[10th] The Reaping - District Seven

”Come on! You know who I am!” It is three hours until the reaping and Fraser is the first twelve to eighteen year old outside Seven’s town hall. His father will be inside, even at this time but nobody will let him in. ”Just open the doors, I have the right to be in there!” Fraser groans, throwing his hands towards the two men blocking the door. Peacekeepers posted nearby get twitchy, it is too early in the morning for them to be dealing with something like this already. A crisp start to the reaping day, a few clouds hide the waking sun that is fighting as hard as Fraser to be seen by his father.

”Walk away kid, before we make you.” The peacekeepers step in, three of them surround Fraser and try to move him with just their presence alone. Not one budge from the mayor’s six-foot son. ”My father is the mayor, I have every right to get inside!”

It goes on for a few more minutes then force comes and so does the man whose been watching from a window this entire time.

The men guarding the door finally move, it slowly opens but the one standing behind it doesn’t step out. It is the mayor, and outside all he can see is his son being restrained by the law. He should’ve known it was a matter of time. It is the son he has shelved but is there still time to fix this.

”Oh stop with this nonsense Fraser! Get in line with the other District children and I will see you after the reaping.” The door slams shut before Fraser can respond to his father.

It is cold on the stone floor, the peacekeepers escort Fraser from the doors and knock him off his feet when they discard him. ”Listen to the mayor kid, now fuck off!” One spits as he is left behind. This is all just a lesson. Except telling himself that doesn’t cure the same tears that his little brother plays everyday to get his own way. No way is he crying. Fraser wipes his cheeks on the navy jacket that he has borrowed from Alistair. It is a size too small for him, the sleeves barely reach his wrists, the same for the trousers that are afraid of his ankles. Perks of being locked out of his never-ending wardrobe. He needs to get back in there, before his little brother grows to his size…

Fraser burns time before the reaping with a pack of cigarettes, he watches the hours go by as the reaping ceremony is set up in front of him. Get this bullshit over with – his last ever and he can finally confront his father. When the District rolls in, he stubs out his last cigarette with his boots (his own) and seeks out Alistair.

All his friends are gathered in their usual spot, Fraser has promised them all these years that none of their names will ever be called. His connection with the mayor’s office will ensure that. ”Look at you in your baby clothes!” One of his friends calls out as their reunited with bro hugs. ”Its Ali’s hand-me-downs, the short-ass needs to grow up so I can fit in his clothes!” It is one of the worst things he has ever admitted. ”I will be back in my own soon, my father will finally see me later.”

All the boys laugh. They all laugh at sorry looking Fraser Birk in his undersized borrowed clothes. The same guy who owned everything a few weeks ago. All he can do is laugh with them; this is just a twisted test from his father. There is no way he fails this by feeling embarrassed or even sorry for himself. A big test like this only means one thing, his father has bigger plans for him. A promotion.

”Fraser Birk…”

…deputy mayor…

…District Seven tribute.

”You’ve got to be kidding me, Father!” The laughing continues but it is not shared with his friends whose faces are filled with disbelief. Fraser shakes his head, chuckling as he approaches his father. ”Oh stop with this nonsense, Father! Pick another name. There’s a worthless kid out there we can throw in the Capitol’s trashcan. We need to get on and talk about my future.” There are already two kids on the stage though, one of them is him. Fraser swipes the microphone; he hides the sun with his hand flat on his brow as he looks out at the lines of kids. ”That one, we can throw away that one.” Fraser points out to a gangly looking twelve year old boy, one whose mother is in debt to the mayor.

The same mayor who pulls the microphone from his son’s hand.

”This is your future, son. It is time you represent this District in the best possible way. Good luck…” The mayor pats his son on his shoulder then turns his back on him, focusing on those looking up at them.

That’s it then, his father’s last pull of his string. Now he turns to the new toys to play with, the useful ones with all the votes. The one he has been playing with all these years is not even on the shelf, to the waste disposal he goes. What should even be going on in Fraser’s head right now?

All he can give is a middle finger up at his father’s back and a spit bomb that lands perfectly on his neck. ”It is not over, Harvey. I’m not afraid of this. I’m not.” No grace of being called Father or Mayor, he’s never getting those titles from Fraser’s lips ever again.