The Reaping || Reaping Challenge Entry

Hello, THGA!! I’m back with a challenge entry

of my own! It was so hard to decide which OC

to pick for this, but I eventually decided to go

with my D4 male, Paxton Peacebrook!

This is actually just the beginning of an OC

fanfiction I’ve been meaning to write, so if

anyone likes it, maybe I’ll continue it! Young

Finnick is included towards the end of this

blog, and he’d be pretty involved throughout

the story if I continue.

If you take the time to read this, thank you!

I hope you enjoy :)

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Chapter 1: The Reaping

Paxton’s POV

On the morning of my first reaping ceremony, when I was just 12 years old, my mother made me a great big breakfast loaded with fruit, pancakes, eggs, and bacon. She claimed it wasn’t for any particular reason, and that she just felt like making a big feast, but I knew it was so that I could share one last good meal with my family in case I was picked at the reaping. We never discussed it, but that was clearly the reason, seeing as the same thing has happened every reaping day for the last 5 years.

This morning, the morning of the 67th Hunger Games reaping ceremony, I wake up to the smell of bacon wafting into my room. The sun is shining through my window directly into my eyes, making it even more difficult for me to open my eyes and wake up. Waking up early is always a struggle—my father says that I’m like a fancy pants Capitolite because I need my beauty sleep—but waking up on reaping day is even more difficult because there’s a possibility I’ll be chosen for the Games. I’d stay here in bed and sleep through the ceremony if I could, just to avoid it all.

It’s not like I’m not prepared for the Hunger Games. I am prepared. I’ve been preparing at the District 4 training academy ever since I was old enough just in case I get reaped. It was my father’s idea, but I agreed to it just because I wanted to be ready if the worst were to happen. My mother hated the thought of me training with weapons, training to kill, but I told her countless times that it is just a precaution. I will never volunteer.

Well, that’s not true. I would only volunteer if my little brother, Vim, was reaped. I’d take his place in a heartbeat. We look nearly identical, though he looks younger obviously since he’s only 12 years old, but we couldn’t be more different. He’s gentle and sensitive, and I truly can’t imagine him fighting anyone, even if it was to keep himself alive. He wouldn’t be able to handle the arena. Vim has started training at the academy just like me, but weapons scare him. He can’t even think about potentially harming someone without crying.

Of course, he’s at the bottom of his training class, ranking dead last. Honestly, I think he should drop out of the training academy, but he refuses to quit. My brother is a lot of things, but he’s not a quitter.

“Paxton! Breakfast is nearly ready! Get up!” My mother shouts from the kitchen, interrupting my thoughts and forcing me to roll out of bed to face the day.

After pulling on a pair of khaki dress pants and a blue silk button up that used to belong to my father, I make my way to the kitchen and sit in my usual spot. My father and Vim are already sitting down at the dining room table, both drinking glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice, and my mother is finishing up making the pancakes.

Vim is fidgeting in his seat and anxiously looking down at his glass of juice like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. He’s dressed similar to me, wanting to look nice for his first reaping, but his shirt is light green instead of blue, and the buttons aren’t buttoned up correctly. That’s likely a result of rushing to get ready while being nervous.

“Vim,” I say, smiling a little in hopes of easing his mind, “Relax, man. It’s going to be fine. It’s your first year. First years, like, never get picked. Don’t be nervous. Besides, your name is only in there once.”

“I’m not nervous!” He retorts.

I look down at his knee, which is bouncing up and down and shaking the floor, and then back up at his green eyes.

“Mhm. Right,” I reply sarcastically, and Vim stops bouncing his knee while rolling his eyes at me.

“He has every right to be nervous,” my mother says as she puts the pancakes down on the table. I don’t miss the way her hands shake as she sets the plate down. She’s nervous, too. Now she has two children in the reaping.

“I know. I’m just saying he doesn’t need to be worried,” I say, getting up from my seat to help my mom bring the rest of the food over to the table. “His name is in the bowl once. Other kids his age—the poorer ones—they should be more worried than him-“

“Paxton!” My mother scolds. My father gives me a stern look but says nothing.

I set the plates of bacon and eggs down next to each other on the table and slide back into my seat. “I’m just saying,” I sigh, shrugging, “I could have phrased it better, sorry. I just mean, we are fortunate enough to not rely on tesserae. No tesserae, no extra slips in the reaping bowel. Vim and I are lucky that we don’t have to worry about that stuff.”

District 4 is wealthy—though not wealthier than One and Two—but we still have poverty. Several of my classmates have to rely on tesserae to feed their families, and many of those kids go off to the arena if an academy student doesn’t volunteer to take their place. And it’s sick, but I’m comforted by that. Knowing that other kids’ odds are worse than mine makes me feel safer. It brings me comfort knowing that Vim’s odds are better than those of some of his classmates.

“We are very fortunate,” my father states simply, and that ends the conversation about the reaping entirely.

The rest of breakfast goes smoothly, and by the time we finish cleaning up the kitchen it’s time to head to the justice building for the reaping ceremony. My mother and father hold hands as our little family walks together, and Vim and I walk in front of them simply standing side by side. Vim fixed his shirt buttons, but he is actively fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. He’s sweating slightly, too, and for once I don’t think it’s because of the summer heat. It’s actually a rather cool morning.

“Relax. Breathe,” I mutter to him softly. “It’ll all be over in no time, okay? And then we can head back home and just spend the day together. Maybe we can convince Mom to make those cookies you like.”

He nods, but I can tell what I said made no impact on how nervous he is. He won’t stop being nervous until the reaping is over. Hell, he might not stop being nervous until he’s 18 years old and finished with his last reaping.

When we are about five minutes away from where the reaping is held, I see two identical blondes just a few feet in front of me. One has her hair pulled back in what I think is a fishtail braid, and the other has her hair styled in plain waves that cascade down her back. It only takes a second to realize that it’s my best friends, Reva and Aster.

I call out to them, and both girls whip around to look at me with bright smiles. Aster is wearing the braid, and Reva kept things more simple—the usual.

“Pax, you look so handsome!” Aster gushes as she walks up to me, grabbing my face and kissing me on the cheek. She always greets me with a kiss on the cheek, though I wish she’d give me a proper kiss. But that likely won’t ever happen. She doesn’t like me that way.

“And so do you,” I say, and then my cheeks turn bright red. Suddenly, I feel like diving into the ocean and drowning. Or maybe diving off a dock into shallow waters so I can break my neck. Death has to be better than this embarrassment. “I mean, you’re beautiful! Not handsome. You’re very pretty, Aster.”

“She and I look exactly alike, so I’ll take that as a compliment for me, too,” Reva says, smirking as she walks on the other side next to Vim.

“You didn’t give me enough time to compliment you as well,” I say, shaking my head.

“You could have complimented us both in the same breath, but I get it. Aster is more sweet and bubbly, so she’s the favorite. Just like always!” Reva sighs, being overly dramatic on purpose. “You always liked her more than me. Just it it!”

“You’re right,” I sigh, going along with her over dramatic jokes. “Aster is my favorite. And, I hate to say this, but I think you have a right to know… I’ve never liked you. Your dad is paying me to be your friend, Reva. Sorry.”

Reva grabs her chest in fake agony while Aster and Vim giggle at the display.

It’s pretty much always been this way between me and the twins, even when we first met as 6 year olds. Aster and I have always been friendly and genuine with each other, whereas Reva and I always pretend to have a love/hate kind of friendship even though we actually truly care about each other. Aster is comionate and sweet, Reva is hilarious and sarcastic. And I mirror them, so we are a perfect trio.

“It’s a big day for you,” Reva says, shifting her attention to Vim.

“Are you nervous?” Aster asks with a frown.

Vim nods. “Yeah. It’s nerve wracking… but you guys have it worse.”

Reva and Aster have had to apply for tesserae ever since their mother died three years ago. Their father doesn’t make much money, so the loss of their mother’s income really hurt the Fartide family financially as well as emotionally. Even with both girls having jobs, they still struggle. But they refuse help from my family or anyone else in the district.

“Eh, it’s fine,” Reva and Aster say in unison.

“We’ll be okay,” Aster says with a smile.

“And so will you,” Reva adds, ruffling Vim’s curly hair.

Once we reach the town square, Vim and I split off from the twins to go the other boys, but only after both our parents give us each a hug. I walk Vim through the process of getting our fingers pricked, explaining that it’s just to identify us, and then I point out to him where he’s supposed to stand.

“I’ll find you after it’s all done, okay?” I say, grabbing him by the shoulders and bringing him in for a hug. Vim nods against my chest and grabs onto me tightly. I can hear him sniffling a bit, but I refrain from asking him about it. If I ask why he’s crying, even if I already know why, he will just cry more. If I even mention that he’s crying, then he’ll just cry harder.

Vim lets out a big sigh and eventually lets go. Without even looking at me, he makes his way to where the rest of the 12-year-old boys stand, and I move to where the 17-year-old boys stand.

A few minutes later, once everyone is settled, a bright orange Capitol escort waddles onto the stage in her obnoxiously tall heels. She waves to Finnick Odair and the other District 4 victors as she makes her way to the microphone, and then she opens her big mouth to speak.

“Welcome!” She chirps. “Welcome to the reaping ceremony for the 67th annual Hunger Games! I’m so excited! Are you excited?!”

The silence from the crowd is deafening, and it almost makes me laugh. The escort is clearly uncomfortable by how quiet it is, so she continues speaking.

“We will get to the fun part in just a bit, but first we need to watch a very special film from the Capitol!” She beams, clapping her hands together. “President Snow did the voiceover himself! Isn’t that great?”

The video is the same boring speech that’s played every year. War, terrible war, blah blah blah. Uprisings, blah blah blah. Treason, fight to the death, sacrifice… It’s nauseating and repetitive. I tune it out every year.

When I tune back in to what’s going on, the Capitol escort is explaining that she’s going to pick the female tribute first because last year’s escort picked the male tribute first. Apparently she thinks it’s unfair for some reason, as if any of this stuff is even remotely fair to begin with.

I watch as she waddles over to the bowl of girl names on shaky legs, trying not to break her ankles because of those ridiculous shoes, and I hold my breath as she selects the slip of paper she wants from the very top of the pile. She’s smiling as she does this. Someone’s whole life is about to change, likely for the worst, and she’s smiling. It makes me feel physically ill.

The escort quickly makes her way back to the microphone and clears her throat as she peels open the slip of paper.

“Reva Fartide!”

And just like that, my world shatters around me. I whip my head to the side, my eyes desperately searching for Reva and Aster in the sea of girls, and my heart breaks when I see and hear Aster begin to sob as Reva steps into the aisle to walk towards the stage.

She’s moving slowly, and I can see that she’s shaking. The light blue skirt she’s wearing is balled up in her fists, and she’s dragging her boots with each step she takes, prolonging her journey so she can avoid stepping on that dreaded stage.

“Quickly now, dear! We still need to pick the boy,” the escort laughs, but Reva doesn’t move any faster.

When she eventually takes her place on stage next to the escort, I can see that her face is pale, and her blue eyes are wide in horror. I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out what she’s looking at, and it only takes me a second to realize she’s looking at Aster. Aster is kneeling on the ground and sobbing into her hands. The girls around her are rubbing her back and saying things to her, likely something reassuring, but it’s obviously not bringing her any comfort.

I want to do something to help Aster, but what could I possibly do to help in this situation? I can’t take Reva’s place. I can’t save her from this. She’s not prepared like I am. She’s never trained for the Games.

How can I help? What can I do?

“Now for the boys!” The escort announces. She shuffles over to the bowl of boy names, thrusts her hand in, stirs the papers around, and then grabs one.

“Alright, let’s see. The male tribute for District 4 is… Nemo Loen!”

As Nemo makes his way to the stage an idea pops into my head about how I can help Reva, and before I can even think things through and think about the consequences, I push past the other boys in my section and step into the aisle.

“I volunteer as tribute!” I shout.

The crowd begins to murmur, and my heart drops into my stomach when I realize what I just did. I hear my mother scream somewhere behind me, but I’m already moving towards the stage.

The summer sun is making me sweat now even though it’s not overly warm, and I’m scared I may vomit while being broadcast on live television, but I keep a smile on my face. It’s a forced smile, but a smile nonetheless, and the Capitol will pay attention to that. First impressions are important.

When I the section of 12-year-old boys, I catch a glimpse of Vim. He’s crying again, and he looks at me with so much confusion and hurt in his eyes that it almost makes me stop in my tracks. But I don’t stop. I can’t. Not now.

As I climb the stairs to the stage, I notice how closely Finnick Odair is watching me, almost like he’s trying to read my mind. He’s likely going to be my mentor, and I don’t know if that idea comforts me or makes me nervous. Another thing I notice is how Reva is looking at me. Gone is the look of terror. It’s been replaced by rage, and she’s glaring daggers at me.

“What’s your name, darling?” The escort asks, lightly pressing her hand against my back and gently pushing me towards the microphone.

“Paxton Peacebrook,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster up. I’m still smiling, but I’m beginning to wonder if the Capitol can tell it’s fake. Surely they see right through me, right?

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the tributes of District 4: Reva Fartide and Paxton Peacebrook!” The escort cheers, clapping her hands once again before asking us to shake hands.

I stick my hand out to Reva, and she takes it without a second of hesitation. Her grip is tight and slightly shaky, and her blue eyes pierce my own green eyes.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” She seethes under her breath, clearly upset with me.

Before I can respond, two peacekeepers separate us and shove us into two different rooms in the justice building. The door closes behind me, I run to the nearest garbage bin and lose my breakfast as the reality of my decision finally sinks in.

I really messed up.

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Thank you so much for reading! I hope

you enjoyed reading! I don’t usually write

in first person POV, but I wanted my writing

to be like Suzanne Collins’ since she wrote

the trilogy in first person.

If anyone wants me to keep writing, please

let me know! I’m like Tinkerbell, I need

applause and validation to keep going, ha ha.

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