「 UNFORGIVING IS THE FLESH • CATHAROS’S REAPING 」 . . . . . ◟੭ reaping day, district 12 catharos’s life was hard. that was the best way he could describe it, and yet such a simple and straightforward word could never possibly suffice as the years he spent suffering in agony. catharos never looked forward to reaping day. it was stupid. while the poor stayed poor, the rich only got richer and stayed inside the luxury of their mansions, pointing and laughing at the children on tv. and for what reason, anyways? entertainment? ridiculous. he would call it what it was: public execution. the slowest, most painful kind. and yet here he was today. he had to be, it was obligation; he was young and poor. but unlike all of the other children in the crowd, he had no one accompanying him. no parents whispering honeyed words of comfort into his ears before the reaping, and no siblings to gladly volunteer in the stead of. there was nothing occupying the space beside him, just the air and other happy, loving families, but this was the fourth time he’s been here and he couldn’t make himself care about any of that anymore. he had no one to call his family, and he never would ever since the day his parents left him in that alley. catharos also knew by now how each reaping day went. he’d sit here, names that weren’t his would be called, tears from mournful family members and friends would spill, he would go back ‘home’ and his life would be the same as it always was. painful, unforgiving, hard. ever since he was orphaned, he thought he would never get the chance to have a full stomach again. that was why he applied for tessera every year as soon as he got the chance to. did it increase his chances of getting picked? yes, but it was worth it. he’d rather eat that grain over those disgusting scraps, and even then the chances of him getting reaped were still favorably slim. a hush fell over the crowd, which meant the announcer was beginning to draw the first name from the reaping bowl. catharos wasn’t paying attention. he was just waiting to be let free and go his unmerry way. one name. it wasn’t his. he didn’t bother to look up from his paws. another name. not his. another name. not his. “catharos!” not—what? his ears twitched. there had to be a second catharos here, there was no way. he stiffened, looking around, but there was nothing except silence. no one stepped up. a cat he had talked to once glanced in his direction with pity, causing his insides to further twist in both irritation and unease. he hated being pitied. “catharos!” they repeated. clearly the announcer hadn’t known how he looked, or else they would have picked him out from the crowd. another reminder of his how unfortunate he had been his whole life. was the universe still laughing at him now? catharos glared up at the announcer with his piercing indigo stare. “i’m here.” his tone was brusque. ‘i’m here, you rich snob’, was what he really wanted to say, but he held his tongue for now. “please come up to the platform!” the announcer’s words sounded too unnervingly sweet for what they meant. he hated people like this. catharos shot them one last glare. he didn’t have the energy to make any snide remarks in response, even if that announcer deserved clearly it—whatever, it’s not like he had the words for it right now to describe what he was feeling either. he made his way over to the platform, his paws heavy. so close to the announcer, he felt an urge stronger than ever to claw that stupid grin off their face. he had to dig his claws into the ground in order to anchor him. he felt sick. this was absurd. this was ridiculous. this was unfair. he didn’t like how loud the silence felt to him. aside from the few glances sent his way as he padded to the platform, there was no soul here no one cared about him enough to acknowledge what he was being subjected to. there were still tears being shed, but they weren’t meant for him; they never were. as he reached the other unfortunate tributes, the world around him simply rolled on like nothing happened. a final name was called. catharos could hardly care less about who they were. he didn’t know them and was sure they had more than enough people mourning them. unlike him, who was unlovable and angry. he was revolting. everything here sucked. today sucked. his life sucked. and finally, closure. wrong closure. “may the odds ever be in your favor!” rang the cheerful voice of that announcer, as though they were simply stating the weather and nothing else. as though there was nothing inhumane about this. as though these five pitiful children standing on the platform weren’t going to die. catharos realized he was one of those pitiful children. no—catharos wanted to live, and he would. he would never be alone as long as he had his one ally. his fervent, ever-burning rage. he would live. even if living was just painful, unforgiving, hard. he would live. . . . . . ◟੭ end of srp
