The reaping day. Simply having the two words in the same sentence brought chills down my spine. Today was the day that two unfortunate souls would be taken away for a sickening arena, and although my hopes were high on having siblings spared, I knew the chances of me not being taken away this year were very slim.
The sun had not even risen by the time I woke up, and I knew this because I slept on the fields today. I haven’t a problem with sleeping in the house, however that was not the problem. In fact, I probably dozed off yesterday evening while working on the fields. I took this time to my advantage, to prepare myself for the nearing day. Not to mention the crowds, too. Time, of course, doesn’t seem to matter for my younger siblings, or to my parents to this point anymore. As for my older brothers and sisters, they decided that life on the farm wasn’t meant for them and decided to just slack off. Their Slaking blood is kicking in, there is no doubt about that.
I rise to my feet and wipe the dirt off my legs, not that I would get much of a result from that. My paws were caked with dirt, and it would only layer my fur with more filth. As I left the fields and made way for my home, a mental note was made to shower before waking the rest of the family up for the reaping day. I would not want them to loaf around while we have our names taken out, and then who knows what will happen?
Once I approach the door, I make no hesitation in entering the abode. Almost immediately upon opening the door, I have a crowd of young, eager brothers and sisters waiting for me already. So much for the slakoths being slow; I was never this hyped up on a reaping day during my childhood.
The mob of siblings circles around me, and I am forced to close the door. The home was surprisingly more active than any other. “Why are you all up so early?” I ask, my eyes scanning the household thoroughly, ignoring the children that were clinging to me. To the far left of the home were the bedrooms. The beds were simply piled fabrics and furs made into sleeping rolls. As for decorations, there were scarce. Flowers and herbs hung from the bedroom ceiling for medication and superstitious purposes. The bedroom was heavily occupied by the majority of my sisters, as they were grooming each other and a bunch of other feminine things, like braiding flowers in your hair.
The center of my home was the living room. It’s not much of a sight, due to the result of many temper tantrums from siblings. The seats used to be couches surrounding the fireplace (which is now simply a pile of wood in the corner), but it was destroyed from multiple Vigoroth tantrums, and all that was left was the cushions and of course, couch debris. Debris from furniture that was in bad shape was given to the majority of the males as toys. When I was a little Vigoroth, I had accidentally broken a window during a temper tantrum.
OOC: Warning: this is a flashback. I don’t want to confuse you guys, haha.
My father gave me the shards and wanted me to fix the window. I didn’t know how to fix the window, so I made silly contraptions with little to no purpose. With one glass shard and a few strands of rope, I made a necklace for my mother. With the rest of the glass shards, I managed to create a glass ornament. As I remember the ornament so clearly, I realize how horrible I was with my hands. The ornament was simply a bird pokemon - I believe I tried to make a Pidgey - and when I presented it to my father, he loved it. He loved it so much, that he sold it. He sold it to the nearest bakery, and they gave him a few slices of bread in return. The act was not selfish, as I remember him giving me the biggest slice and telling me, “If you can give us three slices of bread with a tiny ornament, I wonder what else you can get with the rest of the rubble lying around the place?” Although I was flattered, I decided to stay on the path of a farmer. To do what I love was one thing, but to do what I need to do to survive was another. I let my younger brothers make things now.
OOC: Flashback over. ^^
Some of my younger brothers were tying ropes together with chunks of wood, and then proudly showing it to my father. My dad was sitting besides them, showing them how to make handy tools. Although his eyes portrayed an unimaginable amount of happiness around the little ones, I knew he was feeling greatly upset about today. Reminiscing this much has gotten me to forget about what today was, and I make way for the kitchen, shaking the unbelievable amount of children off of me.
“Lyven, today is the day! Do you think we’re going to get picked?!” one of my sisters that I knocked off asked me. With that question came more and more. From the kitchen my mother was making breakfast, which, according to the delicious aroma, was some sort of stew. “Now, now,” she said in that soft tone of her’s, “let’s not talk about the reaping day. We should be grateful that no one from our family has been taken away.”
I agree with her by nodding my head towards the children, but I know that on this day, something is going to change. Deliberately changing the subject, I approach my mother; a slaking just like my father, but because of her gentle voice and calm attitude, you would expect some other pokemon. “Mother,” I begin, as if today was like any other day, “May I use the shower?” She nods in response, eyes glued to the food she was preparing.
Literally hopping all the way to the rest room, which was simply a private room with a (thankfully) functioning toilet and a pond serving as a bath. The shower was removed because my mother and father couldn’t bathe without having their head rip the entire neck of the shower off. To avoid flooding the house, it was taken off.
I take a bath quickly, having enough time to make myself presentable in front of cameras if I so happen to be picked, but not long for the rest of the family to grow impatient.
After everyone is dressed, groomed, and prettied, we all attend breakfast. As an awkward silence looms upon us, I continue to eat tentatively. The quiet atmosphere grows unbearable, and I manage to ask a question. “If one of us happen to be selected,” I begin carefully, “what would you do?” The question was directed towards my parents at the end of the table, who paused at hearing this. My siblings did not hesitate to answer it, anyways.
“I bet I’m going to be tribute this year,” one of my brothers said proudly. “No you will not! And none of you will!” I heard my mother boom, losing her cool at last. The outburst was so sudden that even Father jumped in his seat, almost spilling the soup. I fumbled for the spoon that fell in my bowl.
As an excuse to leave the table, I quickly slurped up my breakfast without my spoon and left for outside. Everyone was still recovering from my mother’s yelling, and I don’t blame them. Being a parent in these times must be difficult. Having your child whisked away for an all out battle to the death…
~~
I remained outside on the porch for the next hour until day finally caught on. Townsfolk were already leaving their homes. Whether I was going to be picked or not, I felt as light as a Swablu’s puffy body. My heart felt like it had plummeted into my stomach, and that I was ready to hurl. Carefully, I approach the wooden door again. This time, before my paw even touched the handle did it fling my way. Just in the nick of time did I manage to leap out of the door’s way.
My sisters were the first to leave the household, hair tufts well groomed. They held hands and skipped in sync, singing as if today was going to be a great day. Yeah, maybe for them. The thought that one of us were going to be taken away to the Hunger Games still frightened me. As my family members emptied out of the home, I followed in back, keeping my view down. This year was my last to be picked for the Hunger Games, and thank Arceus and others for that. One way I don’t want to spend my last years as a young adult mauling the eyes out of some innocent pokemon from another district.
When we finally arrive, and my parents depart into the crowd of anxious watchers, giving us final hugs. As we march in the line of possible tributes, my sisters and brothers break off into different parts of the crowd. I find myself in the group of Pokemon appearing to be around my age. Their expressions were all the same. Tense. Frightened. Worried.
The stage loomed over the crowd ominously. The orbs rested, stuffed with neatly folded names. Everyone was trying their best to see how many times they got picked, but why did it matter anymore at this point, I wondered. From that point on I didn’t pay much attention to most of the rambling. I was eager for this to be done and over with. My foot tapped impatiently as the Capitol anthem blared, and most other conversation the announcer went on about was drowned out from my mind.
Tributes. Tributes. Tributes.
“And now it is time to pick one courageous boy… and one brave girl.” The announcer, who I didn’t pay much attention to, continued to narrate into the microphone, leaving the audience bursting with suspense. It was soon the time we were all waiting for.
Her paw plunged into the first orb, being the male’s.
…
"We have chosen our male tribute…
“Lyved Valeng.”
My eyes widened in disbelief as my own name was announced on the microphone. Every part of me wanted to run off, but seeing that I had this gut feeling all today left me with no choice but to step on the stage. All eyes were on me, whether I wanted them or not, as I proceeded up the steps carefully.
Before I was beckoned to sit down on the male tribute seat, the announcer asked for any possible volunteers. I looked down on the crowd, and knowing that this was all being aired, kept silent and did nothing but sit and look strong. “None? Now then… onto our lovely female tribute…~”
OOC: I’m going to leave it at that for the time being, in case anyone is willing to be the female tribute of District 10. Gonna edit for spell check and grammar check.