"Maybe it's been years
since I genuinely smiled.
Maybe it's been years
since I wanted to be apart of anything."
Dexter Lowhill, District Elevens sixth winner of the 69th Hunger Games at the ripe age of eighteen years old.
It was his last reaping for...
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"But he was never really free."
"We're going to be okay, Archer. Promise," an eighteen-year-old Dexter whispered into his twelve-year-old brother's ear, bending down a little as they waited in line for their turn to get their finger pricked, and eventually, two of any of these kids would be reaped.
"What if me or you get picked?" Archer whispered, his little hands shaking as they walked slowly forward. He was wearing his best clothes for his first reaping, their parents had both boys wash their clothes and scrub themselves clean, fussing over both of them to look as presentable as possible for Archer's first reaping and Dexter's last.
Dexter shook his head, keeping his hand on Archer's shoulder as they walked up the line. "I've had great luck since I was twelve, I'm sure it will stay the same," he assured him, ruffling his younger brother's hair.
Archer swatted his hand away, still not smiling like he normally would be. "You swear?" He asked quietly.
Dexter nodded, moving Archer so the younger boy was in front of him. "I swear," he assured, squeezing his bony shoulders. "I'm going to walk you to your section and I'll make sure you find your friends, yeah?" He asked. They were almost at the front of the line and the closer they got, the more Archer was shaking.
"Okay," Archer whispered before he was in the front. Dexter watched as Archer flinched lightly when the needle pierced his skin, blood dripping into the small patch of paper. Dexter watched as Archer was cleared to keep going and watched as he hesitated into the entrance, waiting for Dexter to get cleared so they could walk in together.
Dexter stepped forward, handing the woman his hand. She took his wrist, pricking his finger with a small needle and pressing it to the paper before scanning his blood. He cringed, wiping the blood off and onto his black pants. He didn't like blood all that much, it was red and warm and smelt like copper. It always grossed him out, even before he was old enough to start watching the games on the small projector everyone in Panem was forced to have.
"May the odds forever be in your favor," she whispered to him as he started to walk away. He furrowed his brows, giving her an awkward smile and nod. None of the guards in the front ever told him that, not once in the six times he's done this.
Part of him wondered why today, the other part of him didn't care enough to think about it too much.
He walked Archer to the other twelve-year-olds, straightening up his collar. "Just stand here and talk to your friends till it starts, meet Mom and Dad by the bakery where you guys normally meet me after reapings, yeah? You'll get out before I do," Dexter reminded, smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt.
"I know, I got it," Archer mumbled, his cheeks flushed pink as he looked nervously all around. His whole class was here and his older brother fussing over him was slightly embarrassing. Of course Dexter knew that.
