As Above (So Below)

Chapter Two: Certainty

On any other day, this would be the most stunning view of the district. Sprawling, perfect rows of trees spread as far as the eye could see. Oak, birch, cherry, and spruce pine were all in various stages of growth and sleep, kept alive by whatever magic the rich sent them each month – God forbid they didn't have enough mahogany for their tables and chairs. The rise and fall of the mountains in the distance was outlined by the foggy morning sun. Pale yellow light caught the burnished leaves and turned some the color of fire. It was spectacular. Normally.

Every other day in the trees was either work or escape. Monday to Friday it was climb and chop and harvest. It was clean the leaves from the forest floor and split the wood back in town. Load the timber onto the rickety transport lines and watch it be sent for processing. On Saturday it was rest, or at least try to. And on Sunday, it was climb and forget about the world.

Suguru bounced from tree to tree. Whatever he chose the previous week was sawdust and a stump the next. But there were always more to choose from. This one was a firm, old evergreen. The scent of pine wafted across the cold breeze. Sap dripped from thin branches, sticking to his hands. It was peaceful, normally.

But not today. Today Suguru was filled with dread. More so than any previous reaping day. His last. The girls' first. Too many variables. Every possible situation flooded his brain the second he opened his eyes. It was long before sunrise when he wandered out into the forest, something the Peacekeepers would find distasteful on today of all days.

If by some horrific miracle, Nanako or Mimiko were reaped, there was nothing he could do but watch. There is no volunteering for the opposite gender. And there was not a single person he could beg to do so. No one volunteered here. Never. Not like the psychopaths in One and Two, who trained and planned for years just to get the chance to kill. Honed in on skills that make four cold-blooded killers. Killers that by and large, win every single year.

Their names were only in once, Suguru made sure of that. His name, on the other hand, he'd stopped counting months ago. The measly pocket change the Capital handed out for the constant, back-breaking labor was hardly enough for five people. Especially when only one of them, Suguru, was doing the work. The odds were never in your favor, not when your name was the barrier between starvation and salvation. The endless cycle never stopped. Last year, he'd entered twenty-seven times. This year it must've been double. The ruling class had gotten greedier, and the wages had gotten more pitiful.

Suguru puffed on the cigarette he had shoved in his pants pocket before slipping out of his house, frankly hoping a stray spark caught a branch and the entire district went up in flames. The smoke mixed with the crisp air, and one final feeling of freedom washed over him. Something about today was off. He had sensed it when he woke. Some integral part of him knew that this would be his last time viewing the timber he'd grown so fond of. He was certain that this would be his day to be reaped. So close to missing it, so close to aging out, and yet the churning in his gut told him to stop wishing.

He took a final drag, enjoying the calm the nicotine gave him, then pressed the burning end into the wood, marking the tree with a tiny, black circle as if to say 'Suguru Geto was here'.

The climb down, arduous for the average person, was like breathing air for Suguru. Every week since he turned 13, he trudged into the trees and climbed, sawing off branch after branch, toppling trunks, coming home smelling like burnt wood and wet leaves. It wasn't typical to have someone so young at work, but Suguru was tall and agile and had nothing better to do. And while his parents earned a very humble living from small carvings and art they made from discarded wood, it was not enough to keep them afloat. So Suguru did what any good son would and shouldered the burden.

When his feet hit solid ground reality set back in. The tense feeling in his joints returned, reminding him of what awaited. There were a few hours yet, the sun hadn't even risen fully. He had time. Not enough, but time nonetheless.