Anonymous

Reaping

The reaping is today. It's a foreign concept to me, but I'm not the only one who is confused. It seems to be new to everyone.

It's been nearly a week since the initial announcement. I've stolen a few bolts of fabric and hidden them in the ruins of the abandoned part of the district, to help myself keep warm at night. No one really goes there, as the air is smoky and the land dangerous. But I'm agile and careful, so I hide beneath whatever I can during the day and look for food and supplies at night. If I'm to escape this place, I'll need supplies.

But there's commotion nearby, and sheer curiosity pulls me out from my hiding place and towards the crowds. They're pushing towards somewhere, surging forward like waves.

Where? I don't know, but I don't want to get involved. I turn to leave, heading back towards the abandoned buildings. I can't go to the ruins during the day, I'll be seen. Now I'll have to hide until dark. I shouldn't have come out for this. Stupid!

Someone grabs my arm, and I twist around to see myself face to face with a peacekeeper. He orders me to go to the town square, and gives me a shove in that direction.

I don't want to go, but the peacekeeper scares me. The bulletproof armor, the gun on his hip. My feet are moving without my permission, taking me in the right direction.

There's a girl next to me with a yellow headband, who looks a few years older. Her face is stony, the bright headband in sharp contrast to the mood of the crowd. But maybe she knows what's going on.

I try to walk fast enough to keep up with her, leaning forward to speak. "What's going on?" I whisper, before dropping my gaze to the ground. I don't want to attract more attention to myself than necessary.

The girl whips her head around before settling her eyes on me. "We have to go to the square," she mutters, before turning. Her dark hair falling over her shoulders is the last I see of her before she sweeps away from me.

Extremely helpful.

When we reach the square, we're corralled into lines and left to wait. I can't see what's going on ahead, only that there are some type of pens set up and people are filing into them.

The line inches forward, and after a long time, I'm at a table. I'm signed in, and I remember that I'm registered as Theresa Linen, a name Mrs. Tallwood made up on the spot. But now they'll know who I am, and I'll surely be sent back to the children's home. Punished for running away and stealing. I don't want to go back there. I need to leave, should have left days ago. I didn't need supplies, I could have managed. And now it's too late, I'm being guided to one of the pens and left there to wait.

I lose track of time, the still sun my only guide. It seems like it's been hours when Mayor Selvage steps up to the podium and begins to talk. He introduces himself- as if we didn't know him- and welcomes us to this "reaping". Confusion spreads, but he quiets us before playing a video.

"War, terrible war." Flashes of skulls laying in the dirt, men with gas masks standing in front if flames. "Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land." Dirty children in the ruins. A lone woman walking. "Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained." Fighting, explosions, weapons everywhere. It looks staged and heavily edited.

"And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again." Children play in fresh fields, happy parents picking them up and spinning them around. It's an entirely different scene than the carnage a few seconds ago.

"And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor bathed in riches, would survive as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future." Determined adolescents holding weapons stand on pedestals, music playing in the background.

A woman approaches the stage, with coral pink hair, matching jewelry, and a yellow dress. I'm too far away to see her clearly, but the microphone she has enables us to hear what she says. Two glass bowls filled with slips of paper are rolled on the stage after her.

"It's a privilege to be here today," she says. "I'm Lucilla Alsteed, and I'm District Eight's escort." She beams at us. "It's my job to make sure our two tributes know what to do and where to be!" Another smile. "One boy and one girl will be picked from each bowl here," she says, gesturing to them. "And then, if you would like, you may volunteer to take their places once they've been introduced. If your name is called, please come up to the stage." She pauses for a breath. "All the names of every girl and boy ages twelve to eighteen have been put in here. Once for the twelves, twice for the thirteens, and so on. Ladies first!"

And before the crowd has a chance to react, she plucks out a name and reads it off. "Theresa Linen!"

You're supposed to go up to the stage if your name is called. But Theresa Linen isn't my name. I don't know my name, but it isn't Theresa Linen. I don't move. No one knows me, either, so everyone else is glancing around, trying to figure out who Theresa Linen is. But she doesn't exist.

A peacekeeper is consulting with the people at the check-in tables. And then a few of them begin to push their ways through the pens, coming closer.

I can't run. They'll know me immediately as the girl who didn't come up to the stage, so I keep a blank look on my face, trying to appear bored. It doesn't work. One of them starts to pull me out of the pen.

"I'm not Theresa Linen," I tell them, but they don't listen. I can tell that not a single person here believes me. I end up standing next to Lucilla on the stage, with a peacekeeper to my left. I can't escape.

Lucilla forces a smile before pulling out a boy's name. I don't hear it, and I don't care. I have to get out of here. I could yell for help, but who would help me? I've been on my own since I woke up here. The boy comes up to the stage.

"I'm not Theresa-" I try to say, but Lucilla shoots me a killer look. The Treaty of Treason begins, Mayor Selvage residing in a monotone. "I'm not Theresa Linen," I say again. She ignores me. I repeat myself, again and again until one of the peacekeepers puts a hand on my shoulder and steers me into the Justice Building before the speech is over.

I'm ushered into a small room set up like a sitting room, with a couch and a few chairs in it. I hear the click of a lock behind me, and I know I'm trapped. The reality of my situation is sinking in. They can do whatever they want to me now. I'll never escape this district, never figure out why I don't remember anything. I'll die in this tournament, under a false name and as a person who doesn't exist.

"I'm not Theresa Linen!" I scream, but if there's anyone to hear me, they aren't listening. "I'm not Theresa Linen!"