reap what you {s e w} //cass//

{ Rin }

we're marching on;

The year had come and gone. A haze of happiness and guilt. Going to bed with a full stomach and warm sheets was something I'd come to take for granted. The prospect of death was nothing more than a nightmare to which I'd always wake up. I'd almost forgotten what it was to lay in bed unable to sleep. Eyes fixated upon the ceiling but seeing nothing as dawn slowly broke through the velvety night. Fear was pushed into depths of my own subconscious. The year had brought with it growth. Sixteen years had come and gone, sixteen years of depending on others for survival. Colgate was the only reason we'd made it this far. What had I done, to help my starving family? Why hadn't I volunteered the same as he?

Because I valued my life, my happiness over my families. Instinct would always lead me to protect myself before another. As much as I despise myself for this very reason, I lacked the desire to change it. Life was a gift, and I'd been given a second chance. There was no way I'd put myself at risk.

Tonight, however, I find sleep has evaded me completely. A phenomenon I'd let myself forget. Too afraid to move, too tired to think, I lay there. Unable to fall into the slightest of stupors, yet unbearably drowsy. For when the sun bathed the streets of District Nine it'd bring with it the reaping. Perhaps Col was safe, and for that I'm truly grateful. But what about Hannah, what about Scope and Crest.... what about me? My name was slowly building momentum, more and more slips being thrown carelessly into that glass bowl. Still two years remaining before I would be free. Col had made it out of that place, sure, but I wasn't nearly as strong. I wouldn't be able to kill people like he had. I really don't want to die.

* 

I must've managed to relax in the early morning, as the next thing I knew mum was ordering me out of bed. It feels as though I'd been hit by a truck, and I look even worse. Even when something like appearance was irrational to worry about, it'd always been an obsession of mine. I'd still comb my hair in front of a grimy mirror, praying that somehow it wouldn't look as though it'd died. And now that I had the means and reason to do so, I never left the house looking subpar. I liked to find beauty even in things so horrendous and awful. And truthfully, the worst thing I've ever known is myself.

My hair had slowly begun to grow back. A mixture of starvation and stress having caused it to fall out in chunks. A year's worth of meals and rest had allowed a thick black mane to spill from my scalp. While the ends were still split and dead, it was soft enough to shine like sun off a raven's wings. My Sunday best was quite honestly no different than the rest of my clothing. Everything was best now a that we were better off than most of the district. I haven't decided whether or not to feel guilty about that.

Nonetheless, I was dressed just in time to be ushered away from my family. Fingerprinted and sectioned off with the other sixteen year old females. I keep my eyes focused on the stage, the murmurs of the other girls becoming a monotone drone behind me. I've never really been the social type, I'll find myself fretting over my own insecurities rather than listening to who I was speaking. 

My breath catches when the escort walks onto the stage. Awful memories of that man leading my brother off stage, of myself sobbing and begging and dying force themselves to my consciousness. Would an O'leary once again be sent to war? Could they really make it back this time?

"Ladies first."

My breath quickens as his hand reaches into the bowl, hand giving a dramatic swirl before grabbing onto a slip of paper buried within. Not me. Not me. Ripred please not me.

"May Rhodes."

There is a collective sigh of relief echoing about the ranks of women. The realization that one more year they can remain safe, they are alive. That is, all but one girl. I don't know her and now I don't think I ever will. Her first name is so common, I swear I'd heard it a million times before. It belonged to so many different faces and ages, I cannot find it within myself to feel pity for her. My eyes don't bother searching for hers, they barely give May the once over before falling onto my clasped hands. Jaw clenched in sheer determination not to care.

The second name rings across a silent crowd. "Nocturn Vargas." And it was over. Like that two lives taken and hundreds spared. At least one can take comfort in that, right? That so many others get to spend another year with a beating heart. No matter how awful their life is, the hunger and pain they go through every day, they're alive.
And that's the greatest gift of all.

*  

I couldn't stand to return home after the reaping. To sit on velvet sheets in Victor's Village while two children were prepped for slaughter.

But you're selfish, remember?

Instead, I find myself retreating further into the Town Square, watching as relieved families begin to trickle out of the crowd. My back presses against a wall, legs collapsing beneath me. The people of Nine are all so interesting. The district of grains able to produce characters completely opposite from one another. Today, however they shared one common characteristic. They were happy. All but an unlucky few. No one had stepped up for them, like Col had that other boy. I don't even remember his name, They were completely and utterly alone.

Just like me.

The only difference is that I'm still alive.