Nothing Personal

District Twelve Reaping

Reapings in District Twelve were one of the only times that those from the Seam and those from the town mixed. Dark hair and tired grey eyes mingled silently with bright blonde curls and clean, fresh skin. The coal mine was on hold for most of the day and instead the sound of gently rustling plants and birds tweeting echoed in from outside the electric fence. A steady, nervy chatter fluttered through the air as people went looking for their friends. District Twelve was the smallest district, with a tiny population. Everyone knew everyone else and relied on everyone else to get by. 

It was a chilly day, but the people were used to it and some even wore short sleeves, although that was partly due to lack of material. The mood was grim and nobody was smiling; everyone knew that the odds of someone they were fond of getting reaped were high. Seedy, hunched people weaved through the crowd, clutching little numbered slips in greasy hands. Every so often someone would take one, looking furtively in the other direction in an attempt to not look suspicious.

At the teenagers' entrance to the square, someone was causing a fuss. A few people were looking around to see what was going on. A young boy on his first reaping was backing away from the scrawny woman trying to prick his finger. The people waiting in line behind him, seasoned professionals by now, pushed him forward gently.

The boy had strange hair flying out from his head in crazy red spikes that seemed totally natural. Everyone knew him; it was Daisuke. Nobody was quite sure where he'd come from, only that he'd never said, so it was the subject of many rumours, an almost certain topic of conversation if things got dull. His family had the same red hair, but they at least tried to tame it and wore hats most of the time. Right now they were shrinking into a corner of the square far away from the stage, trying not to be noticed.

Daisuke wasn't hugely popular. He had a few friends at school, and he did reasonably well, but the close-knit community of Twelve were naturally suspicious of people who turned up in the middle of the night with seemingly no recollection of their past and people still hadn't quite accepted him yet. He was known as a bit of a wimp, and the two children behind him had to grab his arms to calm him down enough to let the woman take his blood sample. He howled in pain and a few people tutted.

Not taking any chances, his captors practically dragged him to his pen, where a collection of nervous, shaking twelve year olds stood, staring at the stage, not even turning to look at him. They then marched off to their own pens, heads held high, as if to show him how reapings should be handled. There they met friends and shook hands, wishing each other the odds.

"Your last today," one said encouragingly, breaking the respectful silence. It was one of the numerous boys from the Seam, resting on the fence between the seventeen year old boys' and eighteen year old boys' pen and holding out a hand to shake with a tall, graceful boy with huge dark eyes.

He took it warmly, laughing with relief, "I know. I'm in, what, fifty three or fifty four times!" This was said without any negative feeling, just a sad fact of life, a way to get one-up on his neighbours. As long as you didn't think about the consequences. The younger boy grinned, revealing yellowing teeth, "What, only? Sixty three, me!"

"You never!"

"Am so; tesserae for the rest of the brood!"

"Oh, shut it!" exclaimed a new voice, and someone laughed nervously. The boys duly shut up, biting their lips. On reaping day, people did as they were told. Now the only noises in the square were some crashing noises from behind the stage - normal; someone always dropped something - a low, grim murmur of the adults talking and the occasional yelp from the teenager's entrance. Even the birds had stopped singing.

A cool breeze drifted across the square, and everyone shivered as one. Usually the legal market would be set up here, colourful coverings decorating the grey and brown square, but there was never any trade on reaping days. The very centre of the square was taken up with a camera man, as were two spaces to the sides and on the roof of one of the rickety buildings. The rest was packed; everyone had turned up early. Parents glanced at each other, all silently hoping that it would be somebody else's child, at the same time wishing that no parent ever had to go through the torment of watching their children die. Whatever happened today, at least one family would lose.