96th Reaping [District Twelve]
Jan 28, 2024 16:23:01 GMT -5
Post by Python on Jan 28, 2024 16:23:01 GMT -5
j u n o
b r i m s t o n e.
Peaches, Cream, Milk, Cookies, Peanut, Butter, Jelly, Cheddar...
He had a mental checklist to account for each cat. Most of them were strays he picked up in the woods, seeking shelter from the wilds beyond the broken electric fence. He would lure them in with food and makeshift cat-houses in his backyard, then slowly but surely introduce his scent. After a few days of hissing and biting, they would accept his friendship, and some would even call his little cottage a forever home.
After a quick headcount of cats and bowls of food and water, he turned on their favorite night light (an old street light he picked up in the junkyard and fixed up) - and locked up the place. His folks' house was a five-minute bike ride down the dirt trail. Mom would have oatmeal and blueberries waiting for him, his favorite. He always told her it wasn't worth the money spent on expensive fruit, but she never listened. She was hellbent on spoiling him 'just in case.'
He kissed her on the cheek and waved at his father off after the meal. Despite his age and labor-worn body, he was on the roof fixing another leak. Juno concealed his eye-roll as he put on his grey hat. The old man was stubborn, and should've been resting in the rocking chair Juno built for him over the holiday. Couldn't he wait just one more hour? Juno would be back in no time to help. That's what he did - he was the handyman of the neighborhood, and they were lucky enough to still own this plot of land behind the mansions of Twelve. Juno had friends and neighbors rich and poor, and even rich folks wanted to save money and hire one guy instead of seven. That's how he made his living, and how he afforded his own humble abode at the edge of the woods.
The Reaping was a depressing hassle. Every year it stunted his pay for the day, and dampened his mood on account of realizing two kids would continue to die every year until Juno himself retired. It never occurred to him that he was somewhere in those names. He just felt for everyone else - including their newest victor, Marik. The buzz in Twelve was louder, livelier, since he returned. Juno guessed that he was an unhappy man. Alive, but unhappy.
Happiness could always be earned back. That's what Juno believed. Otherwise, why did he come back?
He didn't register fear or shock when his name was called. His head swiveled instead, searching for the next volunteer. It wasn't uncommon for people to volunteer and find a way out of here. Lots of places in Twelve were miserable.
The silence after "Juno Brimstone" was deafening. Nobody wanted to die this year, perhaps. That was good, but not for him.
He held his hands up in harmless defeat when white coats approached him. Now it was too late for a volunteer. Now Juno was supposed to - what? Abandon his home? His life? Confusion took hold as he walked up to the stage. It never occurred to him that any of this could happen to him. The odds were so low, the Games was such a distant prospect. He watched it every year and wrote everything off as unrelated. This didn't happen to normal people, and Juno was perfectly normal.
He wondered if he was insane for thinking about who would take care of his cats.
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accepts. trib wall x x x