[85th] The Reaping - District 6

He breathes the heavy mist in, feeling like he is drowning in it. A growling comes from somewhere in the fog, a horrible noise that leaves him feeling as chilled as the wetness that clings to his clothes. Bamboo seems to appear from nowhere before him, tall, straight and unyielding. All at once, claws reach toward his face.

The nightmare releases him with a jolt, finally allowing him to surface into reality - or what feels like reality. He is never sure if anything is real for the first few minutes after a dream like this and recently they've been happening so often it is as if he is living in two different worlds - both with their own terrors.

He always had more of these dreams as each reaping drew closer. This year was no different. If anything, the events of the year gave his brain even more fuel. Just the other night he had dreamt of fire and explosions - ghostly memories that were no more or less tangible than those of anything else he had experienced. Residing still in the time where lines were blurred, he was almost able to conjure up his recent nightmares as though he had lived through them.

The razors of light that struck him in the face told him that he must have slept again after all. This time, though, he didn't wake with vivid recollections of his dreams. Even so, the weight of what he did remember pressed on the back of his mind like plastic wrap - squeezing and clinging, a barrier that was felt more than seen.

He couldn't shake the sensation even as he got up and dressed. It felt like something was going to happen today, something important or terrible or both. Not just the reaping, though that was enough to hunch shoulders and hang heads. This was something that would directly affect him as it hadn't done so before.

Hyper-alert, he sat through the preamble feeling like he stood on nails. One wrong move and they would plunge into his flesh. The girl's name is called and it takes some time for her to do anything. Eventually, she makes her slow way up onto the stage where she suddenly smiles. He isn't sure what to think of her, but he doesn't try for too long as the next name is picked.

There is a ringing silence after. No one says anything, no one moves. Eventually there is the sound of a quick shuffle and some muttering. "Wha-" A pause, a sigh. "That's you, mate." Exasperation, pity. "You got called. Go on." He can't see them in the mass of bodies, but they're nearby. The silence comes back for a moment until the Peacekeepers resign themselves to having to drag yet another reluctant tribute forward.

The distinctive sound of a gut rebelling, the scent of alcohol drifts through them with the change of the breeze. Someone makes a gagging noise, someone makes a sound of disgust.

The plastic wrap clings tighter, placing greater pressure on his brain like it was trying to signal him. Now, do it now. The meaning behind to day, this great importance and terror, all fell into place. The Peacekeepers are almost here, their black face-shields disguising their faces. They could be anybody, so could the boy who they were coming for. He, though, he could be somebody.

"I volunteer!" He's surprised by the strength in his own voice, the purpose. This felt right, somehow, though it also felt foolish. "I'll go instead."

Without waiting for anyone to acknowledge him, or for the Peacekeepers to alter their course, he pushed himself through the crowd to take his place beside the smiling girl.

He looked at the microphone held to his face for only a moment before speaking. "Daemon Lazre."

And it sounded right over the speakers.