62nd Reaping [D5]

Children cry, mothers fret, assholes bet. A day like today is full of truly wonderful things. I mean, what isn’t fun about children being sent off to die? And if not die, kill?

Obviously, I know how to be sarcastic with myself. But I know I’m not fooling anyone with the scowl twisted onto my face. Dread, a dark, ugly thing, boils somewhere deep inside me. It gets worse with every waking moment, as if the dark creature that is inside me, that is me, knows.

Today is reaping day.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I step, alone, out the side door of my house and toward the center of District 5. Without anyone to accompany me, or to wish me good luck, because I don’t care. No one else cares enough to do that, anyways. I refuse to acknowledge their concern, even if it does exist, because I don’t want it. I’m doing this for myself, by myself, and I will do it without fear.

I woke up unable to eat, or talk, or do anything. It’s a wonder I was able to dress myself this morning, although I think I do look kind of ridiculous. My white shirt, I realize, is buttoned incorrectly, but I don’t care enough to fix it. There are people who have much bigger things to worry about. Like the fact that their name is entered in those big glass balls many more times than mine. That should reassure me, shouldn’t it?

It’s not exactly a quiet day, although I can’t expect that. Everyone in Panem is running around frantically or trying to calm their raging emotions, while I walk sullenly toward the square, trying not to throw up. The sun shines bright, though, and the air is surprisingly fresh, and the birds are more alive than ever. Nature goes on, oblivious to the death sentences soon to come.

Soon, I’m surrounded by adolescents, and the air becomes thick and hot and unrelenting. I’m choking even more now, every attempt to calm myself down failing. I’d really like to shove everyone out of my way, like I’d usually do, but I’m not focused on showing my arrogance today. I just want everything to hurry up and pass so I can run off into a nice little spot beneath the trees and take a nap.

I actually kind of snort as the Capitol representative steps onto the big, out-of-place stage. He looks ridiculous, even more than I do in my “formal” wear. I try to tune out his high, squeaky voice, as I focus on a single white cloud above us. It floats aimlessly, and I find myself envying its freedom. What I’d give to be up there right now, instead of in this huge bowl of boredom. I swallow and bring my eyes back down to the Capitol man, as he turns to the slips of paper. He calls out the name of a girl I do not recognize, and then his hand is in the other ball, and I’m holding my breath. I am waiting, suspended in time, for him to squeak out the name of the next person in the line of the doomed.

”Riker Mills.”

All of the suspense leaves immediately, the thin wire of fear now snapped, after being pulled so tight. He called my name. I imagine the odds. Something in my head tells me to wake up from this dream, this false reality, but I know that this is real. That this is what I’m destined to do.

I’ve always been okay with dying, though, right?

I hardly notice the stares, although they stab into every side of me like sharp needles of hatred. All of these people, they feel sweet relief, and the dread inside me has only grown larger. My lungs have been empty of oxygen since his hand was buried in the mixture of slips, and even now, I don’t know what to expect.

All odds have been declared useless, all speculations turned to doubt. Reality has betrayed me, for now, I have received my death sentence. Yet, for some reason, I don’t try to deny it. I’m prepared to go down; because surely that must be better than the hell I call home. No, that stage isn’t as intimidating as it was thirty seconds ago. Now, it welcomes me.

Suddenly, I regret not fixing the buttons of my shirt.

ooc: Riker accepts his spot as a tribute.