district five reaping :: [ josephine bartlett ]

[Kire]

Josephine Bartlett

She is dressed in dark gray with a splash of colour wrapped around her throat in the form of a scarf. The scarf is faded from time, but even so the bright red colour is still vibrant enough to stand out against her dark hair and clothing. This had been her mother's from before the war, a possession that managed to survive the desperate bartering and frantic selling of things. Now it was hers, a gift and an offer of what little protection her mother could give. In the looming shadow of the Reaping, she hoped it was enough.

Standing within the crowd of other girls, she looked up at the stage with its grim-faced officials and Peacekeepers. One Peacekeeper spoke into the mic, his voice monotone and lifeless. The sea of his words was a rolling gray tide, swelling and swirling around the ankles of the children standing below him, ready to yank feet from beneath unsuspecting individuals. She had navigated her own riptides in life before, but this felt different. This was sinister, an almost gleeful search to cause distress and pain. One more point against the Capitol, but the sides were still pretty balanced in her eyes.

In a brief moment of silence, the seconds before names would be called, she looked at the faces around her - all attentive to the man who was selecting names - and wondered how many of them or their families had denied her and her parents food or work or even trade because of their lack of ties. The rebels and Capitol had both insisted on taking care of themselves first and never reached out to others who needed help too. Only through persistence and a penchant for quick fingers did she and her parents still live.

"Josephine Bartlett."

She barely recognized her name, spoken as a bland statement as it was. Her parents had always said her name with some form of affection - usually calling her Joey rather than her full name - and so this alien-like lack of interest caught her off guard. Whispers scattered around her like bits of dried leaves on the wind, swirling around her in a mini whirlwind. She would have welcomed the breeze, but the stagnant hot air clung around her, suffocating her slowly as she blinked up at the stage. The faces still all looked grim, though there were flickers of relief quickly hidden within the depths of some officials' eyes. Their daughters were safe, for now.

She, however, was not.

"Joey!" It was her mother, her eyes full of devastation. She extended a hand as though she might be able to caress her face, despite the near one hundred feet between them. Her father had his face cast down, barely able to face the situation his daughter was facing.

Her legs shuddered and shook for her first two steps until she firmly told herself to walk properly. It took a few more steps before her stride was almost back to normal. The sea of bodies before her parted until she felt like she was either a deity or infected by some horrible plague. Surely the second was more likely.

The moment her foot touched the first step, her father's voice broke over the hushed square. "Look after yourself first, Joey. Like we always have." She threw a glance back toward her parents, knowing this might be the last time she would ever see them again. Fixing her face into a steely - hopefully more determined looking than scared - expression, she resumed her climb up.

Look after yourself, but don't be cruel. Take only what you need. That's how we survive. They had lived through the war with no help from anyone else, surely she could try to do the same now.