District Four: A Short Story

When she was three years old, she was terrified of the water that surrounded her home. The same year, she was taught that water was her best-friend. The man that took the young girl in put the small, young hand in the water and together they communicated with the ripples and waves. The hands and the water mimicked the movement of one another. They flowed in sync and that was when she knew that the water would never hurt her. The fear was gone. In district four, the safe feeling that water brought to the child was shared by most everyone. Many people in the district worked on or in the ever-changing water and it wasn’t as much the water as it was the constant consciousness of change that made district four a decent competitor in the vicious hunger games.
Unlike the other career districts, district four does not have a training center that teaches children that the world is a parade of death and this is simply because district four revolves around patience, awareness and survival. To get out of a
riptide, one must follow the current.
On reaping day, the predominantly crowded seashore was empty.
The sea was calm and quiet. People were preparing food and dressing up to celebrate their child surviving the reaping for another year. For two families, they were getting ready for a celebration that would not come to pass. At least one family in district four would lose their child forever. The child that comes back will not be the child that left, either. That child will be consumed by fame and guilt mercilessly distributed by the capitol. The weeks prior to reaping day, children ages twelve to eighteen can enter their names in the reaping bowl more times than necessary in exchange for tesserae, a years worth supply of grain and oil for a single person. Though one can only claim tesserae once per family member, reaping entries carry over to the next year. Tesserae is not as common in districts one, two and four but there are a few that enter so that they have a greater chance in their name being
drawn. No one dared be late in fear of the brutal peacekeepers. Willow walked alone in the crowd of families slowly and quietly walking toward the square outside of the justice building in an ivory sundress with baby blue embroidery. The children began to separate from their parents and siblings that were either too old or too young to participate in the games once they had reached the center of town so that they may go through registration. Those that did not go to registration would be whipped or killed in disobedience of the almighty capitol. Families collected in the courtyard and the scene was actually quite beautiful. The square had perfectly cut green grass, flowers and to the right of the massive building, the sea had a gloomy farewell of it’s own. A colorful, cosmetically altered woman stood on the stage with a microphone and two glass bowls half full of small white slips of paper. Her voice babbled about the district thirteen rebellion and the purpose of the games. Following the traditional speech, the district escort proudly chirps, “Ladies first!”. Her hand lingered in the bowl to heighten the suspense for viewers from the capitol and she continued to play with the slips for long, agonizing seconds. As she picked the small piece of paper from the bowl, many held their breath and a throaty ehhem gave way to “Willow Oralee”. The beautiful girl in the ivory sundress stepped up to the stage with a blank look but terror in her eyes. No one was going to volunteer for a girl with no family. There was no point in losing someone loved for someone who wouldn’t be missed. It was then that the boys held their breath as the escort paraded around the stage to the bowl of boys names but instead of putting her hand in the bowl, she walks back over to the microphone. The crowd and the audience had no reaction to the girl and it wasn’t as fun to have a blank face. In order to play up the scene to the audience, the bright escort grabbed Willow’s arm. “Why not have the girl choose for a change, yeah?” the escort grinned. They walked over to the bowl and the girl reached her hand in, blinking half seconds longer than normal. She grabbed a slip and held it out to the woman standing by her. “Oh, no dear. You read it.” pushing her toward the microphone, she still had her by the arm and she clapped three times seeing the name on the slip over the sixteen year old girl’s shoulder. Willow’s face did not change and her voice did not waver despite the obvious discomfort, “Leith Morgan”. As a dirty-blonde boy walked toward the stage, his jaw was tight and his eyes shifted. This caused the district escort to smile. “Ladies and gentleman, your tributes Willow Oralee and Leith Morgan!” She turned. “Shake hands, you two.” Willow stuck her hand out and her eyes were apologetic.