97th Reaping [District Three]

Possibility.

To any innovator, anybody with an idea or a goal or a dream, it is the first obstacle to be faced. Is it possible, is it attainable, can it be done? It is one of the first questions we ask ourselves as we balance our fears of wasted time and impasses with no way through against the ambition lighting its way through our mind. When the odds look good the ideas flourish, following a nice and clear path towards a transformation into something new. It's when the probability is slim that ideas tend to die. An idea met with a wall of brick and stone, and the way through isn't clear or easy. Great innovators can find that crack in the wall, that small chance that it is possible, and that's enough for them to tear down the wall. And the best, well, they can find other means to knock the wall down entirely.

There is no such thing as the impossible.

At this point in my life the words are burned into the folds of my mind. During the countless hours working on whatever project has become my latest obsession, I can feel their soft glow pushing me to keep going. Giving me the energy to push through the moments when it feels like I've tried it all and still can't get it right. The words are my mentor. The words are my friend.

Not today. Today they are the cause for the ice sending shivers through to my very core.

Another Reaping is upon us, and our household begins our annual dance as we brace ourselves for what's to come. We all know that there are plenty of others in District 3 dancing in sync. Individually, any one person's odds of being one of the poor, unfortunate souls selected for the Games are laughable. Even those who have taken the tesserae time and time again still only have a slim chance of being the one selected. Statisticians might look at the numbers and conclude that it's almost impossible to be reaped. The odds are against it.

Statisticians are rarely innovators.

I spent as much of the morning as possible at my desk. Organizing away the wires and metals that laid cluttered across the worn wood. Normally I wouldn't pay them any mind, lost in a flow of ideas and inspiration that demand my full attention on the masterpiece I am putting together. Today there is no room for that flow, no time to explore new ideas. There is only one other place my attention can be now, and I refuse to let it be drawn there. So instead, I clean and tidy until there is nothing left out of place. Until I'm left sitting there at a spotless desk and looking at the line of tools waiting at the ready for the moment my hands next can put them to work on something else.

I don't know how long I'm sat there before my attention is drawn towards the figure of Sadiya standing in the doorway. She didn't knock, and she didn't need to. "Come downstairs and eat," she says, "we'll be leaving soon." And then she's disappeared back down the stairs. For both of us, this will be our last Reaping. One more nightmare to get through, and then a sigh of relief. The perks of having a twin is having someone to face it all with. Sadiya and I got through our first reaping together, and now hopefully we will get through our last.

I rise up from the desk and steer myself downstairs, sitting down in front a plate of toasted bread filled with a variety of nuts, and topped with a jam of crushed mint and blueberries. Around me are the rest of my family, sitting sullen and silent and eating away as the weight of the day sets in for us all. Sadiya sits to my left, stoic and reserved, biting away the bread bit by bit. To my right is our younger sister, Dina. Normally we hardly have a moment where she's not recounting some adventure she's been up to for the day, or some plans she and her friends are getting up to. Today she is silent. I pretend not to see the slight tremor in her hands, knowing that she's busy steeling herself not to give into her terror.

Across from us sit our brothers: Emon is already finished eating and is busy glowering over at Riyaad, who is shooting the same look back with arms crossed and bread untouched. I'm not surprised that these two are fighting yet again: At 20 Emon is already in the clear from the Reapings, and stands firm in its necessity for the Capitol. The way he speaks it's almost like he idolizes them. Like he wishes he was among them in their decadence and power instead of stuck here. On the other hand young Riyaad can't stand them in the slightest. The fact his older brother keeps praising their laurels has only served to push him further and further in the opposite direction. More times than not it is the youngest among us, sweet Tevin, who helps lead them to a truce. Even now he sits directly across from me, acting as a barrier between the two of them. This will be his second reaping, and yet he is the calmest of us all.

At the ends of the table sit our parents. The Reaping is the rare occasion where they're not busy off at work and we can all get together and eat as a family. A time to be together before the Reaping threatens to tear us apart. After I manage to make my way through two-thirds of my slice of toast, my father stands up and indicates it's time for us to head out. I sense Dina's tremor intensifying, and wrap my arm around her as we get up.

We are all aware of the possibility that awaits us today.

We leave our parents and Emon behind with the other adults as the rest of us make our way into the crowd of lambs awaiting news of the slaughter. There are no hugs, no tears. The Roys have our reputation to maintain, after all. I can tell now that Dina is almost paralyzed with fear. Sadiya and I gently guide her to our spots, and there we wait and watch.

Her odds of being reaped are slim to none. Which means it's not impossible.

As the Mayor makes her way across the stage, my thoughts are full of Dina beside me, with her heart beating out of her chest as she does everything in power to stay standing there. As the mayor makes her speech I think of Sadiya, feeling closer to her than ever as we wait for this one last reaping. I think of Emon and Riyaad as the hand reaches into the glass ball for the first name, how distant they've grown in so few years. I think of sweet young Tevin as the first name is read out, breathing a little sigh of relief that it wasn't his name. He's too young for this.

It is myself I think of as it's called from the stage. Even when I can sense all eyes turn to me. Even when Dina finally breaks down beside me. Even when I see Sadiya's face of shock, all colour drained from it. Even as my body moves on it's own, taking automated steps one at a time towards the stage.

My odds were slim to none. Now they're a guarantee.