Fight of the Helpless

Chapter 1

One of the worst days of my life was the day of my first Reaping. I was twelve, just like all of the other first timers, and I was terrified, also just like everyone else. Before that day, I had always watched the Reaping from the back of the crowd, towards the edge of the town square. That day, I stood at the back of the crowd of kids, as far away from the stage as I could get. But I still heard their screams as they were dragged up to the stage. I still saw the pure terror on their faces as they stared blankly out at the crowd, as if they could wish to be somewhere else hard enough that it would happen. But it didn't, and the Tributes were whisked away as fast as they were Reaped. Taken away from their families as if they had never existed in the first place. The relief I felt after the Reaping was nothing compared to the pit in my stomach. I was closer than I had ever been to the Tributes, close enough to feel the dread that they experienced and were still experiencing as they traveled closer and closer to the place that dreamed up this nightmare. The Capitol. The headquarters of the government that had given them this fate. And it angered me, but there was nothing I could do. What I've discovered is this: The horror of the Reaping doesn't improve as you grow older. You grow numb to it. 

The night before the Reaping, the worrying never stops. Tonight is the same. I climb onto the roof of the mayor's mansion, stepping up from the old ladder that leads up from the backyard. The only reason I'm here is because my father is mayor. Without him in that position, I'd probably be in immense trouble from being up here. 

My feet scrape against the old shingles, and the roof groans slightly as I sit down. The mansion has been around since the Dark Days, and it seems as if it hasn't been repaired since then. I lay back and sigh, thinking about the Reaping tomorrow. Two people from District Seven will be gone and will never come back. It's going to be the sixth Quarter Quell, and a few weeks ago they announced the theme. Siblings. Only pairs of siblings will be going into the Reaping bowl. I think of my sister, Aravis, twelve years old and facing death. Just like I did five years ago. She's likely feeling the same way I did, and am still feeling. Terrified. But now if she's Reaped, both of us will be gone. And in the end, only one of us can survive. If either of us survives at all. 

My eyes are drawn back towards the ladder when a the sound of footsteps starts approaching me. 

"Hey, Liya," Aravis chimes as she walks over to me. She looks almost exactly like my younger self, both of us with dark hair and grey blue eyes. She seems cheerful, despite it being the night before her first Reaping. I look over at her with furrowed brows as she sits next to me. 

"How are you so calm? Tomorrow's the Reaping you know," I say, and she shrugs.

"We're probably not going to be Reaped," she replies carelessly, laying next to me. Right. We.

"Why would you say that? Anything can happen," I ask her, surprised by her indifference to her first Reaping. She sighs as if I'm frustrating her.

"I mean, we don't have to apply for tesserae," she says, looking over at me. With our father being the mayor, applying for tesserae isn't necessary due to our family's wealth. 

"Our entries are combined." I state, my eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, well I only have one entry. We have seven total, so calm down." She seems to roll her eyes, which sets me off.

"Ara, just because we have less entries than other people does not mean that it's impossible for us to be Reaped!" She purses her lips in indignance and I huff, looking down at my feet. We sit in silence for a few moments, her nonchalance irritating me. She hasn't been close to the Tributes like I have. She doesn't realize how their anxiety and terror makes the air stifling, how their horror filled eyes seem to speak to you. This could have been you, they seem to say. She hasn't felt the emptiness when someone you know is Reaped, and I can't force her to understand. She won't until she gets there and she feels it herself. 

I look over at Aravis and she's staring up at the stars. Twelve years old and facing death, and yet she seems not to care. Though somehow I can see in her face that she's scared. She's likely putting up a brave front, trying to convince herself and everyone else that she's just fine, though it's nearly impossible in this situation. 

"It's okay to be scared," I tell her, and she looks over at me.

"I'm not scared, stop saying that," she says, frowning at me. I sigh, knowing she won't admit it to me, but I can tell.

"We should go get some rest, it's a big day tomorrow," I say, looking over at her. She laughs a little bit and we get up, climbing down the ladder. I open the back door slowly, trying to keep the hinges from creaking and waking our parents. We come into the living room, where a staircase leads upstairs to both of our rooms. 

"Goodnight," I whisper once we're upstairs, kissing her on the forehead.

"Night, I love you," she says, hugging me. I give her shoulders a squeeze before walking down the hallway to my room. I can feel her eyes on my back as I close the door behind myself.