[89th] The Reaping - District 3

It’d been a few days since they’d smashed the windows in.

Across the concrete floor were shards of glass from where they had blown out the windows. Arthur made sure to be careful when climbing into the basement apartment so as not to nick himself on the jagged edges of what remained. He’d have tried the front door, but after the chaos they had left it double bolted, and his brother Stanley was the only one he’d known with a key. He kicked up the glass over the maroon shag rug.

The lights wouldn’t come on when he’d fiddled with the switch. Whether that they’d cut the power, or the wires in the wall had at last decided to give up the ghost, Arthur didn’t mind the uninterrupted darkness. He preferred a study in black and white to color. The resonance of gray, black, and white removed distraction and placed the subject into stark relief. Here – a studio once teeming with life of teens and young adults developing photographs reduced to broken pieces of furniture strewn about along concrete and cinderblock.

He’d spent twenty minutes stacking trays and sifting through empty bottles. The stop bath would’ve gone on the shelf on the far wall along the windowsill. Rodinal was kept underneath the sink. Force of habit had him organizing, more to give him something for his hands to do rather than any real attempt at piecing the place back together. Arthur had finally given up when he’d tried prying open the cabinet door under the sink and found the dent someone’d put in it wedged them shut.

Arthur knelt with a hand pressed against the stainless steel of the door and held his palm against the cool metal.

What had his brother Stanley said?

They’re afraid of any sort of art they can’t control. Nothing that can’t fit neat and tidy for them. Things they don’t want to be reminded of that we can bring into focus. They’re afraid of us, man.

A half-truth, but then, Stanley had been an eighteen-year-old boy and spoke in absolutes. Both to pitch wisdom and drown out nuance. Black and white had been his preferred medium, too.

The peacekeeper raid came and spirited away young men and women of promise so that what remained were the ashes of used cigarettes and overexposed negatives. The lucky ones would be re-educated. The unlucky would never be heard from again.

Though perhaps he’d got that last part reversed.

Out under the streetlight facing the basement apartment, Arthur spent another five minutes searching for the right frame. He’d paced up and down the sidewalk until he’d caught the way the light reflected off the broken windowpanes through the dark emptiness of the decaying concrete building.

---

He fell asleep cocooned across a blanket on the loveseat in the living room of his parent’s tiny two-bedroom apartment. Tucked underneath his arms were remnants of the last five years: he and his brother dressed for a first day of school; his brother smoking a cigarette and blowing a smoke ring; pictures of their battered sneakers; Stanley flipping the bird after his last reaping the year prior; and last all of them in the dark room, busying over another night of developing.

He woke to toast and coffee on an old television tray. His mother had been up since sunrise but hadn’t bothered to stir Arthur awake. It would just be the two of them that morning. His father took an extra shift to make double on reaping day. Or so he’d explained to them both over dinner the night before. He never liked to watch the whole procession, much less consider his sons might be at risk.

Arthur drew up out of his blanket and scattered photos across the linoleum below. He nibbled on some toast and watched his mother standing at the kitchen sink. She stared out the window toward the horizon.

Click. He leaned closer in, capturing her face just as she’d turned to smile. Click.

“You looked really pretty standing there,” He said. “Couldn’t help it, ma.”

She pulled at the sash on her soft yellow robe and smiled.

'Put that away and get to the square. Forget it here, please.' She leaned back against the butcherblock behind her.

“Sure, sure.” He lied, “I’ll just drop it in my room for now.”

He’d hugged her and kissed her forehead before meandering down the hall. He’d sniffed at the pile of shirts along the hardwood and pulled up a green hoodie and jeans to slip into. He paused to smooth out his hair in the mirror before placing his 35mm camera into the front pocket.

'I’m making your favorite later, so don’t stay out late,' She’d lingered at the doorway of the kitchen to watch him. 'If you see your brother, tell him to come by, ok?'

She wouldn’t know Stanley had gone missing for another few days, unless Arthur had the heart to tell her.

“Of course I will. You know he loves sukiyaki too.” Arthur said with his arms wrapped around her tight. “I love you, ma.”

---

They told dick jokes to pass the time in line.

It was something of a tradition to see who could be the most vulgar, one that Arthur rarely won, though it’d always been about the reaction for him anyway. He’d pulled out his camera to get the line of boys mid-laugh just minutes before one of them would be hauled off to death. And all the laughter lines of that image couldn’t hide the fear lingering at the edges of their eyes.

He had neither been particularly close to any of them, nor had he despised who they’d become. At age eighteen, Arthur figured they still had the rest of their lifetimes to become wholly different three or four times if they’d wanted to. Whatever versions he’d seen the past few years would fade to oblivion by the time the final reaping was over.

‘Heard your brother’s place got lit up a few days ago by the pks,’ One boy had said, handing Arthur a cigarette to share, which after a puff he passed along the long line, ‘Sorry ‘bout it.’

‘Lucky you,’ Another beside him chimed in, ‘You’d think they would hunt down anyone he’d been close to.’

“You still believe in luck?” Arthur had spat out a cough and shook his head.

When Tsara’s name was called, a few of them whistled watching her head toward the stage.

‘Arthur Rollei,’ He’d heard the feedback and just gave another nod.

"Nope."

He started stepping forward along the gravel path with his hands in his pockets before cutting a hard right back up toward the exit of the square.

He began hot stepping forward as the peacekeepers came out of their daze, realizing Arthur was not lost or confused, but rather beginning to pick up speed as he made his way toward the exit. A cheer went up from his line as they watched him start to jog, then sprint.

The keepers shoved through the set of lines as he rolled back, and turned direction up toward the stage. One swung a club at his head to which he ducked and slid through the gravel, only to pick himself up and laugh, suddenly hot stepping through another section of younger boys. He tried to crouch next to the twelve-year-olds with a wink, only to shove himself forward when more peacekeepers sounded their whistles.

He’d slipped out of another’s grasp before racing up toward the stage, as though the set of stairs leading to the top was home base and he were playing a game of tag.

“I, uh, hi!” Arthur huffed as he gave a wave, then put his hands on his knees, “Just testing to see uh, how serious, how serious y’all were about this thing.”

[Arthur Rollei accepts the spot as D3M]

Changing his fc to Darren Barnet, sample pics x x x