SACRIFICIAL LAMB... h.abernathy

chapter one

GOD WILL PROVIDE HIMSELF A LAMB FOR A BURNT OFFERING 

The Reaping is held in the northern part of the District.

It is where the richer families live, the ones they want to show on television. The paler ones with brighter hair, brighter eyes. The ones who would not dare critique the Capitol. It is the nice area of District 10. Long grassy plains for miles to see, horses grazing in fields of flowers, big houses with fresh white paint all clumped in pretty towns. What do they have to complain about? They are the farmers, the teachers, the lawyers, the doctors. The ones with the money, the educated children. They are nothing like the South. Should they not be happy?

They never show the Southern part on Capitol TV.

All the children of the District gather in the centre of the North. Southern and Northern alike, but one can easily tell the difference. They split in the middle, boys on the right, girls on the left and then are sorted by age group. Youngest to oldest, And yet, no matter the mix, it is so easy to tell the difference.

The Northern children with their freshly laundered clothes, most likely new, bought specifically for today. The girls in hooped skirts of bright pink and the boys in tailored suits. Their hair brushed to sit around their shoulders, bright blonde and light brown. They smile when the camera pans over them. They look hopeful. Northern children rarely get picked.

And when they do, they barely live long.

The Southern children have been saving up their weekly bath for this day. There is not enough water in the South for all inhabitants to bathe daily, and most merely use the sink to wash their faces and pits. But today, all Southern children have clean faces and smell similarly - the same brand of soap for all of them, a box of three passed out every four weeks by Peacekeepers. Girls pull their thick, dark hair out of their faces; a swirling bun, two thick braids, one low ponytail that swings down their back. They wear white cotton dresses that have been in their families for decades, buttons up the front, handmade by younger abuelas.

Most of the Southern children have opted to add their names more than once for the tesserae, needing the extra food to feed their families. You can add your name for as many family members as you have, and these are cumulative. The year I was reaped, my name was in there twenty-eight times. The boy I was reaped with, his name was in there forty-two times.

The Northern children have never had to sign up for the tesserae.

Their names sit in the bowl only once. They will never be picked.

Even now, I resent them for that.

The children's parents stand at the very back. The right side for the North, the left for the South, though this is not an official rule. It has just always been like this. The Northerners huddle together, eyes glistening, afraid that it might be their child. It never is. In all of District history, one Northern child has been picked. She died in the Cornucopia and that was that. Nobody even remembers her name.

The Southerners stare blank-faced. It will be one of them and they will pray together every evening until the show begins. Then, at some point, the prayers will turn to mourning and they will all wear black for the next three weeks.

All prayer is mourning in the South.

The children all gather in front of the temporary stage set up in front of District 10's Justice Building. This is where the Mayor's office is. And where all the lawyers work. Southerners only travel here to pay a fine... or on Reaping day. Both solemn occasions.