58th Reaping D5

Lethe Turner

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The worst day of Lethe's life so far began normally. She awoke to an unfamiliar woman shaking her, gently. For a moment, Lethe's heart stopped, wondering who this woman touching her might be, until she fished a picture out of her pocket and held it out. With pale hands, Lethe took it, as the the woman chimed in, "Don't worry, dear. It's me, your mother. See me in the picture. Right there, it's your family!"

And so she was in the picture, a round, smiling woman, the same before Lethe now, her hand on the shoulder of a girl, who Lethe recognized as herself. All around them were more people that Lethe knew were family members. There were her grandparents, her brothers, her sisters, her father. All grinning at her, the hope that she would remember them lingering underneath their smiles. Reassured, Lethe sank back down into her thin mattress, staring at the happy 11 year old girl frozen in the picture. It was hard to believe that that smiling, scarless girl was her.

Before that fateful day in the living room of her home, Lethe believed her condition to be normal. She believed herself to be just forgetful. She believed herself to just be stupid. She believed all possible excuses, but still her family knew none of them to be true. When she was 11, they all gathered in the living room, all speaking in hushed voices as if death was among them. They sat the anxious girl down, butterflies colliding in her stomach, wondering what this must be about. Then, her father, not meeting her eyes, told her: she had some sort of condition, a mysterious thing that they weren't even sure of that made her forget the identities of every person she came across from day to day. That's why she didn't know who was waking her every morning. That why she didn't recognize her little brother although the day before they had had a long conversation. That's why she doubted that the baker was the same baker who'd sold her bread the other day. Lethe had what they called a "condition." Unknown to all of them, but nonetheless, it was inflicting Lethe.

"B-but, I'm normal!" she had cried, hot tears spilling from her eyes. "I'm normal!"

"I know, honey," her mother had said, quietly, but Lethe could hear her life, "but you just have a slight...issue..."

An issue. She had an issue. A condition. A problem. Whatever you wanted to call it, Lethe had it. She had always doubted herself as to why she was suspicious that the woman who called herself her mother each day was actually her mother, simply because she couldn't remember the face of that same woman being her mother. She could remember every single action with her mother from the last day, how they had sewn a new shirt for her little brother together, how her mother had told her a story of when she was a young girl, how they'd cleaned the house...everything except her face.

It was like drowning in a pool of white. She heard the voices around her, all claiming who they were, but she never saw them clearly. They were merely voices, disembodied voices, all the same voice, so any hope of recognition in that way was lost. There were never faces. Only white, blurry images that Lethe struggled to make clear, but only sunk down further into that pool. Fear filled her stomach, hot and sticky, her mind unwilling to believe them just yet, for who knows who they might be? They could be lying, they could be someone else, their intentions not particularly good...

But, this woman, she had to be her mother. She was the one in the picture. The picture the family had paid for just for Lethe, to help her, although their stomachs went empty for the next few days. It was a mark of the family's love for her, their willingness to help. And for that, she was grateful, so grateful...and a little guilty everytime she looked in a mirror and saw the bright red scars painted onto her pale cheeks...

"Get up," her mother told her, "and get dressed...you know what day it is," she added in a grim undertone. And Lethe did. Today was Reaping day. Her last Reaping. Familiar butterflies appeared in her stomach, as she stood and dressed in her nicest white dress, leaving her light hair down, frayed ends and all. Then, she joined her family in the living room. None of them had eaten and none of them were going to. They didn't need a reappearance of their meals at the district square.

While some would call it luck that Mr. and Mrs. Turner had so many children, the rest would call it misfortune every time the Reapings rolled around. And now, Lethe could see that thought lingering in her parents' watery eyes. A selfish thought flashed into her own mind: this was her last Reaping. No more after this. All she had to do was get through this day and she was free.

Slightly cheered, but also slightly guilty for thinking it as she stared at her quivering, bloodless siblings, Lethe quickly made for the door on her father's unspoken signal. The family walked in silence. One of Lethe's brothers, Thomas, found his way to her and clung to her thin body, although he was only 10. She rubbed his back, soothingly, also hoping to soothe her own fears, as they walked.

Finally, with a jolt in all of their stomachs, they reached the square. Already kids and parents lined up, their faces betraying no emotion, but their shaking legs, fidgetting hands, and gritted teeth told all. Lethe and her siblings old enough joined the queue of kids in line for the Reaping. She could feel their eyes on her as she slipped into the crowd.

When she and her family were ready, Lethe's secret had come out. They told her of condition, hoping that if the district knew, Lethe would be safer from threats she wouldn't be able to recognize until it was too late. The kind-hearted did all they could to help her, but they failed to realize she was not stupid, that she was not a small child. So, they spoke in loud voices around her, made overexaggerted gestures and passed knowing looks between one another when they were sure she wasn't looking. Despite her pleads that all she needed was their names and perhaps a memory of something the two did together, her voice went unheard. Frustation reaching a boiling point, Lethe did the best she could to avoid people altogether, and spent her time hidden away in the stables, among the horses. Nothing else gave her greater pleasure than smelling the rank manure, stroking a horse's smooth side, feeling the wind in her hair as she bounced around on a trotting horse's back.

Lethe was so caught up in these images of horses, pleasurable images that banned the butterflies from her stomach, that she didn't realize that the mayor was groping around in the glass ball of the girls' names. Lethe's eyes widened, all thoughts of horses vanished, along with her reassurance. The girls around her had their eyes squeezed shut, their lips moving wordlessly. Lethe knew they were all wishing of the same thing: that it wasn't them. In that fleeting second as the mayor retrieved a name and brought it up to his face, Lethe thought, it can't be me. It won't be me. It'll be someone else. It won't-

"Lethe Turner."

It was as if the world had stood still. Lethe was frozen to the spot, her heart beating rapidly, trying frantically to understand what had just happened. Her name? He had said her name? No, it was a mistake, it had to be. There was another Lethe Turner. He'd mispronounced a name. It wasn't her, it wasn't her...

The others were already urging her forward, their hands on her back, gently giving her a push, selfishly thankful it wasn't themselves. "Good luck, Lethe," they whispered, "good bye, Lethe." Good bye? She wasn't going anywhere! Why did they say good bye?

And then she was on that stage. The mayor didn't meet her eyes. He was reading out a boy's name, but all the noise in the world was gone. She was struggling to keep her head above the surface in that pool of white, only her family's pained faces shining through. What? Why were they crying?

Then, she realized, the weight of it hitting her like a ton of bricks. She was going to the Games. She had to fight for her life...fight a bunch of kids she won't be able to recognize from day to day...if she survived the first day that is.

She stumbled, feeling faint. Oh gosh...how'd this happen? Where was her mother? Her father? But, suddenly, in her panic, their faces had slipped back into white. She was completely and utterly alone, wondering how long it would take until she slid underneath the surface completely.

Perhaps it's for the best, a hopeful voice in her head told her, firmly. It's fate, it happened for the reason. Lethe had never exactly believed in fate. She just believed in bad luck. But, suddenly, fate didn't seem half-bad. When in doubt, choose fate, because what other choice did you have?

Besides, that new voice told her, it'll be much easier killing the others if you don't know who they are...just try not to think of the killing part.

So, Lethe Turner, with much difficulty, lifted her head to the sea of white, and took it as it came. Because what other choice did she have?

Because fate had willed it. And she'd have to accept.
(Lethe Turner accepts)[/color][/blockquote][/size]