The Quarter Quell

Two || The Reaping

There was a time in which I would look forward to the reaping. I would mark the date on my calendar and count down the days as most children would do Christmas. Back then, the days felt like years. Now - it feels as if the time is passing much too fast. Two weeks went by like two hours.

Today, thankfully, my stylist chose my outfit. It's very similar to what I wore last time except it's much more comfortable. The shirt is breezy and doesn't make my skin itch. My pants are more loose and the tie isn't completely suffocating me.

It makes it easier to force a smile. There are cameras everywhere, flashing in my direction and almost blinding me. Amongst the cameramen, there are fans. They are chanting my name, screaming words which are indistinguishable. Some people would find the attention terrifying but I find it addicting. The Capitol's adoration served as a poor substitute for the affection which my father never gave me.

I don't like the attention quite as much today. I feel dizzy instead and an urge to run.

I play my part well regardless - blowing kisses and smiling sweetly. Girls swoon and I am fairly certain one of them fainted, which is slightly concerning but I don't pay attention. Instead, I am focused on making it across the red carpet.

When I finally reach the end, my expression hardens and my smile disappears. Sometimes I wonder if any of them realise how fake my smile is. I don't think they do. Like my father, I have learnt to become an excellent actor.

I sigh deeply before entering the theatre in which the reaping is being held. The room is dark and very crowded. The only light comes from the stage where a spotlight has been trained on one massive glass orb filled with thousands perhaps tens of thousands slips. The light is dim but I manage to find my father, after a few minutes of stumbling around.

He sits at the back row in the seat which is farthest to the right. There's an empty seat beside him which I assume he saved for me, though I can never know with my father. I sit down beside him and look up at the screen which hangs above the stage.

It's flashing clips of the reaping in the districts. I've already seen most of the reaping but it wouldn't hurt to watch. What if I'm reaped? It's unlikely but still possible.

On the screen, it's showing District 12's reaping. I hadn't watched it since I didn't think the District 12 tributes would have much potential considering how their tributes were the first few to die every year and haven't won a single Hunger Games. Who knew though? They might win this year.

Currently they're drawing the girls' names and the audience looks skittish. Tense and worried. I never knew how they felt until I found myself in a somewhat similar situation like I am now. Finally a name is pulled out and read loudly,

'Alethea Sonnet.' A girl emerges from the crowd, biting her nails nervously. She looks starved and her entire face is gaunt. She's absolutely filthy. Her skin is coated in a thick layer of mud and dirt while it's difficult to distinguish the colour of her tangled hair. Her dress is just as horrible - a grey gown which looks much too large for her.

She has pretty eyes though. I don't think I've seen eyes like hers before. Her eyes are both grey and green at the same time. It's something that I've seen girls from the Capitol try to mimic with coloured contacts but her eyes seem to be naturally like that.

I think she could've been pretty if she was born somewhere else. Born anywhere except for District. But she wasn't.

I don't look at her for long as they're already picking the next name.

'Harding Irair.'

And a boy appears from the crowd. He looks to be twelve and must be the tiniest tribute to have ever been reaped. It doesn't mean he's harmless - his size gives him an advantage, making him faster and also making it easier for him to hide. As long as he manages to avoid the bigger tributes, he should survive. It's not his size or his age which makes me certain that I don't need to worry about him but the tears that are flowing from his eyes.

He's sobbing, his eyes bloodshot and his nose dripping with snot. He looks pathetic in his ragged shirt and his much too large shorts. Other people don't seem to find him pathetic, but look at him with sympathy in their eyes. He doesn't look at them, keeping his head down until he reaches the stage. The girl doesn't shake hands with him and hugs him instead. I wonder if she realises that she might eventually have to kill him.

The screen turns black and I look beside me to find my father's seat empty. He must already be on the stage. I don't know what else I expected. I'm not stupid enough to think he will comfort me - that's not the type of relationship we have. I doubt he would even bat an eye if I'm reaped.

I steal a glance at the stage, my brows furrowing when I see my father standing by the glass orb which contains the slips. His expression is grim as he addresses the crowd.

'Now, the reaping may begin.' He steps forward to the glass orb, rummaging around for a few moments before pulling out a slip.

My fingers are crossed and despite not being religious, I pray that it isn't me.

I didn't pray hard enough.

'Alexios Snow.' I can't breathe. My heart doesn't seem to beat and I feel like I'm paralysed. I'm not even certain if this is real - I hope it isn't. It would be far easier if this is a dream - that if I open my eyes, I can forget everything. However, this nightmare has become my reality so I force myself forward despite only wanting to run.

I march to the stage. My expression is concealed by a mask of indifference and I bite back the tears which sting my eyes. However horrible this may be - I know I can't cry. If I cry it's all over. I have been acting my whole life - I can act for a little longer, can't I?

Everyone's eyes are on me and while I am used to this, it feels different from usual. I have never attended a funeral before - but that's what it feels like standing on the stage. As if I'm at a funeral... my funeral.

I look at my father. His expression is unreadable but there's a glint of emotion in his eyes. I shake my father's hand as is customary and as I'm about to pull away, he pulls me into a hug. I just stand still - frozen. It's sad but this is the most affection I have ever received from my father. It makes me wonder if it's worth being reaped into the Hunger Games.

When he finally releases me, I turn to face the audience. They look like they are mourning and many people are dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs. It's strange how they're crying when I'm the one who has been reaped. I don't let it show on my face, instead I force a smile.

'Don't worry,' I say, 'I will survive.' I'm lying through my teeth. 'I will win and show the Districts who they're messing with.' I smile as sincerely as I can. 'I promise.'

Applause and cheering breaks out as it does whenever I'm in sight. None of them seem to realise I'm lying. Maybe it's because I am so proficient at lying or because I have lied for so long they don't know how to differentiate my lies from the truth.

All I know is that I will die in the stadium and while they may mourn for the Capitol's Gem for a while - I will eventually be replaced.

The thought scares me.