chrystie's reaping - thgrp r13

Instructions

Chrystie clutched her woven clover tightly, as if it were her lifeline and not some trinket, the july sun beating down on her. She didn't get reaped last year. She wouldn't get reaped this year, either (/I hope/). Even as a child, she saw the pitying glances her parents cast outside, always towards a dark house, their child sent away. Surely this year that wouldn't be them (/would it?/). There couldn't be any way she was called. She didn't take any tessarae, so there were only two slips of paper. Besides, she had all her lucky charms in her bag. A wishbone, a small wooden horseshoe, the woven four leafed clover she clutched at so tightly... Chrystie hardly noticed the Capitol cat onstage, their bright, bluish fur and floral perfume sticking out like a sore thumb. They droned on for what seemed like hours, the typical speech. "...but the Capitol arose to conquer the rebels, and so gave rise to the Hunger Games..." Chrystie hardly noticed as the names began to be called. "First...Astrid Ahmadi!" "Hearth [author note: idk]!" "Quilt [idk]!" "Silk Needlen!" Silk. The cat across the street. She was only twelve... whispers echoed through the plaza. "Someone has to volunteer for her...right?" "They can't put her in there!" "One slip...out of thousands..." Before Chrystie could get out of her shock, the next name was called, clear and bright, too pleasant for the occaision. "Finally, Chrysanthemum Ivyer!" /w-what?/ no, no. this couldn't be happening. this was her second year! she would've been ready by her last, maybe, or never but this couldn't be happening. she had a family, a life, lucky tokens. surely someone would volunteer? Her legs shook as she climbed the steps to the podium. Chrystie's heart raced, the shawl, barely noticable before, suddenly much too tight. She had to get out of here but she couldn't. running was an immediate death sentence. no, best to play along and gamble for the thin chance of survival she had. The Capitol cat simply smiled broadly and placed a paw on her back. "Here are our tributes for the 13th annual Hunger Games! May the odds be /ever/ in your favor!" Chrystie stands stock still, frozen on the stage, recoiling slightly at their heavy scent and artificial touch. /no one volunteered.../ her parents watch, tearful, petrified. perhaps it shouldn't have come as a shock that no one did. no one was that close to her except her parents, who were too old to volunteer. she was friends with everyone at school, but yet no one is willing enough to d!e. she would d!e there, probably. her last moments broadcast to the known world, her parents watching in horror. no, that couldn't happen. she'd survive. she'd find a way back to her family, in the victor's village, in luxury. Chrysanthemum Ivyer would win. but at what cost? no one truly is prepared for the bIoodbath of the arena, after all.