Nothing Personal

District Eleven Reaping

People drifted into the square in dribs and drabs, using the rickety tram line from the far reaches of the district. It could be heard clattering in from a distance, loaded with young children, the adults to come later once they'd reached their work quota. There was no such thing as a day off in District Eleven, and even if there had been most people would have kept on working, risking the murderous wrath of the Peacekeepers to keep their families fed.

The stage had holes in it and the wood was starting to rot with being stored in damp buildings that leaked. Even when it was hot and sunny, like today, District Eleven never truly dried out. The people, almost all dark-skinned and well adapted to coping with harsh conditions, were nevertheless constantly sweating. Steady, regular trees stretched in all directions, quivering in the heat, casting tiny shadows on the sweltering ground.

The skinny teenagers stood, row upon row, staring up at the stage with big eyes, spines jutting out of their backs. Little brothers and sisters, too young for reaping, were crashed out, exhausted, on the square floor, curled up at the feet of their parents. Peacekeepers patrolled the crowd, prodding them roughly to keep them awake. District Eleven was a district of size. Biggest area. Biggest population. Biggest average family size; four children. Second largest population of Peacekeepers per head, behind only District Eight.

Largest infant mortality rate.

There wasn't a family in the square who hadn't lost a child, either to the Games, or to hunger or exhaustion. More than one tenth of the children slumped on the floor wouldn't live to the next reaping; almost one fifth would be unlikely to make it to reaping age. The adults looked tired; everyone over twenty five was wrinkled like a shrivelled peach and everyone over thirty five looked on their last legs.

Someone had stuck up a lattice woven with climbing plants over the stage to try and provide some shade but the plants were withered and the lattice cast checkered shadows over the stage so that it was impossible to stand fully in the cool darkness. The square was massive, with a crumbling and dried up fountain perched roughly in the centre. Nobody was allowed to rest on it.

Lidia, the Capitol escort, was wearing as little as she could get away with without being indecent, and she was still bright red in the face. Her feet ached. These infants were staring up at her, some of them not even wearing shirts, their ribs sticking out disgustingly. She wanted to be skinny, but this was just sickening. Why didn't they eat?

She started on the history already, used to the fact that people were usually herded viciously into the square while she was talking. The Capitol had a strict schedule and they were already running behind thanks to some complications in the District Four reaping and District Seven had taken forever. One of the trams coming in from the east side of the district had broken down - it happened at least twice on a reaping day, almost like people were breaking them on purpose - and the people from that tram were only just being packed into the square, a massive hoard of at least one hundred on a tram that probably only fitted sixty. The District Six reps were always on hand to fix the trams but they couldn't be bothered either and they always broke down again. Often some people had to walk back to their homes after reapings. This could take more than two days, and they were usually beaten for not working when they got back to their stations. It was just a fact of life.

"The reapings," she announced solomnly. She was under instructions to make it cheerful, but faced with this she never could. They were squashed like sardine tins now and smelt just as bad. She supposed that they would have looked angry, had they not looked desperately hungry instead.

"First, the girls..." The bowl was stuffed. There were so many names, and so many children took tesserae. The slips of paper were jammed in so tightly that when she finally tugged one out a number of them scattered over the stage and into the crowd. Next year's tributes. The teenagers in the pens snatched wearily at the scraps floating away over their heads, unable to read their own names, scrawled on the slips on in neat pencil script.

"Skyler Dashton," said Lidia, her guts wrenching as a woman somewhere in the crowd burst into tears, a girl in the lower pens starting to wail. "Skyler, don't go!" she sobbed, holding out stick thin hands as her sister passed, "Please please please don't go!" 

Skyler took her hands, a few tears dripping down her cheeks. She was a tall, lanky girl with dull red hair, and when she turned around her face flashed; she was wearing glasses. For a moment Lidia was surprised that someone had thought to get her them, but she supposed that the cost of the glasses was worth the work they would squeeze from her.

"Vintage, look after mum, okay?" she croaked hoarsely, her throat dry. Part of that was the heat and the fact that she'd had nothing to drink all day, but a bigger part was ascending onto that stage. She almost limped up, her legs barely supporting her weight. Her eyes were big, green and startled, and her mouth hung open slightly, stunned. The tears had already dried from her cheeks.

"Skyler," Lidia greeted, taking the girl's hand. It felt like she could snap it. "Are there any volunteers?"

Silence, apart from the clattering of a tram.

Skyler bowed her head, closing her eyes. The girl burst into wailing again, scrambling at the gate to her pen. A Peacekeeper shoved her back.

"Skyler Dashton, everyone," Lidia announced. Skyler kept her head down while Lidia made her way to the boys' names, taking the first one she came to and squinting at it in the sun.

"The boys...Oak Widing!"

Oak made his way grimly to the stage, head down. Nobody cried, although a girl's voice whispered "Good luck, Oak," from one of the pens. They were so tightly packed that it was impossible for Lidia to see who it was.

Oak darted up onto the stage, demonstrating an impressive turn of speed, and stood, staring out at the horizon. Lidia had seen this before. The 11 kids were always a target, especially the ones who acted afraid. He was trembling with heat, exhaustion and fear but forcing himself to look brave. She waved the microphone in his face; he took it, looking down at her. She seemed tiny now he was actually up here. Maybe everyone in the Capitol was really this small.

"Mom, Dad, Lissy. I love you lots. Annabelle" - here he looked down into the pen where the girl had spoken, where a pretty girl was holding her hand out as if she could snatch him from the stage if she willed hard enough - "You are my world. Luke, Ernie. Thanks for always making me laugh."

Lidia had tears in her eyes. Every year she ended up crying. Oak himself looked out stonily, something glinting in his deep brown eyes, strands of hair clinging to his neck and his mouth set in a grim line. On the command, he shook hands with Skyler, locking eyes with each other.

Allies, the look said.

The girl in the crowd continued to cry. The trams clacked into place, ready to take the children home, so they could start work before the adults got back. The Peacekeepers patrolled the square, still prodding people with batons.

Skyler and Oak took one last, longing look at her home, whispered a muted goodbye and bowed their heads, thinking, before walking steadily into the Justice Room and waiting for their distraught families, friends and loved ones to come to them.

Loss was a fact of life in District Eleven, but it still hurt.