The Starving Artist: Hunger Games 2015 Contest Entries

The Reaping (Not in Contest)

He's the youngest of the family, and he turned fifteen last week.

I shake him off and walk forward. They jab a needle into my finger to draw blood and put information down before directing me to the group furthest away from us. Since I'm eighteen, I'll be free from this all once this Reaping ends.

I remember all of this. I remember watching with my parents as anyone who was twelve or older went to these stations. It was the last thing I remember doing with them before they died. That night, when the Reaping was over and everyone was mostly in bed, my parents took me out to see the stars.

My hands slam against the brick wall as I lean there, trying to stave off the memories. My eyes squeeze shut. I can't do this right now. Crying isn't an option currently, and I don't want to remember this. It always makes me cry.

A couple of the guys look at me in concern.

My cousin from my adoptive family taps me on the shoulder. He's the only one who still hasn't given up. Tav is one of the nicest guys I know. I'm not harsh with him... He's just too good to me, and for some reason, I can't bear to shut him out. We're not friends or anything even close, but I don't dislike him like I do the rest of his family.

"Azrael? You good?"

I shake my head and breathe through my mouth.

He knows it's not a good time for me. Every year this happens. Really, only the newer people to the group are unaware of my panic attacks. The ones who've been with me in the years leading up to this day know that the Reaping causes this. I'm quiet about it, but they know. It's hard to miss the pity and concern. Thankfully, none of them know why I'm panicking.

Except Tav. I told him the truth one night after the Reaping when he came to find out what was the matter with me. It was after I'd disappeared for a month. I probably scared him for life, but at the time, I just needed to spill. Holding something like that inside for years and years isn't good for a person's mental health. Certainly isn't good for mine.

He also knows that I killed the woman who killed them. If my story about my parents' deaths wasn't rattling enough, that was. He went as white as a sheet when I told him.

I drop to the ground and rest my back against the brick wall.

Tav sits down beside me. "Take a deep breath. You don't want to have another one this year, do you?"

I swallow hard and shake my head. Of course I don't.

He nods. "Didn't think so. Focus on something else. Anything else." He looks around and points out the woman coming onto stage. "See, there! Look at that wild hairstyle. That one's certainly a doozy."

I laugh weakly. He's right.

The woman practically has an afro, but she's died her hair a fake, Barbie doll blond and scattered butterflies throughout her curly hair. It looks like the butterflies decided to make a nest in her hair.

Then, added to that is the dress. It's made of dozens of sequined butterflies, and as the sunlight streaming through the windows shines on her, it sears my eyeballs. I cover my eyes. "Argh!" I squint, trying to see what's going on.

Tav has effectively distracted me.

I suppose it helps that butterfly lady is blinding me. Duh. Of course it would distract me from my thoughts. Sudden flares of light tend to do that.

We stand up to get a better look over the crowd of people. The podium is raised, so everyone can see even if someone taller is in front of them. There's probably at least fifteen steps leading up to the thing. Imagine climbing them while scared half to death. Not that anyone here would be. Most of them have been training their entire lives for a chance at this and enter their names on purpose just because they want to win. Idiots.