Nothing Personal

District Four Reaping

For once the deep green sea was empty. Everyone who could fit in the huge square, and a fair number who couldn't, was packed into the space, talking cheerfully to their neighbours or betting or just generally making a lot of noise, glad for the day off and the chance to be around people. Some were even sat on the slippery roofs, risking breaking a leg just for a good view.

District Four was built more or less as it went along, but right at the beginning of Panem nobody had ever expected the Games and the whole place had been construced in tiny little seaside villages, none holding more than two hundred people. This particular village had been designated as the place for the reapings for two reasons: it was as close as anybody could identify to the exact centre of the district, and - with only a few buildings being knocked down - it could just about fit everybody into the square, as long as people were crammed like sardines.

The fresh smell of sea salt pierced the air. The weather was pleasantly balmly, although inky storm clouds gathered on the horizon. Even the children were smiling. The little kids knew that they were safe because they knew that someone else would volunteer for them, and the older kids were excited for their chance. One or two had been for a swim already, damp hair streaming down their backs. Some old families believed that this was good luck, especially for those planning on volunteering for the Games, and to leave on the train with your hair still wet was seen as an almost certain sign of a winner. The noise bubbled pleasantly, and somewhere some huge fish were being roasted. Everyone was buzzing, not just for the actual reaping but for the celebrations afterwards. 

The Capitol escort, Babina, bounced brightly onto the stage to a roar of thunderous applause. She always dressed in deep green, the colour of District Four, and she sometimes had seaweed pinned into her lucious hair and wore shells around her neck. The Capitol liked her. District Four liked her. She had brought them winners.

"Hello there District Four!" she cheered, and the crowd went wild. It was a minute or two before they calmed down long enough for her to carry on. She waved, her hands sparkling with small tattooed scales.

"Now then, let's get the formalities out of the way, shall we?" she chirped, adding a little wink as well, "The history of our glorious Panem!"

Everyone fidgeted all the way through, yawning openly, giving the square the look of a shifting, restless sea.

"And now, ladies first!" Babina announced, and suddenly everyone woke up, leaning forward in excitement. A man fell off a roof, but the tension was raked up so high everyone ignored him. She reached into the bowl - a goldfish bowl, the more subtle noticed - and pulled out a name.

"Misty Lakewater!"

Nobody moved.

"Misty? Honey, you've been selected for the honour of representing your wonderful..."

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" exclaimed a voice, "It's so packed it's kind of difficult right now." A few people laughed and a woman cheered happily, "That's my girl!" The children in the pens parted, several leaning forward out of the pens to pat her on the back. A girl with vivid orange hair in a spiky ponytail - she obviously wasn't one of the swimmers - bounded up to the stage. She was smiling, but Babina noticed that she looked her eyes were slightly stunned.

"Misty, honey!" she cheered, putting an arm around the girl, as everyone cheered. "Now, you look perfectly capable, but I have to do this...any volunteers?"

"She'll be fine!" roared one of the older girls, and ripples of nods spread across the crowd. Misty was clearly well-known, if not popular. She smiled down at them, her hands waving loosely by her sides, her reaping dress fluttering awkwardly in the breeze.

"Well, there we have it. Ladies and gentlemen, your female tribute; Misty Lakewater!"

The crowd cheered, shouting various forms of good luck, with the occasional old sea-greeting thrown in. Misty continued to smile, waving to one or two people in the pens. She grabbed the microphone as soon as it was offered to her, and the people instantly fell silent with respect. "Uh...bring it on?" she muttered, her voice amplified ten fold. 

Someone went to help the man who had fallen off the roof.

"Isn't she wonderful, guys?" urged Babina, squeezing Misty's shoulder comfortingly, "And next up, the boys!"

She had to let go of Misty to reach into the bowl, and the girl quickly moved to one side, out of her reach. Her arm had already gone numb and she massaged it, peering into the pens so that she'd be the first to see the boy tribute and catch his reaction. It still hadn't sunk in for her yet.

"Meridan Fall!" came the announcement, and several people gasped, whispers flying like wildfire. Misty recognised the name with a dull feeling that she thought was horror. She knew Meridan; they sometimes met when she went to get her ropes fixed. And she knew that this was bad news, because...

"Babina," she hissed, trying to get her attention without drawing the attention of the rest of the crowd, "Babina, he's deaf! He can't hear you!"

He didn't need to. The second he saw everyone turn to look at him, his guts had sunk. Then again, there was still the chance someone would volunteer. So he made his way to the stage, people trying to scurry out of his way like he was diseased. The girl with the bright orange hair helped him up, which annoyed him. He was only deaf; his arms and legs worked fine. He knew the girl from business and he knew she was capable of brief sign language, so he gestured 'what do?'

She pointed next to the woman with the seashells. Now that he was no longer looking up at her, she was smaller than he'd expected. Less powerful. She waved at him; he waved back slowly and patronisingly. Her cheeks were bright red so he thought she was embarrassed. He wasn't surprised. He was used to people being embarrassed and awkward around him; in a different situation he might be angry about it. She was addressing the crowd, the call for volunteers.

No movement. She bit her lip and the orange girl shook her head at him.

Damn.

With an awkward movement, she started to hand him the microphone but then retreated, saying something to the orange girl, who touched his arm softly. He stared at her hands, waiting impatiently for instructions and not wanting to look her in the face or looking anywhere at the people who had let him down. 

'Words?' the orange girl signed. He thought hard. He never thought he'd be here; he didn't have any words. He felt betrayed, like he was sinking, but he couldn't say that. 

'Love,' he signed back, 'love and family.'

The crowd watched the spectacle with hushed breath, the injured man again forgotten. Not a single person breathed as Meridan twisted his hands into shapes. Misty took the microphone from the for once speechless Babina with one bold movement.

"He says he loves his family," she whispered, and everyone sighed. Babina looked on the brink of tears. Peering into the crowd, Misty could see someone signing something, a woman pressing herself to the back of the pens, her hands little more than a blur. The cameramen swirled to show her image on the screen and Misty pointed Meridan to it, feeling sick. How come nobody had volunteered? How could they let this happen?

The woman had the same sharp blue eyes as Meridan, though hers were filled with tears, and the same square face. It had to be his mother. Her hands waved frantically. Meridan said something back and she burst into sobs.

Babina pressed her hands to her mouth. She'd never had anything like this at District Four. They were meant to be fun.

The woman next to Meridan's mother put an arm around her shoulder and led her away into the crowd. Meridan's face wobbled but he stayed resolute, staring into the distance. Misty took one last long look at the faces in the crowd, picking out her friends, and a longing glance at the beautiful heaving sea, the inkblot clouds creeping closer.

A cold wind blew in District Four that night.