A Story from District 4

Chapter 3

Hector

I remember a day not so long ago when Isla and I lay in the shade of a great, driftwood tree on the beach. Despite the peaceful setting, the conversation was heavy and stressful. We were discussing the reaping.

'Would you ever volunteer for somebody', I had asked nonchalantly, tossing another driftwood branch onto the small fire.

Isla had been lying on her back, apparently asleep, but I could see her eyelids fluttering. 'I've never thought about it', she said, her tone relaxed and lethargic.

'But if you had to, who would it be?' I don't know why I was pushing this subject so fiercely. Today was not the day for intense conversations, but the thought had been weighting down my shoulders for weeks. I needed to talk to somebody.

She was quiet for a moment, mulling over her answer before replying.

'Pearl. I would volunteer for Pearl.' She had sat up, and was clenching and unclenching her fists in her lap.

'Why?', I asked. I shouldn't have been so surprised, but Pearl was strong and powerful. In my head it was only scrawny twelve year olds who needed protecting.

'I don't know, Hec, maybe because she's my sister?', she snapped sarcastically. I made a disbelieving noise, 'What? You telling me you wouldn't volunteer for Nicky or Vernon if they got picked?'

'I don't know what I'd do!' I snapped back

'Then why are you asking me?' she snarled loudly. She stood up angrily, her cheeks flushed with irritation.

'Because ... I've been thinking about this a lot, Isla, just hear me out?' I whispered, pleadingly. Hearing my desperation, her anger ebbs and she sits down beside me, perching on one of the larger roots of the tree.

'Because...' She prompted. Took my hand, and squeezed it.

'I'm eighteen now, Isla. I'm an adult, and with Dad gone I am technically head of the family. So I should be looking out for my family, right, willing to jump forward and protect them whenever needed.'

'Yeh, I guess so. What's the point?'

I take a deep breathe before answering. 'Johnny turned twelve last week, it'll be his first reaping this year. With Uncle Kendrick gone, Johnny means the world to my Aunt. He's her everything. So if his name gets called on reaping day, do I run up and take his place, and potentially let the family fall to pieces.'

'Hector DeVaine, you're such a kind, selfless boy. You really are', she didn't say it condescendingly, but like she generally thought that. It warmed my heart.

'But you don't own them, Hec,' she continued, 'they aren't technically your responsibility. But I also know that you will hate yourself everyday if they called his name and you sat by doing nothing.'

I nod, and we sit beside each other in silence, her head on my shoulder, my hand grasping hers, watching the sun go down.

'Is that the only reason why you would volunteer for Pearl? Because she is your sister?', I asked. I was generally interested, because Vernon was Pearls age, yet I had no burning desire to volunteer for either of my brothers. They were strong, they stood a chance, at least.

She sighed, but no longer from anger. ' I guess not. I guess I just don't want her to go through anymore pain.' Her voice was no louder than a whisper, 'They'd rip her apart, Hec, and not just the tributes. Without her voice, she won't be able to influence the crowd, or defend herself from it. She'll be mocked. All the training is done in private, people will think whatever score she receives was a pity mark. They'd make her look weak. Who'd sponsor the poor, voiceless girl from District 4' she added bitterly.

I remember this day suddenly, and it turns my insides to liquid. The memory catches me off guard, and hits me with the impact of a moving train.

Pearl Jackson, said the Capitol woman in her high, clear voice.

Pearl's face is contorted in a silent scream, her mouth gaping, her eyes bulbous. Someone in the pen pushes her into the aisle, toward the stage. Her face was bloodless, a white, hollow shell of the girl I saw this morning.

I hear a scream, a high, ear piercing call of grief from the edge of the square. The scream of a parent loosing their child, her Mother.

Her Mothers scream acts like a switch in Isla's face, turning her features from grievous shock to grievous determination.

'I volunteer as tribute!', she shouted, running out of the pen towards Pearl, 'Take me instead, just not her.' Her voice faltered and tears sprang to her eyes. She struggled past the Peacekeepers and enveloped herself around her sister.

'Isla, no! Don't do this' I scream, pushing by the Peacekeepers, 'Please don't do this'.

'I have to, you know that', she wrapped her arms around me, squeezing tight, 'Look after her for me. You promise?' She whispered in my ear.

I nodded, 'Of course I will. Forever.' I hold her close for a second longer, then let her go. A Peacekeeper dug the butt of his gun into my back, driving me back into the pen. Isla walks up to the stage slowly, weak from grief. She looked aged, grey faced as she stood beside the podium.

The woman was positively glowing by comparison, a large Cheshire-cat smile spread over her face.

'A volunteer on her very first reaping. How exciting this must be for her', I think bitterly.

'Lovely, lovely. That's the spirit. What is your name, sweetheart?', she said, her sugary voice simpers .

'Isla Jackson', I saw her swallow hard, and look away. She was fighting tears, I knew it. I just wanted to hold her.

'Splendid. You must be her sister,' the Capitol woman laughs gleefully. Isla nods rigidly in reply.

'No, she's her bloody pet raccoon, what do you think?', I want to scream. Someone puts their hand on my arm. To restrain me? To comfort me? I'm not sure.

'Marvellous', the woman continues, 'How exciting. And more excitement to come. It's time to choose District 4's newest male tribute!'

Isla looks like she is going to be sick as the woman minces to the male podium, and draws out a slip. She walks back slowly, straightening out the paper. I only have enough time to wish for my own safety, my brothers, when she is reading out the name.

Jonathan DeVain, she announces.

I feel numb, and cold. This can't be happening, I think. The crowd gives a collective groan like they always do whenever a twelve year old is selected. Isla lifts her head up so fast that I'm surprised it didn't fall of her neck. Her eyes looks directly into mine, and she shakes her head.

'Don't you dare,' her eyes say, 'Please don't do this, Hec'

I look away from her pleading face, and look at the faces of my family on the outside of the square. Heartbroken. Each face crushed.

I don't think about it, about the consequences. I run up to the stage and catch Johnny by the shoulders right before he mounts the steps. He looks at me in shock, his face ghostly white, his fair hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. So young, so innocent, so cared for.

'I volunteer as tribute', I say emptily.

You could almost hear a pin drop.