The Romantic Art of Bitchcraft

The Reaping

  

***This is the first chapter of a three-part Hunger Games AU, set during a Quarter Quell so Zoe and Madison go together even though they are both from District 11. It will sort of follow the book, though not exactly. Anyways, I really hope y'all like it!***

   Zoe closed her eyes, not wanting to get out of bed. Her stomach was queezy, and even though the day had yet to truly begin, she knew something terrible was going to happen.
   Of course, that was unavoidable.
   Today was the day of the Reaping, and this year happened to be a damn Quarter Quell. Victors from District 11 were more rare than a freaking double rainbow or a real holiday that got the townsfolk off from work. This year that chance for success was cut in half; this year's Quell had doubled the amount of tributes. Now, instead of the usual 24 contestants, two boys and two girls were being abducted from each district, calling in a daunting 48 tributes to compete.
   To make matters worse, Zoe's half-sister had turned twelve this year.
   That was why, despite wanting to go back to sleep and dream of a world where kids didn't have to fight to the death for their own survival, Zoe heaved herself out of bed, tiptoeing across the room to where her younger sister Violet lay. Her back was turned towards her older sister, but Zoe didn't need to see her face to recognize the sounds of the girl's sobs.
   Zoe placed a gentle hand on her sister's back.
   Violet whipped around, her black eyes red from exhaustion and tears.
   "You scared me, asshole!" the girl hissed. "What do you want?"
   Zoe gave her sister an empathetic smile. "It's okay to be scared, you know."
   Violet wiped her eyes.
   "I know."
   "When I turned twelve," Zoe continued, "I was terrified. I kept having nightmares, over and over again, from the night before my birthday until the day after the Reaping."
   "Did they ever stop?" Violet asked.
   Zoe hesitated, not wanting to scare her half-sister with the truth. Then again, Violet always called her on her bullshit. With her, sugarcoating wasn't an option; honesty was truly the best policy. So the older girl stuck with that, shaking her head.
   "Not yet," Zoe told her. "But maybe when I turn eighteen..."
   "If," Violet muttered.
   Zoe rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a pessimist."
   "I'm not a pessimist," Violet growled, narrowing her eyes at her older sister. "I'm a realist."
   "There's a difference?" Zoe teased.
   Violet shrugged.
   "How many dreamers do you see make it out alive in this society?"
   Zoe didn't respond, which was response enough for Violet. She rolled back around, probably to pretend to sleep.
   This new way of thinking disturbed Zoe. Her sister had once been a dreamer, playing the piano and singing with their mother, or else in her father's art studio creating masterpieces that would go forever unappreciated because the folks in their part of town couldn't afford to buy anything extra, and the mayor's family and the Peacekeepers all preferred works from the Capitol, or at the very least from District One.
   Zoe suddenly realized that Violet didn't play anymore, or make art. She knew the music had stopped once Violet's father, Ben, had died. But Violet had used to persist, humming tunes under her breath or even practicing notes on the old piano when Vivian was out of the house. But Zoe began to think, and she hadn't heard anything of the sort in a really long while.
   "Is that why you stopped?" she asked her sister.
   It was a vague question, yet somehow Violet knew exactly what Zoe was referring to.
   She sighed, propping her head up in her hands.
   "I'm not sure," she answered honestly. "I think I just... grew up, you know?"
   "No," Zoe shook her head, anger boiling inside of her. But not at her half-sister. "I don't know. You're only twelve; you might feel like that's old now, but in reality, you're still just a kid! You shouldn't feel grown up already, and you shouldn't give up! You should still be singing and painting, and laughing with the other kids."
   "You think kids my age laugh?" Violet challenged, her eyes flashing. "I work all day in the orchards. I worry about keeping the roof over our heads and food at our table. I go to school, and then I go to work, and after that I come home and help take care of this house. Now, I get to worry about what happens at the goddamn Reaping. And not just if my name gets called; I worry about whatever kids get hauled off to their deaths! To me, Zoe, that's the part of this that's screwed up, not my fucking childhood. And you know what the worst part is? We can't do anything about it. If we try to fight this, we get blown to smithereens, just like District 13. There's no hope for us, Zo, and there's no way out. That's why I don't sing anymore, and I don't paint either. It's pointless!"
   "I know," Zoe said, wiping a tear out of her eyes. "I wish it were different, Vi, and I wish I could promise you that it gets better."
   "Well don't," Violet sighed. "We both know it doesn't."
   "Maybe that can change," Zoe shrugged, leaning down to kiss Violet's forehead.
   "Yeah," Violet scoffed. "Maybe."
   Zoe offered her a sad smile.
   If only...