December Reaping

Weak sunlight filtered in through the sheet tacked above the window, bathing the room in a sickly yellow light that did little to illuminate it. The room was small and cramped, made even more stifling by the wall to wall posters. Tributes from Hunger Games past stared down at the bed in the center jubilantly, all dressed in their parade best.

On a normal day, the bed’s occupant would have still been asleep, but this day he was staring very determinedly into a dirty mirror propped onto his knees. Both hands were tangled in his long, blonde hair, twisting it into an outrageous style that might have been acceptable in the Capitol.

Most kids dreaded the Reaping. December was not one of those kids.

He loved the parades, the interviews, the arenas. Bree, his best friend, often told him that he was born in the wrong district. That was probably true, for no one in District 10 had as much enthusiasm for it as December.

Besides, they were still being punished for the uprising. Didn’t everyone see that it was better this way?

Once his hair looked satisfactory, December slipped from the bed and smoothed out his tunic. It was an obnoxious yellow with a rip in the side that he’d expertly covered with a red sash.

He stifled a yawn as he left the room and padded down the hall to the warm little kitchen. Fern was already awake, as usual, busy at work with breakfast. Sage sat at the table, mumbling a little “hello” when December entered. Next to him was a rare sight, his mother, actually present at breakfast. She balanced little Pip on her lap, coaxing some eggs into his mouth.

Fern was the only one who greeted December properly. She turned away from the stove with a smile and say, “Morning, December. You’re looking good today.”

“You really think so?” December asked, tossing his head as he took his place at the table.
Fern nodded and set a plate of eggs out in front of December. They had eggs most every morning since they kept their own chickens. December had grown to hate eggs, but he ate them anyway with an air of self pity. Other families had real livestock and things like bacon and sausage for breakfast.  

As he forced down the eggs, he became acutely aware that all eyes were on him. He was the only one eligible to be Reaped, no doubt they were all thinking about it. “It won’t be me,” he blurted out after a moment, startling Sage who looked away pointedly. “I’ve never won anything in my life.”

His mother fixed him with a withering glare. “It’s not a game.”

“Funny, I thought it was, judging by the title,” December pressed, feeling rebellious, “Tributes have it easy anyway, they get to eat whatever they like for breakfast.” He poked at his listless eggs for emphasis.

The air in the room became stifling. “Let’s talk about something else,” Fern said quickly, her voice falsely cheerful.

“But really, Fern,” December insisted, “What if I won? We would--”

His mother’s fist came down on the table and Pip squeaked.  “No, dammit, December, you wouldn’t last five minutes in there and you know it!”

Hot blood rose to December’s cheeks, coloring his face all the way up to the roots of his hair. He sprang from the table, nearly knocking the chair over in the process. Vaguely, he heard Fern say his name, but he would have none of it. Without looking back he stormed from the room and into his own, slamming the door behind him for good measure. He threw himself onto the bed and lay there for several moments, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. Her words had stung, but he knew them to be untrue.

December didn't see his family again until the reaping.

It wasn’t the first time he’d gone alone. By now he knew exactly what to do. After checking in he fell into line next to some boys who probably whispered something behind his back. December had become immune to that long ago. Their conversation buzzed in the background as he leaned over to get a good look at the girl’s side.

Bree stood at the end of her row, rocking on her heels and fiddling with her ginger locks. She turned to wave at December and he waved back, desperately hoping that she wouldn’t be picked.  Out of all the kids in the District, Bree was his only friend.

And he would really hate to be the one to kill her.

Everyone’s attention shifted to the stage as Tawnie, the escort, tottered out. She was a portly woman with wild, blue hair and a smile too wide for her face. But her dress was lovely as always. Today it was a garish red with loud green stripes down the back. The shoes were interesting, a gold heel that was hard to describe as anything other than bizarre.

“Welcome, District 10, to the annual reaping ceremony!”

A smattering of unenthusiastic applause followed. In order to not appear a psycho maniac (as he had certainly been accused of being once or twice), December clapped as lamely as the rest. But only then did he notice how badly his hands were shaking. He swallowed and told himself not to be nervous.

He would win.

The ceremony proceeded as usual with the playing of that tired old video and quite a bit of talking. And then, when it was all over and done with, Tawnie stepped up to the podium and stuck her fat little hand in the bowl of names.

She called out the name of a girl who, thankfully, was not Bree and the poor girl stumbled up, looking for all the world like a deer in the headlights. December didn't blame her. He felt a little bad for her, but remembered that he couldn't, not anymore. Now she was an enemy.

“Now for the boys,” Tawnie said, dipping her hand back into the bowl. But before a name could be pulled, December willed his hand into the air, slowly, dramatically.

“I volunteer!” he called out, grinning as everyone turned to look at him. He did not look back at anyone as he made his way to the stage. The world fell silent in the time it took him to weave through the crowds to the stage. Even Tawnie looked a little shocked at his outburst.

She recovered quickly as December clambered up the steps. “And you would be?” she asked sweetly.

“December Cropperwood,” he said, faltering a little as he looked out over the crowd.

“We certainly haven't had a volunteer in some time,” Tawnie said conversationally, turning to the crowd who just stared back in horror. December didn’t want to look too hard, for he knew his family wouldn’t be pleased about his spur of the moment decision.

“Alright, shake hands you two.” Tawnie took a step back and gestured to the girl on stage who watched December with wide eyes. He smiled as he shook the girl's hand. She just kept on staring.

He knew the whole thing looked kind of silly. Usually when people from the lesser districts volunteered, it was for some noble cause. They were saving a friend or a sibling, not just... volunteering because they could.

Everything flew by in a blur after that. Before he knew it, December found himself in a small, plain holding room waiting for his family to show up. If they were going to show up. Fern would for sure, but he didn’t know about his mother. Either way it was going to be very awkward with lots of crying. But December was not a baby anymore. He was 15 years old and he knew this was his only shot at ever getting out of District 10.

He folded his lanky frame into a chair in the corner and closed his eyes for a long moment. Of course he was excited to be finally going to the Capitol, but… that also meant he could possibly die. But he had a one in twenty four shot of winning, which was a better chance than he had here at home. Here he had a zero percent chance of becoming anything more than a farmer or even… a whore like his mother.

The old wooden door creaked open and Bree walked in, head bowed. Her glossy auburn hair fell over her eyes and her shoulders shook violently. “Why?” she whispered, just barely looking up.

December hesitated. Bree of all people would have to understand, but he felt silly telling her just now, when she was so upset. Instead, he took a step forward and hugged her. She leaned into him and snaked her arms around his waist, quivering against him.

“I had to, alright? I'm sorry...” It sounded weak, but he found he couldn't say much else because a lump had begun to form in his throat.

And she just buried her head in his shoulder and they were silent until the peacekeeper came in to pull them apart.

“Take this,” Bree whispered as she slipped the red silk flower from her hair. She pressed it into his palms as a peacekeeper tugged at her elbow. December would never forget the despair in her eyes.

Next came his family.

Fern, Sage, and his mother slipped into the tiny room, stifling December and making him feel very small in the corner. He tried, to speak, tried to say anything that might justify his bizarre choice, but he cried instead.

As Fern held him against her chest, he swore this would be the last time he cried over the games.