69th Reaping [D1]

[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, "Quartz Caplin!" He then reached into the other ball. "Jeff Ryder!"

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[sbeeg]

Jeff Ryder

The night before a Reaping is, ideally, spent with one's family. They gather around and either huddle in uncomfortable silence as the idea of death looms over them, or they exchange words or encouragement. A punch in the arm, a slap on the back, as the rich kids get their last few sessions in at the gym. Do a few extra push ups, and go over their survival manuals one last time. However, this brings up the question- What does someone without a family do?

Jeff Ryder, a boy who was orphaned before he was of reaping age, spent the night differently. On the seedy part of town where the kids of the system are thrown into the shadows to be ignored until they can go to work in a factory, the red haired kid drank himself nearly to death. Someone had nicked a few bottles from a store downtown and an older boy had brewed some strong stuff in one of the orphanage's bathtubs. It was strong and felt like swallowing a fireball but it numbed his skin, his mind- everything.

People wake up on Reaping day in their beds, they dress in their finest and head to the square. They eat a good breakfast and they even pocket a few items to use as tokens. Ryder woke up with his cheek pressed against the concrete of a sidewalk. He smelled like sick and was covered in dirt and who knows what else. The only reason he was awake at all was because another street rat gave him a kick while passing by. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, Ryder staggered to his feet and followed the crowd to the square.

His stomach rumbled as his finger was pricked by the official, his name recorded in the big book of "Kids to Kill."The lady at the table clicked her tongue at his appearance before he was shuffled away to stand with the other sixteen year olds. Entering the pin, the nicer dressed boys gave him a large birth so that he had no where to go besides the back corner with the other free loaders. Together in their grungy group, they were separate from the other District One citizens. "Worse than those ugly miners," a kid near by sneered. Ryder hardly noticed. The bright lights pointed at the square was sending knives through his eyeballs. His lips were chapped, and his tongue itchy. Afterwards he would get water, get some food from some Capitol cameraman who felt bad for them. Usually that works.

On Reaping day, most people go to the square and listen to the escort (named Carmel of all things) go on about the Hunger Games then pick out the names and go home. Most people are not Reaped. Most people get to return to their pitiful little alleyways to sleep for the rest of the day.

"Jeff Ryder."

The haze that had fallen over his mind immediately disappeared. The dirt clad crew around him knew his name and big eyes darted over to him. Taking a breath, he started through the clean cut boys of District One. They huddled away to keep from getting their white shirts dirty and pinched their noses as not to smell him. Stumbling out into the aisle, he made his way towards the stage. Everyone he passed was dolled up. Girls in their dresses and jewels, boys with their ties. A few even had Capitol make up on, like the suck ups they were.

He climbed the steps with his ragged boots, and turned to face the pristine district that had never offered him a crumb. However, this time he wasn't an outcast, he was their champion.

Bet they love that.

Jeff Ryder accepts the position as District One tribute

[jess]

W H E R E  M Y  D E M O N S  H I D E

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Q U A R T Z ♚ C A P L I N
DISTRICT1 | SIXTEEN | FEMALE

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It was usually pretty loud in the mornings, but on Reaping Day everyone was a bit more focused. The curtains were already drawn when my eyes opened, the light blinding me and making me squint against the sudden beam. The bed next to me was already made, all neat, with a pretty dress laid out on it for the reapings. Aquamarine must have been up bright and early, whereas I'd slept in. Then again, what made today different? Sure, it was Reaping Day, and we were all dressing fancy, but other than that it just seemed like an average day.

I forced myself to sit up and allow myself to properly wake up before my feet touched the hard wooden floorboards. I shifted my weight onto my feet and sighed sadly. I always hated leaving the bed in the morning - which was weird; at first glance I didn't seem like a lazy person.

Breakfast was pretty simple. As usual. Honestly, it was District One and we were eating like we were some lower district scum. Scum, that was what Aquamarine called them, but I wasn't so sure. I'd only ever seen them in Games.

Then again, so had she. So who was she to judge?

Usually people say goodbye to their families before they leave for the reaping. They wake up with their families and plan celebration for tonight, because they'll be okay and they will all be together that evening for meals. That's the plan, at least - it's not as bad in One to be reaped. Glory and all that shit. But I knew I wasn't worthy enough to be their champion.

I crossed one leg over the other. I supposed I didn't have it as bad as some people - I was orphaned, my mother Ruby having died of disease and my father Luis dead from alcohol poisoning. But I had Aquamarine, my older sister, even if she wasn't always kind, and Jet, my younger half-brother, whom I'd protect with my life.

But Jet was a boy. If he was Reaped, there would be nothing I could do.

I changed into the dress laid out on my bed, hand-picked by Aquamarine (I didn't have any sense of fashion, you see) and as I stood in front of the mirror smoothing out the skirt, she stood behind me, a couple inches taller than me in those heeled shoes, braiding my hair. It was the only time my sister ever looked alive, when she was making somebody look beautiful. She always told me I had the potential.

I didn't care about beauty. Why bother? I had nobody I wanted to impress.

We left soon, at the time we were scheduled to - alongside the other kids in the community home. Jet stormed ahead, of course, and Aquamarine walked so painfully slow with her friends that I gave up and walked at a normal pace. (Fitting in was hard, you know.) I reached the town square about half a minute after Jet did - he really does live up to his name - and go to go through the standard procedure.

Finger pricked, blood taken, name printed. Done.

Head over to your designated spot. Done.

Wait. Doing.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Until finally, the show begun. The mayor read out his dull speech that he reads every year, and I zoned out, staring into space before the sight of him moving to the bowl of girls' names was shown through the corner of my eye, and my eyes flicked over to where he was standing.

His hand reaches into the bowl, pulling out the name of this year's unfortunate victim.

Who is it?

Please don't be somebody I know.

But it's the one person I know the most.

"Quartz Caplin!"


Me.

It's me. 


Out of all the slips, they chose me.

I didn't know how to feel, or how I should have been reacting or how fast I should have walked, but somehow my feet carried me to the stage and I snapped back to reality when I was standing right in front of the mayor. I turned to face my district.

I didn't know how I looked on camera. I didn't want to know.

Aquamarine has tears in her eyes, something I'd never seen from her regarding me. The last time I saw Aqua and Jet cry was back when Dad died of his alcoholism. Now they're crying again - well, Jet is fighting them back because he knows I want him to be strong - and the thought hits me that I'll never return to them. Because I'm just a burden to everybody.

So let me die - let me burn to ashes, be stabbed as many times as fate wants me to, let me be killed in horrible ways for the  entertainment of the public. Maybe the pain will be over soon.

My name is Quartz Caplin, and I will not survive.

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quartz caplin accepts her position as district 1 female tribute of the 69th hunger games