[D10] The Reaping

The first thing they gave me was her diary.

And at first, I promised myself I wouldn't open it. 

It felt wrong to read the the thoughts, the feelings and emotions of a dead girl. Writings of immense pain and of birthday parties and school—my mind was at war with itself about whether or not to pull open the leather cover and read it.

A fighting head, bridges burned between sense and what's right—I read it.

The first page was not anything special. It was her first entry from her twelve year old self. Her language was not great and neither was her handwriting but the words she wrote were so expressive. Beautiful and telling, I could already begin to understand why and how she managed to encase herself in an aura of mystery and retain it until her death.

Leather bound with crusty old beige pages, white pages, nice pages, thin pages, thin handwriting, strange code, emptiness, dog-eared pages, drawings, sketches, art, masterpieces, notes in margins and dates as a header—each page told it's own story of rise and fall, remnants of secrecy dying with every sentence read.

It was my own secret that I was reading it. I'd lie awake and hide it underneath my covers and tear it open, my eyes focussed on ink after ink, reading it until the day killed the night. I know that if my mother found out what I was doing she'd be more than upset and then would want to read it herself.

And page 16 explicitly says—("Mother shall never read this. Ever.")

The little book brought an enlightening each time I delved between the pages. I did not know my sister was struggling under illusions, I did not know that this was her escape. I had not swallowed the key to my mysterious sister, the whereabouts of said key was just her best kept secret.

Eventually, I stumbled across an entry about Ellerie. A page filled with worries and wonder, the page brings to life her fear of the games and plays it before my eyes. Captured nightmares compressed into her writing, one page tells the story of how she'd volunteer if she was reaped. 

My sister was not much of a brave girl, she was no hero or fighter and so the words startle me—("I'd volunteer for Ellerie, there's no doubt about it.")

—

"Ellerie Tibideaux!"

Her hands slips from mine and I'm lost in a calamity of thoughts. Collisions in my mind happening beneath a simple sky, emptiness swells within me. I feel Ellerie's eyes drift onto me and I watch out of the corner of my eye as she takes one single step.

One single step too many.

My mind races with flashbacks from last year. Two made to watch as their own flesh and blood grew weaker, diminishing and wilting like a thirsty and unloved flower. Rage swelled within but it remained contained, and emotion was the only side seen. A mirage and an illusion—

our mirage, our illusion.

Now solved by her writings, dewdrops fall from the grass like pieces into place and the stars align. Her strength not defined by a placement or number, but by a promise made to herself.

My sister was not a brave girl, but she was willing to die for the security of another—("I'd volunteer for Ellerie, there's no doubt about it.")

What does that make me if I remain frozen for a second time?

"I volunteer!"

Emerging from the crowd, the gasps of other girls echoing around me. Wrapped in whispers of scepticism and drained worry, even the escort widens their eyes as I appear. Gentle paces taken as I weave between the crowds to reach the stage. My head held high, I refuse to show weakness.

There is no excuse for it, not when Leticia suffered all things inhuman.

For a short moment, my eyes meet with Ellerie's. Her face is unreadable amongst the pain indulged but the wounds made are sewn together tightly as the delivery of another name distracts me from the hurricane of emotion.

But only for a moment.

The fight against death continues on in me. It is a silent killer and may already have my sister and my mind, but I refuse to let it strike at my heart.

I can't lose. I can't and I won't—I'm going to win.

I have to win.

Leticia was no brave girl or fighter, but I am half dead,

never half alive.