61st Reaping [D12]

[Lulu]

The escort of the district stepped out onto the stage, a smile plastered across his face as he stared into the cameras that surrounded it. It was time once again to choose two children to compete in the Hunger Games, and it was his job to do so.

"It is time," he said as he stood over the impatient people of the District, "To once again send two of our own children to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. Let us begin the Reaping!"

He did not look to see the reaction of his district before reaching into the glass ball that held the names of the female children. "Ladies first," he announced, pulling out a slip of paper. He unfolded it and read out to the crowd, "Abri Bello!"

[/color] He then reached into the other ball. "Killian Reese!"

OOC- RPing is allowed. If you wish to volunteer, let the tribute post first either accepting or stepping down from their place for volunteers, and then post. If the tribute doesn't reply by Tuesday, May 22nd, a staff member will post saying that volunteering is open. Please do not post until you see this staff message. FIRST COME, FIRST SERVE.

Tributes, please do not make your acceptance or denial of your spot in character; instead, please leave an ooc note at the end of your post stating whether they accept or are stepping down for volunteers.

Also, and this is really important: If you have been selected as a tribute and plan on going into the arena, we HIGHLY SUGGEST you take some RP Tutoring lessons ASAP. It doesn't matter what level RPer you are; everyone can use a little help. RPing a tribute is a PRIVILEGE; if you're not going to put the time and effort into making your posts the best they can be then you can count yourself among the dead...-evil laugh- It's not a requirement, but please please please just consider the lessons. They'll help even the most advanced RPer. [/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[Dancin]

Abri Ballo


Sometimes I think that people are watching me. My grandmother says that it's all in my head but it's as if I can feel their eyes scraping across my skin, my dead cells collecting around their tear ducts. Most of the time I can talk myself out of these thoughts because, well, why would anyone want to look at me? But the reaping was different I couldn't convince myself that my crawling skin was an over reaction, because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that everyone, everywhere was watching me at that exact moment.

The morning of the reaping is almost perfect in my opinion. Warm with a cool breeze, and enough cloud cover to keep my skin safe, but still nice enough that the birds are singing outside of my window when I woke up.

I was, as I am every year at this time, not in a good emotional state. It wasn't the actual reaping that made this day the source of enormous stress that it was, though that was a factor. It was the crowds; the peacekeepers pushing everyone in on themselves, into spaces smaller than they should fit into, subtly threatening anyone who might fight back with the butt of their gun. When I was living in the hospital, I often didn't go to the reaping. I would scale one of the few trees within the district, or burrow underneath someone's steps and listen as the girl and boy from that year were dragged to their death. When my mother took me back in, I knew without asking that my tardiness was no longer an option.

I can see part of my reflection in the grimy mirror beside my mother's bed. She and my grandmother are still snoring lightly, so it must be very early. My eyes look larger than normal in the mirror, dark brown holes above pale cheeks. Uneasiness plagues my stomach, but slowly I get out of bed and begin the motions of making breakfast.

"Another day normal." I whisper to myself.

The argument over what I will wear to the reaping is loud and furious. My mother pleads with me, holding the soft pink dress in her hand and I scream obscenities, my hands pressed to my ears because I don't wear dresses. They make me vulnerable and you cant climb a tree in a dress. I win. I get my sturdy grey pants and soft green sweater that I can pull down past my hands. It's a nice sweater but the cuffs are soggy from my chewing and every few seconds my grandmother reminds me not to play with my sleeves.

By the time I'm standing in line for the reaping, my nod is the most pronounced it's been in almost exactly a year. I try to breathe deeply but my head keeps bobbing, like it has it's own willpower. I can feel the people around me getting nervous, why did they have to stand next to the crazy girl? One girl gently puts her hand on my arm and I try to smile, but mostly I try not to freak out about the 'touching me' thing.

When the president comes out, I feel a wave of numbness. Numb is good, it keeps me calm. It's like slow motion, the way he moves towards the giant glass ball that has my name written on so many pieces of paper that I feel like I am going to faint. His hand reaches into the ball, snags a slip and I hear the name ringing out before I can process the movement.

And it's me.

"No,no, no, no, no, nonononononono." My voice is wild, my hands pressed firmly to my ears, my knees giving out and dropping my body into a crouch. Everyone around me is pressing backwards, moving away from the poor crazy girl. If I could control what was happening to me I would want to be strong like my grandmother, chin up in the face of danger but I can't. All I can do is wither and cry.

Some Peacekeepers rush forwards and grab my upper arms, lifting me so that my thrashing legs can no longer touch the ground. I'm making a keening noise that the kettle makes when we have tea sometimes. It's the only sound I can conjure up that can hold all my fear and anguish. They drag me to the stage and dump me up the steps, where another Peacekeeper swiftly pushes a needle into my back. It releases morphling, which I haven't had in years, but the familiar numbness, the almost instant droop of my body is painfully familiar.

The mayor crosses to me and holds my hand gently.

"Are you Abri Ballo?" He asks me. I nod sloppily, my eyes glued to his face. He tries to smile, but there are creases in his face that betray his dismay. As he crosses back to draw the boys name, I force my lazy neck around to find my Mother and Grandmother. They're both watching me, their faces identical masks of concern. I try to smile to reassure them, but really I'm not okay and every time I move my mouth I end up drooling on myself.

The worst thing about morphling for me is that I've built up a mental immunity. My body still reacts but my brain stays alert and terrified and I just end up trapped inside of my own useless body. I want to run away, to leap of this goddamned stage and never look back, but the message doesn't reach my limbs.

The mayor is wrapping up, my male counterpart standing a few feet away. This is my last chance to say something to my family, to leave them something of me. I want to tell them all the things I leave out, like how much I love them, how much they have taught me, how much of a blessing every good day is. But I can't. All I can do is watch them fiercely as the Peacekeepers drag me away to the train.

Abri Ballo has accepted.

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(ooc: Aw man the picture is small. I will fix that later. Super excited though guys.)[/size]

[∂αмєη]

[7D7A6F] [6D6165] [AD9EA3]

With the last button finally done up and my short hair slicked back with an odd solution of sweat and water, I left through the front door and headed out onto the worn path towards the square. How many times have I gone down this path without even thinking about it? Without counting the dandelions that dot the sides or the definite shoe prints from the miners and workers going about their days. More times than I can certainly remember. And yet even today I have no eye for the bright yellow of the flowers and the rough terrain. One's mind can be entirely distracted from their surroundings when an important topic rests in their head. Nearly all of the teenagers in Panem will be in the same position I am, only being able to wish and hope that their name won't be spoken during the ceremony that will be starting soon.

As for me, it's not that big of a deal. It's my final year of eligibility and my name wasn't pulled once. Not even after having had to receive tessera each year. This year will be no different. And even if my name was on that small slip of paper, slowly being called out in front of all of District Twelve, I'd have no choice. There's never a choice really, unless somebody has the courage to face a game like this one. Twenty-four go in and one victor is crowned once twenty-three have fallen. I've never been the best at math but anybody can tell those odds are terrible. District Twelve isn't supposed to be good. We're the rats in the eyes of the sick fucks known as the Capitol. And yet we've had a fair amount of success within the past decade. That's what worries most of us that can still be picked. Who says we're going to be able to carry on that success? Who says we can handle the targets that will potentially be on our backs right from the start?

Entering into the section made for eighteen year old males, I look towards the stage. It's neatly done up just like every other year. The important figures are beginning to assume their position, signifying that the reaping is about to begin. My eyes meet with one of the peacekeepers to the side, who then proceeds to nod his head slightly in my direction. He was one of the officers who helped me through training. I wonder if he can help me now. Probably not. Even if he desperately wanted to, it wasn't going to happen. But I would be fine. Our escort makes his way up to the mic, looking as colourful as ever, before reaching into the ball. A girl's name is called and she makes her way to the stage. I don't know her, nor do I actually care. It's not like I'll be seeing her again.

"Killian Reese." Frozen. There's really no other word to describe my state. It's certainly a mix between shock, fear and slight curiosity. My foot moves on it's own accord, dragging me closer to the stage as I attempt to keep a straight face. God only knows that it's taking all of the strength I still have inside of me in order to keep from letting everything go. I'm not ready for this. My future was set out in front of me. But maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe I'm supposed to go into the Games so that another male doesn't have to die. No family, no friends and nobody around to care about my death. Maybe it's part of a bigger plan or something. I'll just keep telling myself that. If it works, why not use it, right? I put on a grin as I make my way up onto the stage and over to shake hands with all the people that will be preparing me for my death.

I might as well shake my own hand too. There's no way in hell I'll be making it out of this alive.

Killian will be going in.

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