district three reaping :: [ catullus brown ]

They have us all pile into the square, all of us. Every child aged twelve to eighteen is here, including me. My brother, thankfully eleven, is safe - for now. He turns twelve next year and each time I look at the word 'Second' I am more and more convinced that this terror won't stop.

We all hoped, somehow, that the First Hunger Games would be the only one, but I had held onto that horrible feeling that somehow that wasn't the case. Now we stand here, rebel and civilian alike, to watch the ending of lives.

The increased formality of this process is as terrifying to me as it is marvelous. The effort taken by the Capitol to show us that we are all vulnerable is certainly effective. The standoffish few who act as though they couldn't care less were probably all acting. I wasn't, couldn't, hide the fear that made my knuckles turn white. I had no idea what was going to happen. Everything was new and meant to look long-standing. By this moment I am certain this will all happen again.

We were better off before. Before the war, before the rebels decided that their lives meant less than the security we were all given. Now we sit here with nothing between us and death except for the others around us. Once a war was fought to supposedly remove the influence of the Capitol from "around the neck" of the Districts, but now we all stand waiting to be called for execution.

They executed my father, they caused the death of so many. I was never against punishing them but now knowing that it wasn't only rebels that would be chosen I couldn't help but feel a pulsing horror and anger in my chest. The sensation moved to clog my throat as the first official reaping began.

A name. A girl. I don't know her, it's probably for the best.

Everyone stares around in silence, waiting. We all know there's another name, they explained exactly how this was all going to go. One more name, one more sacrifice. The "benevolent gods," as my father called them, had lost some of their benevolence but none of their grandeur. Everything had to be as spectacular and awe inspiring as before. This time, though, it was meant to terrorize and not tempt.

The name is spoken and it's like a whisper and a scream all at once because I know that name. I know it.

"That can't be right, no."

That name is mine.

"Catullus Brown."

"It's not supposed to be me." Did my father lie? Was he mistaken? Why would the Capitol reap someone who had aligned with them? What would my death prove?

No one is safe.

No one looks at me at first. They're all looking around them, trying to figure out who that is. We have done a decent job in hiding ourselves but now it's time to break my cover. I don't have a choice.

With the first step they are onto me. I see numerous faces filled with disgust glaring at me. There are some faces that are trying to fade away, not wanting to get involved, but the majority hate me for a name they all know. Brown is a cursed name to them. Not as though my first name really speaks to rebel sympathies. I had been marked from the moment I was born. Now it all came to this.

The first stone pelts me in the shoulder. A shout from a Peacekeeper but it doesn't stop the next one, or the one after that. They are small, mostly just pebbles. I get a clump of grass thrown in my face but the worst appears to be over as they keep running out of ammo. Once they had fought through the crowd, four Peacekeepers stood around me to shield me from the debris being flung at me. They shouldn't have bothered, though, it made the whispers worse.

"He is one of them."

"Traitor, look at him."

"I'm glad he's going to die."

My face is stone because I can't feel anything anymore - aside from the bruises. I'm barely managing to place one foot in front of the other and soon I have a Peacekeeper under each arm, hauling me up to the front. I don't struggle. There is nothing good behind me and I know the crowd wouldn't hesitate to kill me right here if I tried. Death ahead of me, death behind. I was trapped.

Looks like I get to see the Capitol after all, dad. The first twitch of a muscle in my face, the first expression I make as I look into the camera, is a bitter smile. Just not for as long as you hoped.