herp derp still needs a name
Chapter One
The Reaping

Reaping day is upon them. There isn’t a soul in the nation that is unaware of what awaits, regardless of how young, regardless of class and creed. On this day 24 children will be sent to war, simply as an exercise of power — a reminder of what can be done. No one smiles on reaping day, and no one speaks. Not even babies cry during the ominous hour; all is silent, seemingly in salute of the souls that would soon depart on their last weeks of life — but the silence is born of hatred, malice, the blood of a people oppressed.

“You’ll be fine,” a woman tells her son as she buttons his shirt. The year before his twin brother had been reaped and his death publicized. Since then, the lumbering single mother and her remaining son have lived in anxiety. Surely, they won’t take him, too. The odds are just too stacked. She had lost one son, she can’t lose another. She won’t lose another. With shaking hands, she presses a nervous smile onto her lips. “After this year, you can’t be reaped.”

The son, born Bang Yongguk, only nods as he wears a strong face. The death of his brother took him hard, his mother noticed; he hasn’t been the same since. Neither of them have. They can still remember the way he died, strung up like an animal and ripped to pieces by the predators that had once been children. The games are sick and twisted, but the peasants are helpless to stop them.

Yongguk is kind and calm, handsome and strong. He’s the very best District 7 has to offer, as he knows how to handle axes better than anyone else. But, Yongguk’s kindness is a fault that has his name in the drawing more than he has admitted out loud. All around him, children have lost their parents in the forests and they must be provided for, after all. Even if he traded his life away for every ration he took for their survival, Yongguk knows it will be worth it. Yongguk also knows he will  be selected. Their district is large, but his name is entered more than thirty times.

Yongguk knows he will be sent to the capitol, but he can’t think beyond that. Killing is wrong; he won’t become a monster. In a few weeks time, he will be dead — and, truthfully, he is okay with that. Kissing his mother’s forehead and squeezing her tight he says goodbye without words. Today will be the last day he ever sees her, and he can only hope she can move on without a husband and without her sons. He wants to win for her, but there’s nothing worth killing another human being over.

And it is time to go.

The young man, only just 18, moves stiffly out of their tiny cottage. The way his mother tells it, his father built it with his own two hands in a brighter time. It’s hard to imagine a smiling colony of people when now everyone is worked to their bones, souls withering with ever lifeless swing of an axe or slice of a saw — but it’s a nice thought. His home is large, filled with many people, but none of them are well off. Everyone is starving. Even Yongguk who works enough for three men hasn’t eaten in two days, and he prays his stomach doesn’t rumble when he stands before the stage.

Normally, their district is filled with the soft murmur of life: the footsteps of children, and the quiet talk of bartering between the older population — but today it’s quiet. There are foot steps, but they’re pounding ones, playing the tune of a march that Yongguk would rather not be a part of. The girl he’s been flirting with for the past three years walks beside him, but she doesn’t look pretty in this moment. Her usually warm and tanned face looks pale, and he can see the tears the fall silently from her eyes. Her calloused hands are clenched tight and her dress is too tight for the muscles she’s gained over the past year. She’s a great girl; Yongguk’s favorite, also kind, also hardworking — he would have married her, but his fate is sealed.

She looks at him with large green eyes that are tinged with red, puffed up with inflamed tear ducts and he cannot comfort her. In that moment he says without words, this is the end of them, and the lump in bobs.

This is what reaping day represents — the destruction of all things beautiful.

Everyone is dressed in their best clothes, or, rather, the kids that have “best” clothes are dressed in them. Others are still wearing flannel and stained pants because they have nothing else. The peacekeepers stand on the edges of the crowd, directing the traffic toward the sign in tables in stark white. White represents purity, and Yongguk can’t remember the last time he’s seen someone deserving of the color wear it.

“Keep moving,” a man demands, jabbing the of a rifle into his shoulder blades when he’s stopped to stare. Yongguk moves, but eyes remain, bright — not yet broken by the efforts of the capitol. He is unafraid. He will be a tribute who is not afraid. He will not bend to their sick entertainment. Yongguk will be different.

His blood is taken and he is pushed into a line. There are 7 rows in total, each containing 12 children between ages 12 and 18. Nearly a hundred souls bear the risk of being chosen, and the tension is high. Yongguk’s muscles are relaxed, though. His thick lips aren’t quivering and tears don’t threaten to spill. He stands straight, broad shoulders at full attention. He isn’t scared because he knows the outcome already; Yongguk has always known the outcome.

“Song Jieun.”

First, a girl is chosen — one that Yongguk only vaguely knows. She’s the daughter of the stain maker and  the crowd separated from her like she’s a diseased animal immediately. She’s thin, with long black hair and fringe bangs. She doesn’t work like the girl Yongguk fancies, and her death is inevitable. Knowing this, she bursts into tears and begs not to be taken. The peacekeepers drag her onto stage where she sinks to her knees. Still, no one makes a sound beyond the weeping of a girl who is set to die.

“Bang Yongguk.”

Beside him, his would be romance gasps and he hears his mother wail in the distance. Yongguk knew this would happen. He knew it, but his heart races. The crowd parts for him with sad eyes and he moves forward on his own. He doesn’t cry, only standing with his hands clenched tightly into fists as he assumes his spot beside Jieun. He’ll do his best to make sure she dies gently at the very least, he thinks as the wraps up the ceremonial speeches.

“Is there anything the tributes would like to say?” the capitol native with flaming red hair that reminds Yongguk of shrubs asks and he can’t help but smile.

A microphone is shoved in his face and his smile grows.

“Let the games begin.”

With his fists closed tight, he has become a tribute.