96th Reaping [District Eight]

marceline jeon .

"there's nothing wrong with a half-finished song"

Reaping day; I wake up like it's any other day. I peel myself off my mattress, and get dressed, the same way I always do. White, high collared woolly jumper, knee length skirt, opaque tights, black slip on shoes; as if I'm going to work, like I would be any other day. 

But it's not any other day. It's the Reaping; by the time I get to the mirror, there are tears running down my face. I wipe them away, and apply my makeup. Once it's on, I'll stop crying. 

My sisters, the ones who still live at home with their surprise babies anyways, buzz around me, clasping my shoulders and whispering encouragements at intervals. Only two of them are still eligible for the Reaping, and though their names are in there more times than mine, they're more confident than me, at least outwardly. They've made it this far, so why worry now? That's what they tell me to think too. Wearily, I smile, and wonder what they really think.

Our parents are less blasé about it. They kiss and cuddle each of us, even me, who, on any other day, would slip out of their arms and complain. Today I let them, and hold back more tears. I want to ask them why they had so many children. I look over my shoulder at my nieces and nephews; the oldest is eight. I want to ask my sisters, half of them already following in my parents' footsteps with their own respective gaggles of kids. Don't they realise? Don't they remember what it's like to be this age in Panem? At least Mom and Dad have the decency to look at us all today with eyes wet in regret. It's a sorry without ever having to actually say the word. When they let me go, I make my way to the door, and put on my one and only good coat.

I'll accept the apology on my nineteenth birthday, if I make it there.

As soon as we're all ready to go, I lead the pack out the door. Not everybody's here. I have enough cousins to fill a factory or two by themselves, but pretty much all of them are either past or below Reaping age, except for me, and except for my two closest siblings. 

The walk to District Square always feels long, because of the memory of today, but on the actual day of we arrive much too quickly for my liking. I give my parents a kiss on the cheek each and file into line with the others my age. Tears threaten me again, so I squeeze my eyes shut again as I shuffle along. By the time it's my turn to get my finger pricked, I have myself back under control. 

"It is time," the brief pause annoys her to no end. "To once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping."

These stupid escorts don't even care. Next year, he'll be vying to climb up the ranks to District Seven. Two of our own, he says. As if he's one of them.

"Garnet Beauford!"

I takes a deep breath, hold it, close my eyes. One more name, and then this is all over.

"Marceline Jeon!"

My eyes snap back open. With that, I feel myself leave my body. The girls next to my body, next to me, all step back. The people in front of me turn around, starting a domino effect. Everybody, all the way up to the stage, steps aside, all with their necks craned to see Marceline Jeon. This amount of attention is my nightmare. I freeze in my spot. No. There's a bigger nightmare happening. A nightmare within a nightmare. 

Somebody behind me jabs me hard in the small of my back, and unwittingly I stumble forward, falling back into my body in the process. This is real. It's real. I've taken one step, and I'm compelled to take another. As I pass by, I feel every set of eyes on me. I sense their vision coming into focus, assessing me. They're trying to figure out if I'm worth... anything. 

Another, and another. One by one, until I'm at the front of the stage. Once I'm there, I feel a tear spill of all a sudden, opening the gates for the rest of them that come streaming down my cheeks, down my neck. But I keep my face neutral, my shoulders as square as they can be, as a Peacekeeper leads me up to the stage. 

I don't recognise a single face out there through my wet eyes, but I suppose that doesn't matter now. I'll never see any of them again anyways.

[ OOC  //  Marceline accepts her position. ]

trib wall suggestions - one, two.