[74th] The Reaping - District Eight

Jenoah Rasoio

”You would do so well in the games Jen!”

There has been no victor from District Eight in a long time. I don’t even think I can recall the name of one. The only purpose District Eight has in Panem is to throw a blanket across the land, not live victorious within it. For so long there has a been tradition in the business that no lad or lass of reaping age is to ever volunteer, every hand is valuable, throwing prized goods into the arena will not look healthy on the profits. Although lately, the family has thought otherwise… Someone, at some point between the last games to now has conjured up a wild idea that if someone in the business was to become a victor, extra profits would be pouring in and the company would get recognised. “We’re meant to be staying underground! Not putting ourselves in the spotlight.” - Were the words of my father however that didn’t deter the men from sharing their ideal tributes from the business and unfortunately, I seemed to be the favourite in the running.

That can’t be my destiny.

Why must they plot my existence? It’s like the whole family has a pen and I am their great novella that they’re producing together, the main protagonist in their destructive fantasy. A genre not suited for me (they probably don’t know what genre means anyway). Just because I have one more brain cell than the rest, they think I am some great prodigy. I am not cut out this. I am not cut out for any of this.

Reaching the nearest object that sits on my bed side table, a poor lamp falls victim to one of my sudden surprise rage. Gritting my teeth, I devastate the perfect porcelain piece as I hurl it across the room, my mind clouded by a fury that has been hidden deep inside of me for a very long time. Fury, a trait which I have never wanted to present to the world but even in the containment of my bedroom, its presence strikes agony into my already broken heart. This isn’t you Jenoah, they are making you like this.

Picking up pieces is what I always seem to do after these (thankfully not very frequent) episodes, for now I will just have to brush the evidence under my bed, I am sure my father will not be impressed if he were to find out. As soon as the ceremony is over, I’ll dispose of the body.

Dust particles fill my nostrils as I sweep the chippings of porcelain under the bed, a sharp pain from the infestation of the nuisance grime marches down my throat, likely aiming for my lunges so that it can kill me slowly from the inside. No wonder the little things in the world are trying to kill me, my family are the ones abusing all the little things. Poor people that come crawling to our doorstep, begging us for a loan…begging us for help. And if they can’t payback their end of the deal, we end them. I don’t want to be a part of this. If only our modest side of the business, the garment manufacturing was our main asset, I’d be a proud of that. I cannot be proud of who I am, I order the execution of poor souls behind authorities eyes. Only people with the right mind can see that it isn’t a prosperous career expect. I don’t want to be a part of this.

Gripping the edge of my bed, I kneel on the dusty floorboards, resting my head on the mattress. ”Dear Ripred, please be kind to my family today. We are not kind to you but as I ask every day, please forgive us. Forgive me, I have tried so hard to get off of this dark path but I can’t do it by myself. Please show me the way to solitude, please a shine a light on my destiny and above all, cleanse me of all the sins I have committed. I don’t want to be a part of this and you know too well that I cannot break away from it so easily. Today of all days please be kind to my family.” Sinking my head into the covers, I search for a sign that my prayer has been acknowledge. Ripred may be a false god, he may well exist but in times like this, he is the only one I can call out too.

”Are you ready Jenoah?” Arnelle’s voice plucks me up from the state of despair that I nearly buried myself in. I am not ready for anything.

Taking one last glance in the mirror, of course the family have assigned a uniform for us to wear on the delightful occasion; the reaping is after all, kind of a family gathering. It is the only day of the year that we all meet and not converse about the business. Today they have dressed me in a light grey shirt, which is rather long on the bottom and a pair of foul brown trousers. The priced gem sits on my cranium, the main logo for our business, a dark grey flat cap. It is seen as an insult if one of the males of the family is not seen out in public wearing it. It helps the citizens identify us…I wish they didn’t have to know.

Like a crusade, the family marches to the town square, my heart sinks as some citizens look the other way. You don’t have to fear me. Walking side by side with Arenelle. I can see the worry that presents itself in her eyes. Brushing my fingers across the back of her hand, I assure her that I am here. ”There is nothing to be scared bout Arnelle, a Rasoio has never been reaped and one never will.” A snigger creeps into my ear from behind; one of the men has a grin painted across his face. He flashes me a wink as I glare at him and before I can turn away; his hand finds itself on my shoulder. ”All the lads have money on you volunteering, come on boy we know you can survive that game, take one for the team!” Pulling away from his grip, I hurry forwards, trying to force out his words from my mind.

Why must they have such high expectations of me? The business isn’t my destiny and going into the games is surely not it…The games is a burden on all the common folk of Panem, a way for the Capitol to contain peace and well that’s what I am trying to find, peace…The arena is not the place where you are going to find peace.

Sweat slowly disperses from my palm to Arnelle’s as we keep a tight grip of each other in the town square. I have been through this ceremony six times now; I can recount every word, every word except the two different names that are pulled from that bowl every year. Keeping my eyes closed, my lips recites the escort’s speech .When the female name is called, it’s hard for me to recite but relief fills half of me….Arnelle is safe.

And now it’s time for the males.

I am not going to fulfil the men’s wishes, I can’t. I am reminded by the hold that I have with Arnelle right now that I am here for my family, somehow I must forget about the business we have, I can never disown them… they are my blood and they introduce me to this world…But is my blood family really a part of my destiny?

”Jenoah Rasoio”

Light floods my vision as I open my eyes, the view of the stage suddenly ignites in my mind and I can feel the tense sensation form Arnelle rippling up my arm. No. is this Ripred’s answer to my morning prayer? To throw me into the arena, has Ripred been on the men’s side all along? Glancing to Arnelle, it kills me to let her hand slip from my own as I move the flat of my palm to my chest. ”I’ll aways be here Arne-“ before I am able to finish my words, I am cut off by the grip of a Peacekeeper on my arm as I am hurled onto the stage like the lamp in my bedroom.

I am officially shattered now; every crack that has been crawling across me has exploded. The arena must be the place where I pick up the pieces. So this is it, my destiny must be a date with death. Even if the men of the business believe I am a winner, they don’t truly see the conflict that exists inside of me. My family ruined me and they don’t even know it.