The Daughter of the Sea

▬▬ 𝟎𝟏 ∙ 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽

˚✩ ⋆｡ ✩┊ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 ┊✦ ˚ · .

▬▬ 01 ∙ 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐

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TODAY IS one of the seven most important days of my life. My life and the lives of millions of other children across the country. Today is Reaping Day.

And on this day, the people are granted a break, because today very well may be the last day they see their children, the children who are eligible for the Reaping. My mom makes it perfectly clear that I don't have to go on my weekly rounds today if I don't want to—nor would anyone blame me for not doing so—but still, I carry the filled box of fish and take my usual trek around my neighborhood.

I return home from dropping off a few fish to one of my father's friends across town when I bump into Annie.

Annie Cresta, my best friend, and neighbor brings me in for a hug. When she squeezes, I squeeze back, a silent message that both of us will be alright by the end of today. We break apart, only letting ourselves get caught up in our worries for so long before trying to put it out of our minds.

"I told my mom we were going to Finnick's place," she starts with a grin. "A message she will no doubt pass on to your parents."

"Are you saying we have the day free?"

"Free of parents, content to do anything we want," Annie says, waving her hands dramatically.

"Well, I think that is a great idea." I hook my arm with hers, and we stroll aimlessly down the street. "Where to, Ms. Cresta? We have the park, or we could swing by that shop that sells those amazing mango shakes."
"I don't know, Ms. Raines. How about the ocean?"

"It always ends up being the ocean, doesn't it?" I laugh.

"Of course it does. What else could you expect?" We run down to the nearest beach, which is half a mile away, with a little dock where we go to fish sometimes. It's a pretty secluded place, not to mention it's only a meadow away from Victor's Village if we ever feel like swinging by Finnick's.

I kick off my shoes before I hit the beach, leaving them strewn on the ground several feet away from where the road ends and the beach begins. "Oh, it's so hot today!" I exclaim, jumping up and down to keep my bare feet from burning on the scorching sand—it's a sad attempt, and I run towards the water as quickly as I can.

"Then come in!" Annie beckons, already wading out into the water. I waste no more time and jump in immediately, feeling the cool rush of water flow past me.

"Are you nervous?" Annie asks me.

"For the Reaping?" She gives me a nod of confirmation. "Well, of course."

Every child—who's not a Career—fears Reaping Day, the day when one girl and one boy between the ages of 12 and 18 are chosen to participate in the Hunger Games, a fight to the death. The number of times your name is in the bowl increases by one each year, starting with one entry at the age of 12. Now that I'm 15, I've survived three reapings with my name in the bowl 4 times this year. Luckily, I never had to get any tesserae, one serving of grain and oil that lasts a year, because my dad owns a small fishing company that makes enough to get us by. Other districts, such as 12, are forced to take out tesserae to keep from starving and put more slips in the bowl in exchange for each person's portion.

"Are you? You have five slips this year." Annie, who's sixteen, has one more slip than me this year, but soon she'll be too old to qualify for the Reaping.