nothing ordinary(one-shot)

Bright lights awake me on the day after the reaping. My eyes flutter open to stare at my ceiling. I remember it as a fuzzy haze of worry. I remember having a nightmare of me being reaped, me being reaped and then having to stare out at the crowd with glad eyes, glad they weren't reaped, glad that they were not the ones up on the podium. I remember waking up, sweat coating my raggedy clothes, forcing me to take a quick shower, the cold water flowing down my body. I remember thinking about how weird it was the I, living in the district that's goal was produce electricity, could not receive warm running water. All the warm water here ran to peacekeeper houses and the victor's village, and the rest went to the capitol where the Capitol citizens bathed in huge pools in their huge mansions. That is what I assumed at least.

I remember dressing up in my nice clothes which only consisted of a plaid button-down, some nice black pants that itched when I put them on, and a black leather belt which my father had bought for me some while ago. The merchant who sold it to him said it was imported from district ten itself! I highly doubted that though. I remember walking to the reaping. I remember letting my hand reach out to have my blood drawn. I remember the prick of the needle as it plunged into my skin. I remember lining up with the other ashen faced boys, and couldn't help thinking, One of us is going to be sent off to our deaths, and I hope it's not me. I remember chiding myself for that thought, thinking I should be kinder, that I should try to help people out, not be glad that I will not die.

I remember as the escort walked up to the podium, as he pulled out a name from the hat. I can't remember it now, but I remember the boy's name. I remember feeling my heart clutch at my chest as I see the escort reach into the hat, and pull out a slip of paper. For a split second I feel that he will call out my name, mine, and I feel like I should scream as my body starts to clamp up. That was when the escort yelled the name into the air, "Tyler Westbrook!" I was safe, I was safe for another day. Then I felt an urge, and urge to raise my hand and save a life. To reach my hand into the sky, and make my family sad to make another happy. I think of my mother, and I cringe. I could not do that to her, and so right when my hand starts to raise itself, I force it back down. I remember that before I even had a chance to make another, better decision, it was over, and I was safe.

I remember the celebration my family had with a few other families to celebrate none of their children being sent off to die. I feel queasy in my stomach, especially around all these people. I hated the crowds and always did and will. I remember racing upstairs and slamming my door shut to get away from everyone. To hide my shame of not standing up for someone else. I remember hearing the noises downstairs of the meager celebration my family could afford. A small cake and some beef burgers that I had never really liked. I could tell they were even taking out the special apple juice. I didn't want that either.

I remember thinking of how disappointed I was in myself before I drifted off asleep.

I then woke up in my bed again, plagued by nightmares of Tyler Westbrook coming to haunt me for letting him go to his almost certain demise. For not letting him live to see his parents again. I sit up and contemplate my actions, wanting to cry, but I stem the flow of tears that were welling up in my eyes sockets. That was when I remembered Tyler Westbroom again, steppimg up to the podium, how I failed to save him. That was when my dam burst, and water spilled out of my eyes and onto my round cheeks. Down my round cheeks and onto my curved chin. Down my curved chin and dropping onto my lap. Bursting on my lap and bursting into small droplets of regret and sadness.