[74th] The Reaping - District Nine

Life hasn't been the same since mother and father died so many years ago, but here I am trapped at an aunts house watching spiders crawl up the walls. Cobwebs dangle in every corner, bugs suffocate inside them, and there isn't a thing I can do to save them. Yet I often wonder what the purpose would be. Chaske died because nobody stepped forward to save him. My parents died because I was a coward lurking in the corner. A heavy sigh leaves my chest as sunlight glistens through the shattered window beside my bed. Normally, I would jump up, throw clothes on and get ready to head to the factory for work; however, today is different. Work isn't the priority today. In fact, I believe that nobody else will even attend their daily schedule after the festivities are finished. It's the reaping - some will rejoice while other's seclude themselves from the rest of the world and mourn the loss of a loved one carried away far too soon.

My eyes snap shut as I pull the old, ragged, holey blanket across my shivering body. Winter is just a few short months away, and while it isn't one of my favorite seasons, it offers a nice break from the scorching heat of the suns deadly rays. Many have died from heat stroke - I've seen it, yet I can never bring myself to that point. How does it happen? People survive the reapings, but they can't survive the sun? It's mindboggling. Sadly, I'll never understand how anyone can live at all.

Footsteps echo, and the rotted floorboards creak as someone in the house comes closer and closer. Rolling my eyes, I roll over in bed facing away from the door as it opens; the hinges squeal in protest. "Gotta get up, Rolf." My aunt's calm voice reaches my ears, yet I shrug it off - I've never been one listening to authority, but she's the one who provides shelter. She places the food on the table. She makes sure everyone is fed unlike mom and dad. But none of that matters because they're gone, and Chaske isn't here to hide behind. It's just me. "I've got breakfast a cooking." I scoff silently listening as she walks away. It's a terrible fate living in a place where nothing matters. Hopeless realities turn into common nightmares, but not a single person raises a hand to do anything. The system is broken, and it needs fixed, but how can a good child like myself fix it?

Within a few minutes, I'm out of bed, dressed and heading into the kitchen - she's made my favorite food. The only time I ever see this is on the reaping day. It's an expensive meal, and we don't have much money. "You didn't have to fix this." I say politely as my eyes lock on the food spread across the table. "Could've saved it for dinner tonight. I'm sure Pherick and Citadel would enjoy it."

Silence roars through the worn down house. Not a word is said until I'm standing up to put my plate in the sink knowing good and well I'll have to wash the dishes when I get home. "You're a good cook." Normally, I'm not this nice, but I know it's a bad day. We lost one to the reaping, and this terrible feeling of losing another lingers in the dark corners of my mind.

Once it's all put away, I'm heading out the doors following the crowd of people moving towards the district square. Muffled chatter fills my ears, and I'm lost in a herd of people pushing through trying to find a way out. But nothing comes. My movements aren't my own; I'm being tossed around like a rag doll in the hands of a toddler throwing a tantrum. Person after person bumps into my side, pushes me out of the way, laughs as I move by. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if this is how Chaske felt when I threw him to the wolves so many times. I tried to help him, but mother and father loved me. They cared for me. I was the good child. The one they knew would be successful -

The only thing I'm successful at is throwing my friends and family to the hungry, rabid dogs.

It's all moving so quick, and I'm trampling over top of tiny critters marching along beside us until I'm standing in front of the peacekeepers checking in. And then I'm ushered through the crowd until I'm lined up with other males my age. All that's left is this one reaping, and I'll be safe forever. Safety is a pleasant thought that doesn't exist.

My eyes dart towards the stage where the escort is standing.

"It is time."

Each breath catches in the back of my throat.

"Sabrina Larue!"

Somewhere deep inside I find myself feeling the relief I shouldn't have felt. But Citadel is safe. It's a shame that I'm rejoicing over a girl being sentenced to death, yet it's a chair at the table that won't be empty -

"Rolf Parks!"

...

What?

A muffled screech erupts past my lips, and I take a step back raising my hands to cover my mouth. My eyes locked on the eyes of the escort standing on the stage, and then my gaze shifts until my eyes meet my aunt's tear stained brow.

Impossible.

I'm shaking my head in disbelief. No, it can't be me.

Gritting my teeth, I slowly make my way towards the stage showing no fear. Nothing. My face is clear, and I'm trying to show that I'm not afraid. Deep inside locked away from the rest of the world, I'm screaming like a little girl.

I'm the good child.

It can't be me.

But it is.