District Six Reaping - Nova Green and Benji Star

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For once, District Six is silent.  The usual rattle of machines, the noise of the trains; everything has shut down.  It’s like the entire district is holding its breath in anticipation of what is to come that morning. Or afternoon. It's hard to tell. Today, two children will go to their deaths.  It has been so long since there had been a victor from Six that the people no longer dare hope for anything more than their children escaping the bloodbath or (if they are lucky) making it into the final twelve.

The last citizens shuffle into the square in front of the Justice Building, a huge space lined with walls of grey stone that matched the cladding of the huge building.  In fact, it matches the whole district; the grey clouds that seem to hang low over the landscape fairly permanently, the dull paving stones that cover the ground, the faces of the silent crowd in front of the stage.

Even the white uniforms of the Peacekeepers seem a little off colour.  Maybe they are, or maybe the lack of hope in the people is simply leeching the colour out of their world.

The mayor shuffles onto the stage, feeling the eyes of the crowd fix on him with a dull resignation.  Every year is worse than the last, as the list of fallen tributes to the Capitol lengthens. He remembers them all, every child that has gone away, never to return.  The list he keeps, along with their photographs, is his own private rebellion against the Capitol.  He has no doubt that today two more names will be added to that list, two more families to comfort.

He grips the sides of the podium and wills his hands to stop shaking.

“People of District Six, today we do what we must to atone for the sins of our forefathers.  Tributes, whoever you are, we support you, and we love you.  May you be prospered.”

He bows his head for a second, a silent salute to the children he is sending to their deaths. District Six observe the silence, heads bowed, hands clenched in pain in front of them. The moment hangs heavy over the square; today, all over Panem, deaths are being decided.

It’s rudely interrupted by the arrival of the Capitol escort, a tall woman who calls herself Tatiana.  It’s not her real name, but it’s more exciting than Rose (what her parents were thinking when they came up with that, she can’t even guess), and it sounds lovely when she hears it being announced, a little after she has twirled onto the stage. 

She gives the dull looking mayor a poke with one long bejewelled fingernail and he moves off to one side, looking as grey and depressing as the rest of the district.  This year she’s dressed in bright canary yellow. Its nothing to do with the district, more for her own benefit. She's been told that yellow is her colour. Plus, it makes her stand out against the dreadfully bland scenery around here.  Even her lipstick is yellow, and it makes her look slightly jaundiced.

“Good morning District Six!” she trills, trying vainly to get a spark out of the people.  There’s no response, just a mass of tired and defeated eyes staring back at her.  It looks like they’re finally learning how to be submissive, she thinks, vaguely remembering gossip of rebellions in the past.  But honestly, would it kill them to smile or clap, just once?  She makes a mental note to ask for a transfer into one of the more lively districts; she’s heard the Four is rather pleasant at this time of the year, and the beach parties are almost legendary.

“So, let’s get started, shall we?” 

More silence; she feels like she’s talking to herself, then remembers the audiences in the Capitol and decides to address the cameras, rather than the crowd.  She gets through the speech outlining the origins of the Games, struggling not to yawn.  She shakes her head at the crowd as she gets to the part about how the districts rose up, as if it’s the fault of the people in front of her.

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