ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ

2-The Reaping: Penn

The sea sparkles in the sunrise’s almost ethereal glow. It's as though shards of diamonds had been sprinkled in the water. I squint up at the sky, trying to gauge the time based on the sun's placement. Probably about time for Maeve to be waking. With a sigh, I reel in the net even though I don't expect anything to be in it. I don't want Maeve to be alone, especially not on Reaping morning. The last thing the younger kids need is for Maeve to have a panic attack in front of them, but, knowing my twin, she very well might. No matter how much she tries to convince herself that she’s fine, she can’t trick her body into agreeing.

I yank the net over the side of the boat and put the few fish into the cooler, then head back to dock. All the other ships bob up and down with the waves, patiently waiting for their masters to take them onto the sea. Delia, my humble skiff, is the only one out today, and, being the day it is, I expect it’ll stay that way.

We splash to shore and I tie Delia to the dock, lugging the fish cooler off the boat. A pair of Peacekeepers await me at the beach to check my cargo. Everything I catch must first go through the Peacekeepers who pay me whatever they see fit- which tends to be no more than a quarter of its actual worth- and then take the goods away to be shipped to the Capitol. Like I'm dumb enough to not realize I'm being scammed simply because I'm young. I scoff at the thought, but there's not much I can do about it.

I nod at the men and set my cooler down at their feet. One of them flips the lid up and riffles through the contents. The other Peacekeeper, a square faced man in his late thirties, looks me up and down.

“What’re you doing out here so early, kid?” One of his black eyebrows, the only hair on his entire head, raises lazily.

“Fishing, what’s it look like?”
The man laughs. “You’ve got some spunk in ya. That attitude’s gonna kill ya someday. In fact, I coulda killed you for it today if not for my merciful heart. How old are ya?”

He’s right. I ought to watch my mouth better. I’m usually pretty good at it, but I don’t have time for small talk today. “I’m fifteen.”

The other Peacekeeper snorts and dumps my fish into the giant shipping container beside him. “Excited for the Reaping, then? This could be your claim to fame.”

“Not really, no. I hope to live past my youth and become a man as… merciful and… patriotic as you two.” The words fall from my lips through a grimace disguised as a smile.

Both men straighten, but whether it’s to emphasize their importance or because they see right through my sarcasm, I don’t know. Either way, I don’t want to test my luck so when the Peacekeeper holds out his hand to me, I pocket my skimpy earnings and slip between them, lugging the cooler along with me.

“See where he gets them ‘ceps,” the bald man says to his partner. I keep walking. Then, he speaks again, but this time to me. “Don’t ya wanna leave that in the boat, kid?”

“Nope,” I call back. “I don’t want it getting stolen.”

The excuse is well-worn, but what else can I say? Actually, Mr. Peacekeeper Sir, it has a false bottom so I can sneak food home to my family. Yeah, right. It's like asking for my tongue to be cut out. Better yet, a bullet to the brain. Tempting offer, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline.
By the time I’ve reached the apartment, sweat glistens on my forehead and glues my shirt to my back. My boots clomp up the stairs and leave a trail of dirt that shakes loose from the grooves in my soles. I jab my key into the hole and balance the cooler on my hip so I can push the door open. Just as I’d anticipated, Maeve is the only one awake. Her golden blonde hair falls in front of her face as she leans over the ironing board, lips pursed in concentration.