[9th] District One Reaping

Aston Maybach.

”You have been running this morning?”

”How can you tell?” Aston answers, already wearing his sharp Sunday best shirt and pressed trousers. ”I can smell it on you.” His brother replies, offering out a bar of deodorant to mask any evidence of Aston’s morning routine under his arms.

”You can’t take a break can you, even today of all days?” Aston is so used to his brother’s complaints. Sometimes they drag Aston back into reality for just a second, but his words are not strong enough to save Aston. To dissuade him from climbing out of the hole that is getting deeper and deeper. ”There is a race tonight, I just needed to be sure that I am ready.” The timings are clever, in the two years since the running club got taken over by Zak Grey the gambler, there have been no races on reaping day. But why lose out on the opportunity to make more money? The entire District congregated into one area, may as well give them a piece of entertainment on their journeys home while filling up the coffers.

Aston stares down the endless bottles of cologne in the family’s shared cupboard in the bathroom, his brother is still lingering behind him, pushing out more complaints and questions from his lips. ”How do these races even benefit you?” Aston picks out the strongest Eau de Parfum in the family’s collection. An offensive spicy scent, the main ingredients being a mix of pressed black and pink pepper, with a base of lavender and cedar and others. It is a fragrance that will tickle the nostrils of everyone standing by him in the District square. ”I am healthy, that is how it benefits me.” Aston sprays the fragrance on his neck, wrists and then lavishly across his shirt and trousers.

His brother grabs his wrist, the same hand that is still carrying the bottle of perfume. ” Healthy arms, healthy legs but what about your head?” His arm is dropped but his brother knocks his fist on the top of his cranium with a fist, the bottle of perfume is quickly snatched from his grip. ”Milli is trying to organise another club, I just need to somehow get away from Zak.” His brother shakes his head, sighing. He overdoes it with the perfume, more so that the pair of brothers start to cough with the fumes. His brother does not understand why he cannot simply quit running under Zak Grey. But Aston has seen what happens to those who fail. He cannot simply lose a race so he will be thrown out. If you lose money for Zak, you pay, and Aston is not the type to displease anyone. Even those who make his life hell.

That is why he stands and listen to every instruction that Zak barks down his ear when his family bump into the bookmaker/running manager on their way to reaping. ”Get to the start thirty minutes before and make sure you take that liquid before you leave. You need to win today,” Zak grabs the collar of the boy’s shirt, pulling him closer as his family’s backs are turned further up the road. ”There is a lot of money on your name today, you make sure you win!” Despite the strong perfume, the stagnant breath of Zak lingers in the back of even Aston’s throat. He has too close his eyes when the saliva sprays in his face with every word.

There will be no running races for Aston Maybach today.

Aston Maybach, winner of the Reaping Day Cross Country Chase.

Aston Maybach, District One Male Tribute of the Ninth Hunger Games.

The scent lingers in the air, trailing behind him as he follows the call of his name, the escort of peacekeepers pack into him. His head is lowered, glancing down at his best leather shoes. They are not comfortable sneakers; he will not be able to run very far in them without leaving a burden of blisters on his heels.

He can’t even look at the silent crowd, not one of them is cheering him on. Not one of them relies on him to double the money in their pockets. His morning run did not prepare him for this or will those finely chiselled calves on his legs free him from the danger that awaits? The benefit of the running club, at least he may have a head start. But there is not enough confidence in the boy to let him raise his head and face the crowd.