Survivor: The Forty-Seventh Hunger Games

Chapter 11

Turns out I had more forms than I thought! I'm only missing a few.

Rahina Herrington, 15 (D11F)

Life's hard when you're the Devil's child. That never seemed to me to be a fair thing to condemn someone for, since I didn't ask the Devil to be my father. I would think my mother should be the one to blame for having a child with the Devil. I was starting to think that maybe the whole thing was made up, since the only sign of my infernal parentage was being a few shades lighter than the rest of my family. Perhaps the Devil was being wrongfully accused so my mother didn't have to own up to some unsavory activities.

That hardly mattered anymore, since I didn't live with my family. Whatever weird amalgamation of cults they followed decreed that children had to be cared for, even if they were the Devil's, until ten years of age. Then they threw me out to the streets, which seemed a much warmer and more hospitable home. Brock and his wife Mariah were exactly the kind of angels my family talked about but never saw, even if our first meeting was something out of a PSA. Usually if some weird grungy guy stops to talk to a homeless girl, it doesn't end with him giving her a place to stay.

There might have been something to the cursed child thing, since I wasn't a very grateful houseguest. Maybe I thought it was too good to be true and was trying to push until I proved Brock wasn't as patient as he seemed. He'd put up with a lot since I came to stay with him, and he probably knew how much I cared for him, even though I said it wasn't anything. But then, even the nicest, politest kids were surly on Reaping Day. As soon as I got out of bed, everyone started to clear out of my way.

"What are you looking at?" I snapped as some poor sap who happened to pass nearby. I kicked a stone into a gutter as I walked to the Reaping Center. I peevishly resented all the children who were already there. Why are they in my way? I raged to myself, ignoring the fact that they didn't want it any more than I did.

Snapdragon provided a target for all my crabbiness. She represented many things I hated: pretension, the Capitol, rich people, happy people, and frilly dresses. I stewed in the crowd as I waited for her to pick a name.

"Rahina Herrington!" she said, her voice as light and airy as the words were not.

"Yeah?!" I yelled. She jumped and dropped the paper in surprise.

"Ah... yeah," she said. I sucked my teeth in contempt and started stomping my way to the stage. An unfortunate girl who didn't get out of the way in time got jostled aside as I bulled past.

"This must be your first time on television. Is there anything you'd like to say?" she asked after she called the boy to join me. I took the microphone and shouted for all I was worth.

"*!^#(^ # &* %$!"

Aliara Bavier, 18 (D12F)

On Reaping Day, my life was even weirder than normal. It was already weird for a Twelve girl to wake up in the squalid apartment she shared with her girlfriend. It was even weirder when the girlfriend used to be her maid. I didn't think of Zelena that way anymore, of course, but she still ended up doing more housework than me. She said I did it all wrong and I was spoiled. Who does she think she is, calling a girl with a maid spoiled?

"We should get up," I said to Zelena, who was pretending to still be asleep.

"Do we really have to go?" she asked.

"It's gone fine so far," I said. "Just one more year. And what are you worried about? You're old. You're an old maid," I said. Zelena was twenty. Halfway to the grave. But maybe not as close as I was.

"What do you think?" I asked, holding two dresses I'd grabbed before we snuck away to start a romantic new life away from our families. "Romantic" looked a lot like cockroaches in the walls and mold on the ceiling.

"You look sexy in that one. In the other one... you look sexy," Zelena said. Then her face fell, and I jumped in to cheer her up.

"Don't worry. Nothing can happen to me. They only kill one girl a year, right?" I asked.

"Yeah?" Zelena asked, needing clarification.

"If they pick me, that would be two people, since you'd die without me," I said. Jokes aside, I knew for sure I would die if they picked her.

"Besides, if I die, there will be no one here to make messes. What would you do all day?"

"Eat bonbons and watch soap operas," she said, even though we only got one channel on our tiny television: the Games channel. And it only worked about three weeks a year.

"Look at all these people," I said when we got outside. "That's more than I could count even if I was smart. People, people, people. They'd never pick me."

It was easier to pretend I wasn't scared if I pretended Zelena was super scared. I wasn't sure how scared she really was, but she probably wasn't as scared as I was. Maybe two years ago, when her name was in the bowl, but not now. Most people, no matter how much they said they cared about someone else, cared about their own lives most of all. Most people weren't like me.

I was shaking when we got to the processing line, but I played it off like I was just fidgety. Once I got in line, Zelena wouldn't be allowed to go with me any farther. Before I got in, we shared one last kiss. I grabbed her hand and didn't let go until the line swept me forward so far my outstretched arm couldn't hold on any longer. That had been the worst part of the Reaping since Zelena aged out. We could get through anything together, but being alone was my worst nightmare.