𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 || 𝙰 𝙷𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

1|| 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐

They're terrifyingly real.

Being a part of a Career District, there was usually some hype and buildup around the games too. Not as much as in a bigger town, where Pack culture was huge, and volunteering is expected at almost every reaping, but it was there. We'd had a few volunteers in the time I could remember, but far less compared to others.

And I know that realistically, there's a slim chance of me ending up in the arena. My family's comfortable status with money meant that I'd only taken Tessera once, during a hard winter the year before. I have eight balots- four natural, multiplied by two because of the Tessera-eight chances to be pulled out of the bowl at the reaping.

And District 4's huge anyway. I'll be fine.

Living in a smaller town inside the larger District of 4, the reaping rarely happened in person here. But this year was one of the 'lucky' ones, where that was the case. Another year of hearing the insufferable voice of the escort, an arduously expressive woman named Amaralie Sith, as she crowed about the history of the games, another year of watching children I potentially knew be led away, or displayed on the screen.

I've only ever had one person I knew personally be put in the games, a thirteen-year-old boy named Reed- my classmate. From what I can remember, he had dark eyes and dark hair and stood taller than most of his peers. He'd died within five minutes of the bloodbath starting, crumpled on the dry desert ground of that year's arena, bleeding out for the world to see. A traumatizing event for my class who'd been convinced he'd survive and come back as a victor. Looking back, Reed hadn't been particularly strong or exceptionally smart, but we'd had unshaken loyalty to our classmate, fully prepared for him to walk back through the door with new scars and new stories. But that obviously hadn't happened. The death had shaken me, and I'd had nightmares for a week. 

I find myself chewing my thumbnail as a nervous reaction to the memory. Chewing my nails, biting my lip, scratching my arms and wrists and tapping my foot are all random habits I find myself doing when I'm scared, stressed, anxious or have too much energy. It all drives my mother up the wall, but at least it's a distraction from whatever's troubling me. 

Now, walking into my house, I feel the anxiety begin to creep in on me. The Reaping is in only a few hours, after all. I'd laid out a dress on my bed earlier in the morning- long and flowing, with a blue that matched my seabird-like eyes- but I hesitate to put it on. I never understood why everyone had to be dressed so well for what was essentially a funeral, but it's tradition. I have a bit of time to kill before said funeral, at least.

I don't know where my parents, Calyx and Mercy Dearden, are. Likely, they're at the markets or the house of a different family. Sometimes you can get good deals on more lavish food on special days, and the markets are really the only crowded place on the Reaping day.

With the house to myself for once in a rare while, I pace up the stairs, toss my sketchpad to the small table in the corner of my room, and flop onto my bed, the pale sheets rustling under the weight of my body. They're deliciously cool compared to the air inside and outside, and I lie there for a while until my eyelids start to droop, my lashes blurring my vision. The nerves of the day drove me to wake up early, and I'm still tired. Disregarding the two hours between now and the reaping, I let myself fall asleep.

                                                      ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"Whimsey!" My father's voice jolts me out of my fitful rest, his call echoing through the house. "We're going to be late- Wake up!" I'm disoriented and confused, but I can hear footsteps downstairs, both my mother's and my father's, and I rush out of bed. The dress lies crumpled on the ground, the blue ruffles powdery with dust, so I quickly brush it off, pulling it over my head until it fits right, and turn to face my mirror.