58th Reaping D11

August Millory

A dream, a monster, a game of pretend.
A broken past that never ends.
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Even though I have experienced sixteen years of Games (although technically, I can only remember four), I cannot adjust to the fact that everyone here seems very calm and used to the idea of two teenagers being sent to their deaths. I'm not saying anyone seems happy about it, but they act like the Reaping is totally normal. It kind of hurts to see so many defeated stares, even if they turn into glares as people turn to watch me walk past. I suppose that since the Games have been happening for as long as these people can remember, it has become and old thing to them. But to me, it is a new idea. Fresh cruelty that seems to smack me in the face every time I come to the Reaping. My parents tell me this is the way things are, and that we must accept that. Still, I can't get over the fact that this is what it came to- we fought for all those years, and this is what we get for it.

The road to the square is dusty, and I can see the faint footprints of hundreds of others who have already walked this path. My parents walk behind me today, watching my back. They are always protective on the day of the Reaping- I am they're little girl, the miracle that they've always wanted. Or at least, that's how they put it. In my mind, I am a curse to them- the girl who lost her memory, who must constantly be protected, who has flashbacks at least once a week. I am broken and I am lost. My parents deserve a healthy, normal child, and they ended up with me. Yet they still love me- it is something that fills me with a happiness as warm as sunlight, but there is something dark and cold that feels a lot like guilt and sorrow that is the heart of the warmth.

The dust makes the hem of the pale, flowing green skirt I'm wearing brown. My mother made me let her weave flowers in my hair, so I now look like some sort of summer princess, with my brown hair curling half way down my back. This day has the ability to affect even me- where a smile would normally shine on my face, there is nothing, and my green eyes are unusually clear with intense emotion that I cannot seem to place. My heart aches for the two who will be sent of to the Capitol, because I am certain it will not be me. There are so many District Eleven children, that the idea that my name will be pulled out of all those slips... why, I didn't even buy tessera. The idea is insane and distant.

I gaze up at the Keepers who stand in the entrance to the square, my handwriting elegant as I sign my name and step into the huge crowd. The night air is cold and crisp against my skin, and I look up to see the stars shimmering above us. There aren't as many, since the light from the square pollutes the sky and hides many of them from view, but they are still there. I remember my first few nights after I was adopted. I would sneak out every night and climb a tree, falling asleep as I gazed at the blanket of stars so plentiful I couldn't even begin to count them. For some reason, sleeping under the stars comforted me- it was familiar. A series of flashbacks played across my eyes one night, blurry but there, of my running away from the house that I lived in before the accident. Light pooled out onto the dying, badly kept grass outside, and I carefully avoided stepping on a patch of weeds where I knew a glass bottle had been shattered. And then I ran into the trees, sobbing, ignoring the shouts for me to come back and the sound of something smashing from inside the house. It was then that I realized that it was familiar because, for some reason, I slept outside almost all the time in my old life.

I wave to my parents and head toward the area marked for my age group. The other kids my age don't even look at me- their glares hurt, and once more I am reminded of the fact that I can never be one of them, all because of a crime I can't remember. I would rather have committed the crime and be able to remember it than have not committed the crime at all. Whoever got revenge on me certainly punished me in just the right way- I'll never fit in, the district will always hate me, and I will constantly be tortured by the fact that I have no childhood memories and have no idea what happened to me. In short, my life is ruined because of an event that doesn't exist to me. I'll never forget waking up with a horrible headache and the taste of rain and something very acidic in my mouth, and when I people saw me, they backed away, as if afraid. I will hold the moments of waking up close to my heart, because although they were filled with pain and confusion, they were the only moments when I did not feel rejected or feared. The only moments when I was normal.

I stand among so many people, akwardly alone, watching the mayor mount the steps and stand in front of us. I feel an unusual flash of anger shoot through me at the sight of him- he stands tall, proud, and chubby. It means he's well fed. While we do grow food, not many of us eat much of it. As I glance around me, I take note of how thin most of us seem. The twelve year olds seem especially small and weak, with their toothpick arms and legs. I'm thin, like the rest of them, even though my family is one of the more lucky ones. Yet there he is, obviously eating more food in one night than my family does in three days. Yet fear also accompanies this shock of anger, even though I know I'm totally safe and the chances of me going in are one to none. Maybe the fear is automatic. It certainly seems like it, as everyone around me stiffens at the sight of him, their eyes widening. It moments like these that make me feel like I'm missing something important- why am I not as fearful as they are?

As he begins to speak, I try to find my parents in the crowd. But it's so huge, I only see a sea of strangers that shift while watching our mayor speak. I focus back on what he is saying, a sudden fear welling up in me as he reaches in to choose the female tribute. As he reads the name, the people around me relax. I should be relaxing, too. It isn't my name, after all. But instead of relief, I feel something closer to dread, although I don't realize why until I see the glares directed at me. Another year. Another year of this torture.

The girl walks up, onto the stage, and the look in her eyes just about freezes everything inside of me. Something's not right here. There's been some mistake. And then suddenly the words are pouring from her lips about how she doesn't want it, can she go?, she just wants to go, and I feel something dark and cold fill me with power and strength even though my legs are shaking. My heart is racing faster and faster as I stare up, listening to the silence of the crowd. No, no, no, someone has to volunteer for her. Someone. Anyone. She can't go into the Games- the Capitol wouldn't let her. Would they? I mean, they can't be that cruel... can they? But as the silence rules, and the Keepers become tense as they predict that she will run, I realize that they can be that cruel. They will be that cruel.

"I volunteer," I breath. Only the girl next to me hears, and she turns and stares at me with round eyes, shock clear on her face. Even after she's seen who I am, she still looks terrified, as if it suddenly doesn't matter to her that I am a criminal. All that matters is that I'm doing something horrible and terrifying and brave and crazy- oh, this is so crazy- and that if I go into that Arena I'm probably not coming out. I see her shake her head slightly, and I step away from her, disgust clear on my face. Is this what it takes to suddenly become important? Is this what it takes to make me one of them? "I volunteer," I repeat, louder, so that most people in the area I'm in turn. There is a wave of whispers around me, about how I'm the criminal, and I've already committed one murder, and maybe the reason I'm volunteering is so that I can murder and have it be okay. But it's never okay- it's not okay even if the girl who committed the crime (they had no proof, no right to accuse me, and assume I did it) was only twelve years old and lost her memory, unable to recall a crime she may or may not have commit. And it's still not okay when that girl is backing out of an old house because the memories are just too much and there's pain and sorrow in that empty room. And it isn't okay even when that girl is crying at night wondering what did she do wrong, why can't she fit in? No, it's never okay, is it? And suddenly I'm shouting. "I volunteer! I volunteer! Please, I volunteer!" I shove forward, surprised when the person in front of me stumbles and turns to look at me as if he is about to stop me. "Move!" I screech, shoving my way through them. Since when do they care about me? Since when do I matter? I'm the same person they were glaring at two minutes ago, although now they treat me as if I am someone important. Someone who doesn't deserve to go into the Games. As if suddenly, it's okay. "I volunteer!"

People part, and I rush up to the stage, my eyes wide and fearful. “You can go,” I say quietly, but my voice is hollow and distant, as if I've just fallen into a well and am calling to her from the bottom. We're so distant now- I didn't know her, but that's nothing special. District Eleven is huge- there are hundreds of people I don't know. But we did have something in common- we both lived here, and we both had a life to live. Now that has been ripped away from her, but I'm tearing it back and giving her a chance even though I don't know her because hey, I thought I didn't matter, although now apparently I'm some precious jewel, and this girl obviously has people here who care about her. I want to turn out and face the crowd, which is still silent, and yell at them because I don't matter any more than I did a few seconds ago, and now they treat me as if I was ever one of them. But no, I don't want to be one of them, not now that I know who they really are. This girl is obviously scared and hurt and confused, and I'm the only one who will volunteer for her? The heartless criminal? I've only seen their hate and their anger, and felt the pain of their loss. I guess I always did want their approval, because I felt guilty. But why should I? They have no right to treat this girl like she is anything less than he was. They were so concerned about losing him that they have hated me forever after, yet now they are about to part with this girl without a second glance?

I hear a wail coming from the crowd, and recognize my mother's voice. I turn slightly, and see the area where she is fighting to get through, but the people around her hold her back. I see two strong men gripping her arm, but she is wildly fighting because no, no, no, not her precious daughter, not her little girl. She's crying, shaking her head and begging me not to do it. Her hair is flying out around her, just adding to her wild look of fear and anger and betrayal, and suddenly she is turning on them, screaming at them because this is their fault, they never treated me right, and I feel like I have to get away from all that. Some of them avoid her gaze, but others shout things back at her, either insulting her or trying to calm her down. My father is staring at me with a look that is filled with sorrow and regret, yet his eyes seem so empty. He doesn't move- just watches me. Somehow, that's worse than my mother fighting and screeching a clawing, because it's almost like he knew this was going to happen, and he knew I was going to do this. I feel myself flooded with a strong sense of guilt, because they watched over me and cared for me and loved me and now I'm throwing that all away. It's not selfish, though... is it? Maybe my mother is right- maybe I am doing this partly because I don't feel it's that much of a loss. As I walk across the stage, a stunned mayor hands me the microphone, as if the entire crowd hasn't heard me or my mother and needs to know what's going on. Who knows? It's such a big district, after all. I the mic like a lifeline, confused and scared because it's all happening so fast, and my hands are shaking as I speak. "I volunteer. I'll take Jessalyn's place and be the female tribute in the Hunger Games."

For a moment, there is stunned silence. My heartbeat pounds in my head, giving me the worst head ache, but I try to stand tall in my pale green gown, because I am the Summer Princess still even if I'm going into the Games. That why I'm so mad- I haven't changed at all, yet they are already treating me different. Suddenly, I wonder what it would be like if I had a normal life. Okay, I think about that a lot, but this time, it's different. More real, because now I know what it's like to actually be cared about by more people than just my parents. But still, they care about me for the wrong reasons. I'm not changing my mind now. I mean, I don't really have a choice. The Games are better than the life I've been living. And... and no one will make fun of me in there. I have to do this for Jessalyn. I'm the brave volunteer. Right?

No. Wrong. Brave volunteers don't burst into tears just seconds after they've agreed to take the tribute's place.