Nothing Personal

District One Reaping

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is over three years old. It has not been edited. Consequently, it is not of the best quality. There are major flaws in plot, character and world-building. I have left it up mostly as a reminder to myself of how I used to write and how much I have improved since. By all means read it, but please don't expect it to be any good xD

~ Lizzie, 2015.

Everything about District One seemed to glitter alluringly. It was the first reaping of the day, and therefore it was also early morning, the sun poking tentatively over the horizon as if it was worried what the day might bring.

The same could not be said for District One. Everyone was buzzing, especially those who knew their names were in the final pot. Because there were always so many volunteers, a new system had been devised, in which people put their names forwards; from them fifty were randomly selected for the final pot. To make things a bit more authentic, some other names were slipped in too, to give people the chance to volunteer; the 'volunteer' was preselected. This complex process was the main reason why the District One tributes saw it as an honour to compete in the Games.

Even though the sun was only just risen, nobody looked tired. The possible tributes had been up for hours making themselves look good, even the ones who knew they hadn't volunteered their names for the final pot. There were only about four in the whole district, and three of them were only twelve. The adults had been assembled early, bragging in brash voices about the training their offspring had done. Last year's tributes families were always the first to arrive, mingling and chatting and hugging each other. In fact, the female tribute's brother and male tribute's sister were planning on being married soon and they stood with their arms around each other, relieving their little siblings' best moments. The clear marble buildings had been polished until they gleamed, the stage frames were encrusted with glittering jewels and the people were dressed in the brightest colours they could find. The richest showed off with outlandish jewellery worthy of the Capitol and fake flowers in their hair. The square was a bustle of activity, cameramen weaving among the crowd and soaking up the atmosphere. The kids stuck their fingers out proudly, taking a shade of pride from barely even feeling the pinprick. Most of them had been through worse in their training.

The Capitol escort, a vivid and enthusiastic woman called Georgina, paced around the stage, reading out names of past Victors and where they were now, or leaning down to chat to some of the children in the cage. She had dyed her hair bright red, the colour of District One, and was wearing a simple red dress that emphasised her slim figure but didn't draw any attention; the main focus of District One was always the tributes. 

Once everyone had assembled in the square, they had to wait from the signal from the cameramen to indicate that they were live. Everyone was so eager that they were half an hour early, and a girl was hauled up from the tribute pens to sing, just to kick-start the already brimming atmosphere. She had clearly put a lot into her appearance; her blonde hair was twisted into flawless curls around her head, her deep blue eyes had been carefully rimmed with charcoal liner so that they flickered with hidden depths, and her white dress was neither too showy nor too dull. Garnets glimmered on her hands.

First she sang the Capitol anthem, her voice strong and clear, and then repeated it without being asked so that everyone could sing along. The whole district, right down to the bottom of the gem mines, throbbed with the sound of every inhabitant singing the same words, perfectly in pitch and perfectly in unison. Then, because they still had time left to fill, she sang a couple of songs that were popular in the Capitol, love songs that had only a few lyrics and a simple and catchy tune, the sort of songs that stuck in your head for days afterwards. Her voice was powerful even without the microphone and she hit every note straight on the head, the sound resonating from the smooth buildings and around the square.