Tribute

1.

My eyes open as I feel the sunlight shine down on my face from my window. The warm summer air blows in, giving my family and I at least a little bit of relief from the intense heat that rolls through District four at this time of year. Though this morning the heat is especially unbearable for another reason entirely.

My eyes drift to my parents, who sleep on an old bed in the corner of our shared bedroom, and I can see them desperately clinging to each other in their sleep, both of them feeling the fear in their hearts that only a day like today can bring. Reaping Day.

My mother, with her brown hair and brown eyes, still so pretty despite being in her mid forties, and my father, with hair as blonde as gold, and eyes bluer than the sea on a sunny day, is tall and strong after years of hauling nets and reeling in huge ocean life as part of his district assigned job. Because of their age, they are safe from the reaping, but each and every year, they are terrified for me, for my sake. The fear is unnecessary, but sweet nonetheless.

Though I know that even if by some chance my name were called, any of the thousands of female career children would eagerly volunteer to take my place in the games. And there is no way in hell that I would ever volunteer for the games, despite being a career myself. Despite this assurance, I still feel afraid today, and I am not looking forward to watching two children be thrown into the games yet again this year. But despite my fear, I know that I must start my day. It is early morning, so maybe I'll get some things done before I am forced to attend the reaping. With this thought in mind I pull myself out of bed and dress myself, putting on a pair of pants, I decide to just keep the undershirt I slept in on, because who is going to care?

I slip into a pair of leather boots, tying the laces tightly and grabbing my satchel by the door as I head out into the morning air. The air is humid, and hot, but this isn't anything new. It's always hot, but today the heat is suffocating and heavy as people go about their morning routines, trying to get some things done before the reaping this afternoon.

Some of my neighbors give me a nice enough greeting as I pass them, none of them very happy about today, just like the rest of us. I walk towards the more wealthy area of the district, leaving the poorer part of the district. My home.

My house is at the edge of town, it is just a few yards away from the electrified fence that surrounds the entirety of our district. Sometimes if I am quiet enough at night, and I listen, I can hear the generators that power the fence, I hear the electricity as it buzzes through the metal chain of the fence. I walk through the streets of the town, the dirt path now mud thanks to the heavy rain we got last night. I walk to the butchers shop, which is one of the nicer shops in town because so many people come here each day, even the peacekeepers. 

A bell dings above my head as I swing the door open, and I walk inside. There's a clattering noise in the back of the shop before a raspy voice calls out, "Just a minute!" Within seconds a thin man comes walking out from the back of the shop, with fresh blood on his apron that is a permanent shade of brown after so many years of blood being spilt on it.

This is Bloody John. And despite the scary name he is actually a very nice man, but after being a butcher for so long and always being covered in blood, the kids of the district gave him that nickname. He doesn't seem to mind though. He has always had a soft spot for kids. He sees me and smiles, "Good morning Lena," He greets, wiping an old rag over his sweaty bald head as he smiles at me, his crooked teeth shadowing the fact that he was probably fairly good looking when he was younger.

I look to his hand and I see he's holding a freshly killed turkey, he rarely has turkey, so I immediately know he must have an important customer coming in later. His shop is very busy on reaping day because he has a special every year, and families come to buy from him because the special is insanely cheap. He's told me before that he makes his meat cheap for locals on purpose today, because in his mind at least a few people should go to sleep tonight with full bellies. I understand that, if I had a job like this I would do the same thing, but I don't, and I probably never will. I'll probably just wind up on one of the hundreds of fishing boats our district has.