From Dusk Till Dawn (A hunger games fanfic)

The Reaping Pt. 1

I live in a family of heavy snorers, so much so that I can't sleep in quiet environments. At the same time they always rise with the sun, so do I. There's no better feeling than the new day sun on your face in the morning, a fact everyone in my household agrees with. So we set our schedule to follow its path starting bright and early at 7:00 am.

So you could guess my brief confusion when I wake to complete silence. While the sun is still hidden under the horizon, none of my siblings were in their hammocks. The smallest sliver of light barely peeked over the foothills. I sit up slowly, the constant aching in my lower back is a familiar thing and almost comforting in this moment.

My hand fumbles for the old watch on my bedside table, the rungs that hold my hammock up groaning. I can only just make out the hour hand pointing at the 5, but I can't see the minute hand even after cleaning the sleep dirt from my eyes.

A new thought crosses my mind as I pull my body off the hammock, my socked feet hit the floor with a muffled sound..

If it was 5 in the morning, Fen Garner, our neighbor, would have her generator running for her irrigation system. Especially since it was Sunday, but it was... eerily quiet.

And the sinking reality of the date sunk in. Reopening a pit in my stomach that I had tried so hard to seal over. I had been so sure the seal was thick as rock, but this day would break it like a fingernail through tissue paper my mum would wrap our brown bread with.

Reaping day.

A holiday, generators off. Put on your nicest clothes. Send your child into a gamble where they could be selected to die for the country's entertainment.

Reaping day.

It was a mourning day for my family and me. And I instantly knew where my siblings were. Hanging my head I pulled down the olive green nightgown that was bunched just above my hips, so that it unfolded to hang around my knees. I sauntered into the open area of our cottage, making sure to step over the more lifted floor panel under the doorway that I was prone to trip on.

They were all there, sitting at the dinner table, heads bowed. I took my seat as quietly as I could, focusing on the hard wood on the chair, the linen nightgown hanging loose on my figure. Anything to keep my thoughts away from the aching of my chest, the aching of the missing piece of my heart.

An hour and forty seven minutes, we sat there for an hour and forty seven minutes. I counted to the second, when my mum finally raised her head and wiped her eyes, which were red and puffy with tears. Bay sat on her lap, my five year old brother is too young to know the significance of this annual practice. But he stays silent anyways, clutching my mum's hand tightly.

Dads head follows next, he and I share the same hazel eyes. Though at this moment they were dissociated, glistening. Gently Pa, Basie, June and Lin raised their heads too. Lin buried his head into Pa's chest, sobbing hoarsely. Our grandfather, with thin wrinkled hands, comforted my other brother. Rubbing circles onto the boys back. And my sisters held hands finding comfort in each other.

I wait a full ten more minutes before I finally raise my head as well. I wasn't ready, but it felt necessary, best not to leave them waiting. When I bring my eyes into focus, I know they can tell I wasn't ready as well. But they don't say anything about it. They never did.

A burning sensation settled in my chest.

"Happy Hunger Games."

I didn't expect my voice to be raspy, or the salty feeling that would collect on my tongue.

"Happy Hunger Games."

They echoed, there was nothing happy about it. But its best to pretend, it gets you in less trouble.