Twenty Four Shades of Blood [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

District Twelve Reaping - Oswin Moledy and Nash Derrah

For Oswin, reaping days are a blessing.

That isn't something she shares with others from the district. People already think her odd with her bookish ways and hunger for intelligence.  Many people in District Twelve are proud if they knew their entire alphabet; most are content to be able to scratch their names out in a rough scrawl.  Life for the people here is painfully simple, an endless cycle of long hours in the dark mine tunnels and fitful sleep.

Reaping day means a day off.  Oswin is never sorry about that, despite the unfortunate fact that the day always ends in two children going to their deaths.

She regrets thinking that.  She hates the Games, hates the Capitol, hates the way the districts are trodden down.  She’s never been to the other districts, never even seen more than their Justice Buildings in the reaping replays, but if Twelve is anything to go by, life is nothing more than a forced servitude to the painted freaks of the Capitol.

Oswin shakes her head, and climbs out of bed, catching up her book from the table beside her bed as she goes.  It's a gift from her father for her eighteenth birthday; how he had managed to get hold it, she doesn’t know, and if she's honest, she doesn't care.  She just hopes he hadn’t done anything illegal to get it.

The book is ancient, its pages turning brittle and yellow, the binding starting to come apart slightly.  It smells musty and damp. The text is more than a little faded, but still legible if read in the light that filters through the light film of coal dust that decorates every available surface in the district. Corners are dog-eared and falling apart, grubby marks rubbing on pages and creases darting over the canvas. Oswin curls up on the seat under her slit of a window, and promptly loses herself in a world where men are gentlemen, and the ladies wear beautiful dresses, and it is a universal truth that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

She can't shake the feeling that it used to be real. That life before Panem wasn't the way they say it was.

She gives a start as her mother knocks on the bedroom door.  It’s time, finally. Her last reaping.  She lays the book down tenderly, sliding it under her pitiful pillow, and slips into her reaping clothes. She never bothers to dress up properly; why glorify the event more than absolutely necessary?  This year she’s going in a plain grey dress that is starting to look a little worn after all the other girls who have worn it. Almost everything she wears is second-hand but she doesn’t mind. It only adds character. And there's not much of that around here right now.

Oswin pauses by the mirror as she turns to leave the tiny room, giving a futile wipe at the cloudiness that renders the top corner useless.  She debates tying up her hair, but it’s not long enough to cause much bother, so she doesn’t bother.  On an impulse, she snatches up the book back from its hiding place before leaving, so at least she’ll have something to read while she waits for the reaping to finish.

***

It’s been a long day for the Capitol escort, and he’s not too happy to be having to finish it off in District Twelve.  The whole place feels grimy, and he can almost feel the gritty coal dust collecting in his lungs. He’s made it through the speech without hacking, although it’s not like anyone would really care. Most of the people in front of him are coughing themselves.  District Twelve is always so depressing, all grey and black and lifeless.  Even the people, scrubbed though they are, look a bit grainy, every crease and wrinkle faintly marked by the coal they worked with.

He feels like doing something to spice things up, but even though he knows most of the Capitol aren’t watching, that might be taking things too far.  He’ll just have to do his best.

“So, District Twelve!  Let’s see who our girl this year will be, shall we?” he bubbles, trying to sound enthusiastic. There’s no point; the people don’t respond in any way, just look at him with a resigned listlessness. And the Capitol won't be watching this. Most will have lost interest with Eight, and it's considered extreme diligence to watch as far as Ten. It's a winners thing. People only want to watch the districts who try and please them.