are so much better than theirs. Than people like Alex Farlett. Which, our lives are, because we’re not two-timing bastards. You’re fourteen, Alex, not the contestant on Love Beach.

Jillian’s silent for a while, and the low chatter of eht other distinct kids got louder as we approached. ”Me either, J. But… let’s not talk about it. We’ll be okay.” Compared to our spicy and fiery energy we typically bring, it felt like a bad omen to say that were okay, dressed up as if the funeral precession was right there.

I check in, and Michael stands several rows behind me. Daggers of my eyes met his for leaving me alone. Bitch. Jillian was stood next to Nessa, one of the cousins nearby our age. Because of this we were often stuck together during family events. Not that Jillian or I cared - Nessa was cool. She’s Flynn’s sister, which makes her a bit of the special daughter, but that never went to her head around us. That meant a lot. She’s not better than us because her brother was forced to kill a bunch of people. Not to discredit his victory, either, but she felt more real than Flynn did.

Michael’s the first voice I heard. A weak ”no”, below the air and every fiber of his body that resisted our feelings. Held behind a volcano of eruptive teenager brain chemicals, that proclaimed love but didn’t want love and only wanted friendship but it can’t tell if that friendshi could be -

ugh, that’s why I never wanted to do more than the test scores. Pass it in the hallway, and we’re good, but no we became lab partners. And then lab projects at home became study sessions. Study sessions became tennis games and hair tussles.

Jillian echoed Michael, reminding me that outside of everything my body tells me, there’s not a single damn person that gets me better than her. ”NO.” Her voice boomed, but immediately earned a slap of a hand over her mouth - shock overflowing her body, we both know that this had to be a joke. We wanted it to be. They’ve got the wrong Garner because there’s so many of us.

Cough, shuffle, sneeze (ew, gross, cover your arm, Kane).

Nobody moved, and my heart clenched even tighter to realize what I, what my sister would become. A jazzless hand, a jelliless peanut-butter sandwich. Every single metaphor that one could imagine for twins, but most importantly, she was bound to lose the only person that has been with her since conception, since birth. She was losing her brother.

I shuffle to the stage, yet the impatience of the escort quickly revealed a second tribute, which causes despair to not only paint Jillian, but to tear into her with it’s teeth. ”Nessa Garner.” Hearing her name, to say that I’m sad is a statement. To know, in the eyes of our more recent victor, that I’m fucked, is a fact. Our blood defines us now, but I wonder if that’s how our legacies will continue.

There’s no solace. No refuge. I can’t look at Michael and know that there’s an answer for all of this somewhere, or yank him to the court to get our mind off of things, and lose again just to make him feel superior at something. My eyes find Jillian’s, and it doesn’t take long to wish that I could never escape the life I’ve already lived. It’s been offered to the Capitol now, which is even more infuriating, given they’ve tortured my family enough.