63rd Reaping [D6]

Silence. It was his world, his life, his identity. It was everything he knew and the only thing he would ever understand, for it was not the shrieking of the alarm, the chirping of an early bird, or the shuffling of feet across worn floorboards that stirred him from his slumber - it was a series of urgent nudges from one of his many siblings trying to coax him into wakefulness. Through cracked eyelids, he peered into his voiceless world and stared into the joyless face of a brother, a grim expression etched like bleeding ink into their contorted features. An immediate sensation of disgust and annoyance washed over him; it was Reaping day. This crap again.He rolled his eyes and sluggishly crawled out of his bed. It was such a waste of his time, shoving himself between sweaty business men and women - all fancied up in suits and dresses meant for the “proper” children of district six - just to watch two teenagers walk up to a stage and turn into sobbing messes in front of their families, then two weeks later witnessing those same blubbering bastards vomit blood on national television and yet again prove that district six was a shitty place to live. It was pointless, all of it, and each year he found himself despising the event more and more.

His wardrobe being of no concern of him, Pyrian trudged into their neighbor’s garden (a terrible habit of his, though he failed to see why it pissed her off so much) and approached the rows of flourishing rose bushes with a scowl carved into his hard features. Flowers were such petty things to burn, it was almost pathetic to watch even as the shades of orange and yellow danced elegantly across the petals leaving trails of black ash in their wake. Flames were always the definition of beauty in his eyes, but a simple flower? That wasn’t enough, and yet he had such little time to spare before his siblings dragged him along to the College. Hastily delving into his pockets, he withdrew a match, struck it against the chipping paint on the woman’s wretched house, and touched the flame gingerly to one of the crimson petals. The flame latched on like a parasite, draining the precious thing of its color and energy as it flickered and twisted and diffused like a disease eating away at everything until the entire bush was engulfed in the colors of sunlight, perishing slowly and not without pain (if plants could feel). He repeated the process until the entire garden was painted with the orange of hellfire and the black of suffocating smoke, a devious smirk crawling its way across his cheeks as he admired his handiwork. He didn’t hear the woman screaming inside her home for the “maniac” to stop destroying her precious garden, but he figured he shouldn’t stay put too long unless he wanted to be caught by a mad-woman wielding a broom (she had performed the same stunt when he had tried to set her cat’s fur on fire), and sprinted out of there before he could be captured, though not before pocketing one of the withered roses as a souvenir.

At the College, teenagers muttered wordlessly and soundlessly, a Capitol-fairy pranced onto the stage clad in sparkles and bright colors as if someone had vomited rainbows on his clothes (The hell is wrong with these people?), and Pyrian’s scrawny body was sandwiched between two boys wearing striped suits and spectacles, his shoulders tense and his pale face twisted into a grimace. One boy tried to shove his way past them and nearly knocked the boys over like bowling pins, but Pyrian responded only naturally with an extension of his leg, successfully tripping the hasty boy and chuckling as he squealed and ate concrete. ”Let us begin the Reaping!” The poor boy was climbing to his feet and dusting himself off while Pyrian smirked, paying no attention as the escort shifted through the bowl of paper slips and called out a name that would never touch his defective ears. ”Gypsy Keeni!” He slipped his hands into his pockets and watched the heads turn, not even wondering whose name was called, just waiting and watching for the doomed sucker to join the twinkling fairy on stage and seal her fate.

Until it was his twin sister who ascended to the platform.

His blood boiled. Gypsy! Gypsy?! What the hell did they think they were doing, reaping his twin sister? His partner in crime, his flesh and blood, the only person who shared and understood his passion. Of all the snooty, insolent, stupid girls to choose from in this godforsaken district, why had they drawn her name? He couldn’t react, couldn’t move, merely stood there with his jaw slacked open and his eyes burning with mixed rage and horror. Then the escort dipped his hand into the second jar, pulling out the name of a boy who would not deserve to share the same stage with Gypsy -

”Pyrian Keeni!”

His eyes followed the movement of the escort’s glossed lips, recognizing the combinations but failing to translate it into the language of a meagerly-educated deaf boy. He’d seen those movements somewhere, that name before - but where? Keeni, that was part of it. Another one of us? What were they trying to do, wipe them out of existence? Pyrian knew they were district six’s greatest shame, but trying to make them extinct? That was ridiculous and impossible - there were just too many of them. And yet, as the seconds passed, nobody approached the stage. Puzzled, he stood on the tips of his worn shoes and searched the crowds for his brothers. Which one was it? Felix? Bear? Why weren’t any of them stepping up? Were they too afraid? A gentle tap on the shoulder awarded him with the answer, but when he turned to find Bear sullen and pale with the ghostliest expression he’d ever seen, he realized the answer wasn’t something he wanted to hear anymore.

Bear’s gaze was heavy, weighing him down as he tried to read the cannibal boy’s emotions, and as soon as they exchanged glances Bear slowly turned his head to the stage, staring as if sadly entranced by the horrors it could cast down upon their family. That’s when he felt it - his heart leaping wildly out of his chest, his stomach sinking into his shoes. It’s me. As if in denial, he pointed to himself, forehead wrinkled and jaw tight with bitter disbelief, then pointed to the stage, displaying the dreaded question, “was it me?” Bear nodded excruciatingly slowly, prompting Pyrian to ball his hands into fists and fling himself out of the crowd in a flurry of frustration. Screw everything, screw all of you. Screw his whore mother, screw his prestigious, scientist father, screw his neighbor, screw the boy he tripped, screw the capitol, screw the games. They can’t do this to us. A wall of peacekeepers surrounded the crowd like a barricade, taunting him, mocking him. ”You can’t run, Pyrian.” But he wasn’t trying to. He stormed up the steps and joined his twin sister on the stage with only one thought in mind: I’m going to burn The Capitol to the fucking ground.

[ooc - accepts]