64th Reaping [D12]

The reaping was as ever, the most nerve wracking time for the boy named Erik Strauss. Nerve wracking, because with every year that he aged, he could feel his chances at becoming a someone slipping through his fingers like the drops of syrup that get on shirt sleeves no matter how hard one tries to get the pancake into their mouth without getting sticky. Two more years and he’d be ineligible. And so, like every year since the year of his twelfth birthday, Erik had spent the morning erratically shifting between sheer, unbridled babbling about his heroes and sullenly complaining about his chances to ever meet one of them. It didn’t help that his parents had become convinced that he had a death wish, and that his younger sister routinely told people they were no relation in public, which really had a nasty way of bringing him down.

Why couldn’t they give him a “pick me up” every now and then? At the very least, they could try to be understanding if not supportive of his desire to stand out from among the rank and file. Isn’t that what parent’s were supposed to do? Support their children’s dreams? Learn about who they looked up to and give them advice?

But no.

Instead, every time he brought up how wonderful it was for Arbor and Heron to have won in spite of their disabilities, or that how honorable tributes had protected Aranica with their lives, his family’s responses ranged from eyerolls to curt words asking him to stop blathering on. While he understood that the reaping was a very trying time for most people, he felt that no one had ever really taken the time to understand him. Well, there had been that Dandy girl that one time. But she ran away from him after she understood him and never came back. So she really didn’t count. On this, the first day of the sixty-fourth annual hunger games, Erik had as always, dressed his best to impress. On the off chance that today was the big day he had been waiting for, he couldn’t be seen in anything less. It was important to wow people with a combination of looks, personality, charisma, and mystery. He wasn’t too sure how well he was doing in the last category, and resolved to look mysterious and suave when he’d be standing with the other boys.

His sister Sarah was wearing a nice lacy white dress, and he told her as much as she joined him at the breakfast table. Though many things were scarce in district twelve, their parents brought out all the stops on reaping days, cooking pancakes with eggs and even a couple squirrel sausages. Erik was aware that his parents treated these breakfasts like the last meal they’d ever eat with their kids, and no amount of telling them that he planned to win should he get reaped seemed to assuage their fears. He had tried that three years ago, and they hadn’t taken it very well. There was just no getting through to some people. Time passed quickly, and soon enough, Erik found himself a part of the throng. There was a morose feeling in the air, and he kept his head high, focusing all of his attention on the bowl of names and wishing that it would be him. The girl’s name was called first, and then the escort’s hand dipped into the bowl a second time. He would invariably be let down. Just like the last few years, when it had been Asunder Hayes or Almar Nichols, Killian Reese or Smokey Saber.

But...

This year, something seemed different. Namely the name on the lips of the escort. Because it sounded suspiciously like it rhymed with Derek Moss. Or something.

Erik Strauss. That was him. They had called his name. Erik. The name belonging to him. His name.

Without a second thought, Erik let out a loud whoop and pushed his way through the other boys, strutting like he owned the place, which, when he won, was basically what he was going to do. He was beaming, a grin stretching from ear to ear, and he could feel the stares, oh yes, he could hear the whispers and the familiar taunts as he drew closer to the podium. They called him a death seeker, a freak, a capitol wannabe, all sorts of names that he had never let get to him. Or at least tried to. But then he was climbing the steps, and shaking the escorts hand and even the Capitolite noticed his exuberance and seemed a little confused; because the usual reaction was rather teary or numb. Looking up, he could see his face on the big screen, the same screen shared by so many others. Others whose names he could list off the top of his head,names that everyone in the district remembered. And now he’d be remembered too.

Erik threw his left hand into the air and brought it down in a quick fist pump, only just stopping short of performing a dance. “Screw it.” he said under his breath, and danced a little jig before standing calmly next to the escort. He even decided to give a little wave to his district partner, the volunteer. Perhaps he’d get a chance to talk to her during the train ride. The whole of the district was spread out before him, and from where he was, he could still see that his mother was crying into his father’s shoulder, and Sarah was avoiding looking at the other girls around her and covering her ears. They were probably asking her if he was her brother. But things like that had just ceased to matter. Because now, he could actually make something of himself. Now he could be anything he wanted. Now he mattered.

I’ll show them. He thought to himself. I’ll show them all.

Erik Strauss accepts his position as tribute.

sierra birdbrook