96th Reaping [District Four]

l u c k y
nachtnebel

Lucky could have sworn he heard the wisps of a ghost grow and fade in the village. New Horizons, a home for the rich nuclear families that either had no cares in the world or gated their cares and traumas in the gated homes of their gated communities. He felt gated differently. Coddled. Father insisted on it after that kid from One hurled a knife through his eye. Lucky should've died that day, but instead, his father practically bubble-wrapped his entire being for six months before they let him train in the academies again.

It was scary, at first. The blackness he only experienced as a little boy when the doctor tested his twenty-twenty vision. The jump in his breath when he'd raise his right arm and not be able to see the hand. One side of his body became his visual center, but the world didn't move with him. Lucky told his father that the first kid to comment on the patch that covered his eye was going to wish they hadn't. Lo and behold, a boy the year above him called him Patchy. Lucky ended up in the principal's office twenty minutes later, and that boy ended up stuffed in his locker.

Through it all, he hoped to still be a career fighter. The thought of living as a stereotypical District Four 'pirate' infuriated him. His muscles memorized combat like an astrologer marked their constellations. But half the sky disappeared. How can an astrologer recognize a constellation with half the stars?

He believed the nurses when they told him the human body was capable of incredible things. The other senses will step up for you, they said. That was a myth, he quickly learned. Lucky's ears were keen to start with, but other than relying on his hearing more, he didn't notice them strengthen. Sound overstimulated him more easily, making the school cafeteria a miserable place and the library a lovely one.

Night was his favorite time of day now. With a name such as Nachtnebel, it was only fitting. New Horizons was known for its nighttime fog and ghosts of past villagers. Tonight, Lucky and some of the village boys hunted for them. Chief dared him to come, even after Lucky told him his dad had given him curfews since the accident. You're susceptible, especially in the dark. But Chief called him a cowardly dog for actually abiding. Plus, Bud agreed to bring his dad's bong and a handful of pipes. Make a night out of it, they said.

And they did. Kidd led the charge because he proclaimed that he had some supernatural ability to see "ghost orbs," these dots floating through the air in a place where a ghost just wandered. The ghosts didn't stop at the end of the village. They hopped on the fence and ran to the pier. It was dark on the boardwalk most of the time, outside of when the lighthouse beamed down in its rotation.

The waves were much more pleasing to hear crash against the wooden overhang than they were to watch in daylight. He felt the water blow cool air, chilling his arm as it rose through the cracks between the wooden planks.

Peace. Lucky loved his life and he loved fighting, but the sense of peace thinking about what could've been intruded on his mind on occasion. Ever since he found his mother's old guilt-ridden letters detailing the lengths she went to finally have a son. Dead thoughts in Lucky's mind lurked like dead fish at the tip of his brain. His father's hands dug deep across the side of his head and his hair. ("They hate me.") He repeated it like an affirmation until his father believed it when he said it. The oldest fish in his aquarium is a carcass still caught lifeless in the seagrass. (They hate y-)

"Hey you. Lucky. Luckyyyyyy?!" Bam's hand finally caught his eye's view.

"Hmm?"

"You spaced out, you good?"

Finally, he focused on the boys. "Me? Yeah, I'm good."

"We were just asking about your academy report." The academy report. Every year, just before the Reaping, their career academy receives a report that "qualifies" them to be a volunteer candidate. Of course, volunteers don't need to abide by any rules, but the career academy tells the kids when they believe they're ready.

"Mhm. I got mine."

"What'd it say?"

"Strong enough, smart enough, a good mentality…" He had one more thing to report on, but held it back. Even though he knew that was what they all wanted to hear.

"And did they say anything about your-"

Quick words snapped back, "They said my impairment 'may limit my ability to thrive in an arena environment where the perception of my surroundings is essential to my success.'"

A long pause was interrupted as Lucky launched a stone into the ocean. "How many of them survived in an arena? None. So fuck them, I passed." The first year after he lost his eye, Lucky conceded that volunteering was out of the picture. This time? He couldn't commit to doing the same again. His father agreed with him. There were victors gashes, broken bones, and severed limbs. He could win without an eye.

The gods did not create him to float. They made Lucky to swim. They made him to kill.

Together, the boys smoked and shouted at the fishermen on their boats until just before dawn. As they walked back through ornate black metal gates and white picket fences, Lucky swore the sirens of the sea taunted him. The wind whipped into shrieks: you think you're strong enough? The ever-so-agreeable sirens already knew his answer. In the last chapter, one word screams on the page: YES.

For greatness or for death.

♣ ♣ ♣

Lucky slept until his father woke him an hour before the Reaping. He sat on the chair beside him and talked about his business dealings. Lucky didn't understand most of it, drowsy and half-awake, but he recognized that his father was lonely sometimes. Even in the village, he felt isolated. Lucky got dressed as they laughed about how dumb the shipyard workers were. Deadweight, only made for heavy lifting. And they barely got paid for their work, Dad took the majority.

"I'm getting a lot taller than you, you know," Lucky told his father as he faced him, tying his tie. He was about five or six inches taller at this point. He hit a growth spurt at fourteen and was taller than his father on his sixteenth birthday. "Unlocked some hidden genes, I think?"

"I know. Every year now, we're taking you to the Able Sisters for a new closet because you keep outgrowing your old one."

His father helped him get his arm through his suit coat. Lucky struggled with the sleeve on his right side every time.

"Lucky?" He said, tightening the tie.

"Hmm?"

"You're not going to do anything rash, correct?"

A pause. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to see you again, right?"

"Probably." He heard his father sigh as he turned away.

The tension in their pause could leave them both bleeding out.

"Do you think you're strong enough? Or do you want to wait a couple more years?"

"I'm strong enough now. I didn't get stabbed in the eye falling on top of a freaking pencil. I got it fighting." He was concerned, Lucky knew that. But he was hungry for this, the ultimate challenge. "But I will consider it."

♣ ♣ ♣

Lucky stood out in the Reaping crowd, due to his height. They shuffled him to the side for that exact reason. The little girl behind him could barely see. One time a year, the shipping trucks, whistling ships, and clashing of metal cranes ceased. Everyone witnessed the Reaping. Lucky's mother and father sat on a nearby park bench outside of the teenagers' corral. Just out of sight on his right side.

Basso, the district's escort ahead dug into the Reaping bowl, and every sense clashed at once.

The taste of dry and bitter air, with no one of his height to block any of the incoming breeze.

The feeling of his soft linen suit against his impatient fingertips.

The scent of his citrus cologne, fending off the hypermasculine scents of the boys around him.

The sound of deep, long breaths in and low, lingering breaths out.

And the sight, albeit narrow, of a hand unfolding the first name.

"Attis Murdock!" He recognized the last name. Lucky went to school with the Murdocks– well, the other Murdocks.

A sixth sense warned him that his father watched from the other side. Lucky remained silent.

"Pacsun Voidgate!"

Silence. More silence.

Lucky's entire head rotated to the right, locking onto his mother and father.

One more tick of silence confirmed it. He mouthed to them, I'm strong enough. Lucky took a step toward the side aisle.

"I'll volunteer!"

His father leaned against the gate as Lucky passed. He hugged him tight. "I love you, Dad," he whispered. Couldn't remember the last time he called him Dad rather than Father.

Lucky's head poked above the four Peacekeepers escorting him to the stage. People around them raised an eyebrow, close enough to get a glimpse at who exactly volunteered. Who they were, what they looked like. He bit his lip in a smile, amused by their shock. They'll stop underestimating him soon enough.

On stage, the escort forced the microphone into his hands. "Tell them your name," a somber tone. The gentleman couldn't help but stare at the black patch across his right eye.

"Lucky Nachtnebel, your District Four volunteer."

He winked at the crowd and the Capitol's camera in great irony.

[lucky nachtnebel accepts his spot yo]

TribWall...

option 1
option 2
or go ham, idk whatever you do just make him pretty..