memento mori.

chapter two

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AS usual, my reaping outfit had been made by my parents. My father had insisted I wear something purple this year as he thought it could become 'my new colour'. My mother on the other hand, thought it should've been red but I decided to go with purple, as I had worn red last year.

The dress was beautiful, a deep purple, it was silk and reached my feet, the straps were slim but firm on my shoulders and the black flowery mesh layering it made me love it even more. I couldn't help but twirl, watching myself in the mirror, I then felt foolish, being so excited to show off my outfit for something like reaping day.

I had stopped being afraid of the idea of being chosen ever since I was thirteen, before then, on my first year of being entered in, I had a panic attack every day for the week leading up to the reaping. I'm not sure what forced me to stop being scared, maybe I just had faith in the universe.

I laced up my boots, added my matching silver earrings and necklace and headed downstairs to meet with my parents, who had since gotten ready and were waiting by the door. My father had his hands clasped around my mothers and kissed her exposed thumbs gently. He was whispering to her, but stopped when he heard me reach the bottom step.

My fathers smile was contagious, he beamed at me and I found myself becoming shy. "Beautiful. My beautiful Beatrix." Somehow, his smile grew as he turned to reach and hand me a black cardigan adorned with silver buttons.

"Thank you, dad." Still shy, I adverted my eyes, slipped on the cardigan and scooped my hair out from in-between the garments, letting the tresses rest just past my shoulders.

My mother stayed silent, she forced a smile as she looked at me, nodding with agreement at my fathers comments. Every Hunger Games she's like this, paranoid, silent, avoidant. It's only right after, when I return to her fine that she becomes herself again, which I look forward to seeing once more this afternoon.

"Are we ready?" Asks my father, opening the door before either of us respond.

We nod in unison.

The walk to the square wasn't long but it feels it. Everyone walking together in stride, faces blank and timid. I can hear a child scream and cry but I'm unable to locate where it's coming from. My mother hears it too and instinctively grasps my hand, squeezing hard. I rub my thumb over the back of her hand.

I'm closer to the stage this year, second to the front, not yet entirely free. Before I depart for at most forty minutes, I turn to them and smile, pulling them both into a large hug, I can feel my mother hold me the tightest.

"I'll see you soon, okay? Don't worry." I kiss them both on the cheek and receive two forehead kisses in response, they move to the side with the rest of the parents, children too young and adults too old.

I look back at them for as long as I can. Until they're lost behind the plethora of kids huddling in line, I finally look forward after walking into the back of a ginger haired boy. I blurt out a quick apology and continue to my row.