"It is time," they said as they stood over the impatient people of the District, "To once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping!"
They did not look to see the reaction of his district before reaching into the glass ball that held the names of the female children. "Ladies first," they announced, pulling out a slip of paper. They unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Eve Renner!" They then reached into the other ball. "Nicolas Rainier!"
OOC- RPing is allowed. If you wish to volunteer, let the tribute post first either accepting or stepping down from their place for volunteers, and then post. If the tribute doesn't reply by Tuesday, October 16th, a staff member will post saying that volunteering is open. Please do not post until you see this staff message. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE.
Tributes, please do not make your acceptance or denial of your spot in character; instead, please leave an ooc note at the end of your post stating whether they accept or are stepping down for volunteers.
I like the kind of morning I can curl up with a book and a cup of tea on the window facing the new day, holding stillness in my heart before the hustle and rigor of the working people shake me from my calm.
Before I am reminded of harsh words whispered in dimly-lit streets.
Before I am reminded of the way men spit on the ground as if they own it.
Before I am reminded of how small I stand in comparison to those who would do me harm.
On those gentle mornings, I don’t feel weak. I feel just like myself, quiet and comfortable, powerful as I sift through the pages of a book and the knowledge it contains. On those mornings, I hold a little bit more of the world in my fingertips.
Today, the sunrise is violent.
I feel it as the angry light punches through the blinds, as I pull on the rough fabric of the tunic I only wear on Reaping day, as I step soundlessly through the doorway without eating breakfast for fear that I won’t keep the food down.
We walk politely to the inevitable anguish of the day, my head bent low as I clutch my brother’s hand, my Father and Mother looking resolute in their grief for those who haven’t yet been lost. There’s the potential, though, and we all know it-- it could be me, or it could be Raxar, or it could be both of us.
The sun rises higher as we organize ourselves like well-trained sheep, and I can’t bring myself to look up at my own cohort. They’re mean on the best of days, and I don’t think I could stand to look at the malice in their eyes that says ”I hope it’s you, because what are you worth?”
To them, the answer is nothing.
They’ve embedded that in my chest somewhere, and I feel it twinge along with the fear.
What if they’re right, and my name is called?
Worse, somehow: what if they’re right, and I live like this forever?
I push the thought down and do my best to pay attention to the slaughter’s introduction, the memorized words and the meaningless phrases. People clap, but only the forceful ones clap truly. People bigger and stronger than me revel in moments like these.
I know these words by heart now, so it’s easy to tune them out.
So easy, in fact, that I almost miss my name. I’m too busy staring down at the mud, making myself small.
Did I mishear?
I must have misheard.
I tilt my head in confusion, and I see the eyes of the girls my age reflecting my own fear.
Something happens to my heart, then. I feel it thump-a-thump-a-thump in a way that doesn’t make sense, and I feel the weight of my own reality heavy on my shoulders.
The reality: my name’s Eve, I’m the one they called, and I’m going to die.
Years and years of hate and indifference slide through my ears and help me settle on that conclusion in an instant. I’ve learned a lot about myself from other people, and as my heart thump-a-thump-a-thumps in my chest, the evidence is insurmountable.
Small. Weak. Shy. Scared.
These are not the hallmarks of a survivor, but of a doomed girl.
When I walk up to the stage, it’s a death march. I’ve passed by denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and hurtled straight through acceptance into my own afterlife. When I see my parents in the crowd, their faces ashen, it’s as if I see them from the grave.
I grieve for myself as I walk to the stage, too shocked to cry, too scared to look at anything but my family.
Post by Sky Bison [D5F] on Oct 16, 2018 16:05:50 GMT -5
Actions Thoughts "My Speech" "Others Speech" Other
I jump out of bed before my alarm even goes off. I gotta get there early. I have to be the first one there. That way, they have to reap me! Deep down, I knew that wasn’t the way the reaping worked, since it was all random, but I still kept telling myself that. I’m going to get reaped for sure! This year’s my year.
I run out of the door and I get a good distance out before I realized something important: pants. ”Crap!” I run all the way back to my house, praying no one I knew saw me. How can I have forgotten these? How can I be such an idiot? I double check to make sure I actually have all my clothes on before I leave again. Okay. I think I’m good now.
My sprint all the way down to the town square to make up all the time I lost. Now all sweaty and probably smelly, I get in line all flustered and embarrassed. If anyone gives my any crap for this, i WILL fight them. And I WILL win. I glare around to make sure no one ever dares to try to mess with me as I get into my spot and wait for the reaping to happen.
The escort walks onto the stage. Huh. I should be late more often because there wasn’t any wait, which is great."It is time to once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping!" Oh my ripred! It’s time! It’s my time! "Ladies first. Eve Renner!” Who gives a crap about them? Who’s the male tribute! "Nicolas Rainier!" NO! ”I volunteer! I volunteer and none of y’all can do anything about it!“ I run onto the stage before anyone else can steal my spotlight. No one’s going to steal my glory. I’m going to be the best tribute in existence. Ever. Tent Provat volunteers as tribute
I wake up for the up thousandth time covered in sweat. This year is the first year I'm eligible to be reaped, and I'm freaking terrified. What if I get reaped? I'll have to walk in front of everyone. What if I puke? I don't want to do this. I don't want today to happen. Knowing time doesn't stop for anyone, I sit my clammy body out of bed. I really don't want to do this. I can't wait for this day to end.
Looking at the fridge, I'm tempted not to get anything. I'll just puke it up if I get reaped. But I really should eat, I guess... I grab a banana, figuring that if I only eat something small, I won't through up THAT much. I don't even like bananas, though. I guess it's better than nothing...
As I walk outside my house, I look around for places to hide to try to escape so I wouldn't have to go to the reaping. But they'll know if I'm not there. If they call my name and I don't pop up, they'll know i skipped and I'll be punished. The banana starts to come back up. Nope. Don't you dare come back up. The next thing I know I see a boy not too much older than me run outside pantsless. It's almost impossible for me not to laugh out loud. How can someone be so stupid and forget pants? He quickly realizes what happened and sprints back to wherever he lives. Some people... I guess that's how they get them. Everyone in this district is an idiot.
Finally, I get to the hellhole gathering place. The amount of people here makes me feel small. Maybe I can just make myself disappear in here. Maybe no one will notice me in here and someone else will volunteer. I head on over to the other 12 year olds and stand by them. On second thought. I don't think it's possible. Why do we have to stand so close? This makes it impossible to hide now...
I try to shut my mind down and focus on a small patch on the ground. All of a sudden, I hear a loud voice in front of me. "It is time," the escort says as I jump 20 feet into the air, "to once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping!" Oh ripred, it's time... Crap crap crap, please dont be me. I don't want to be in here. The escort walks on over to one of the bowls. "Ladies first." Ugh, why can't we do guys first and get it over with? "Eve Renner!" Don't know her, doesn't matter. It ain't me. "Nicolas Rainier!"Oh my ripred, praise everything good and holy!
"I-I volunteer!" Suddenly everything becomes quiet as everyone's eyes go on me.Was that me? That can't be me. But that was me. I here someone else volunteer behind me, but I don't think it matters anymore. I here them running to the stage and then peacekeepers running to grab him. I hear him yelling and screaming about how he was first and how he should be the tribute. Yes! Please! Take my spot! But deep down, I messed up. I know I messed up. Why would I ever volunteer for these? I HATE the games.
I feel myself shaking as I make my way to the stage. I feel all eyes on me, watching my every move. I just keep my eyes on the ground. When I get to the stage, the escort asks my name. I shake my head as I feel tears dripping down my face. I don't want to be here. Please leave me alone. "Hey, don't be shy. It's okay. What's your name?" The escort asks again. No it's not okay. THis is my worst nightmare. Please just get me out of here. I messed up. I don't want to be here. Let the other guy come please. "My name is Shy. Shy Aubergine." I don't know how many people heard that, even with the microphone in front of me. I feel so embarrassed. Just let me be. Please let me go. I just want to run and hide and curl up into a ball and cry. I don't want to be here anymore. Please take me home.
Post by Alphabet [Kire] D7M on Oct 16, 2018 16:06:15 GMT -5
[attr="class","nyxbiogradient"]Today was a day of choices and fate. If it were going to be anyone's day, it would be his. The coin flipped easily between his three fingers, taunting the empty space where there should be two more. Life and death sat on either side of the metal disk like balanced opponents. They faced off at the edges but each was secure on their own side. He, however, was perched in the middle of both, not knowing where he might fall at any time.
The feeling the coin, warmed from his skin, against his palm is steadying. This was his conscious, his decisions, his choice. There were no tough choices when he relied on the coin - and he always relied on it. He had gone so long without making his own choice that he nearly convinced himself he wasn't able to choose anything outside of what the coin said.
His dirty clothes were a testament to the fact that he had no real place to call home. He was a beggar, though he didn't beg for much. With a flip of his coin he would find everything he needed. Tonight, if he were here still after all of these forced choices, he would find something to bring home to his sister and the others. Perhaps he would get some sort of meat, or maybe a pie, something to celebrate them all surviving another choice - for that's really what the reaping was.
The Choice was almost upon them. The whole crowd held their breath as a name was lifted from the pool of fate. Someone's turn to die, but who, and would anyone else make the choice to take that burden away from them?
There is a stony silence in the air. Somewhere someone gasps. Every year it is nearly the same. A weak-kneed small girl makes her way to the front and takes her place up on the stage. She looks pale, shaky. It's a wonder she even managed to walk that far without falling. There's no time to relax, though, for the next name is already in the grip of death.
Nothing happens. There are no gasps or shouts. The coin seems to pulse with heat for a moment, a driving force. This is the point of a choice, the moment of a decision. Without hesitation he flicks the coin into the air and snatches the piece to slap it on the back of his other palm in a practiced gesture. Life and death are hidden under his palm. One of them would live while the other died, the only question was what was his choice. Would he step forward for this boy, would he give himself up for the life of another he didn't know.
Death had called to him, claiming him as his own. Though he had a long time of chances in the future, it seemed the future was not his to have. The coin's heat had diminished again, like its power had been used up for the moment. It was all left to him, he had his choice made.
Is it volunteering if you were destined to do it? Are you not merely succumbing to fate?