Die for You | Catching Fire

chapter ten

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chapter ten
HER RESPONSIBILITY

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Being back on the Reaping stage feels like living in a memory. Her past has returned, the deja vu of it all making it almost impossible to recognize the present. Suspended between time and space, a hazy veil casts itself across her vision as she stares out to the crowd of children rounded up from across the District. Unlike last year, she's sitting in one of the chairs that promises her she's safe. A Victor's chair, a solemn Shep beside her. Next to him is Alondra, who appears more tired than usual. At the very end of the row is Ten's oldest Victor, Barrow, who probably hasn't come out of his house since the last Reaping.

Sweat drips down the back of her neck from the sweltering July sun as her fingers tremble on her lap. She's unsure what to do with them. Knit them together, rest them neatly, maybe adjust her black hair that's beginning to stick to her flesh. There's no time to decide as District Ten's Mayor Gallus introduces Philo along the stage.

Her Escort is clad in a cow print tuxedo, his wig a shimmering black that might be the most natural his hair has come to in most recent years. Sage can't help but quirk a brow at the slight shift in her Escort's demeanor as he stalks toward the microphone this year. At first, she can't quite put her finger on it, it subtle at first. Then when he taps along the microphone twice, sending an echo across the silent crowd, she recognizes it.

Pride. The way his shoulders are squared, the bright smile along his features, and the way he almost stands on poised tip-toes in front of the entire District.

Of course. Ten managed to bring a Victor home after twenty years of slaughter upon slaughter of its children. To him, this is more than a miracle, it's a medal. One that he thinks belongs to him to wear as their Escort. She clenches her jaw.

There's brief recognition in Sage's direction for her victory in the previous year, and she manages a small smile and wave toward the crowd. Then comes the recorded propaganda they're forced to watch every year. It always starts off pleasant, painting the world before this one as a sort of Utopia, everyone smiling at one another, holding hands and singing joyous gratitude to the civilization around them. Who would want to ruin that?

Well, everyone knows no one would. Hence, making the whole entire clip even more laughable.

There's a rippling explosion as the peace is shattered by war of ungrateful Districts, President Snow's voice echoing the words, "War. Terrible war." Then the citizens corralled like lambs to the slaughter are scolded like school children, issued their stinging consequences in the fashion of two bowls holding names of kids who weren't even alive to commit the crime.

It's all so senseless.

"So moving, isn't it?" Philo chirps once the video ends. The crowd stares mutely and hungrily. He doesn't even flinch as he smiles a big smile, raising his brows devilishly. "Let's begin! Ladies first."

He walks on his tip toes toward one of the gleaming bowls nearly overflowing with names. Sage starts to gnaw on her fingernails, then stops, expecting the slap of a palm. No one even looks in her direction. Her heart pounds in her sour stomach. She couldn't bear to eat this morning without it most likely coming back up again. Philo's hand rustles through the names as he strains to reach the very bottom. He's so short that it almost seems like he'll fall into the bowl. With a huff, he finally pulls out the cursed child's slip of paper.