SPIETATO

LIVESTOCK

The only way to describe the way everything is; infuriating.

Everyone goes about their usual day as if we weren't about to be picked by chance to be thrown into a death match. This is my fifth year of being entered, my younger brother, Matthew's second year, and my older brother, Brock, has made it out, him being 19 now. My parents have been acting as if everything was right with the world, but it's obvious they are panicking behind closed doors.

The only person I know who was openly bitter and angry about the games is my grandmother. She had never hidden her feeling, not since my uncle Galen was chosen and killed in the ring. He was 17 and my dad was 19, so dad couldn't volunteer for him.

I am glad that I'm almost done, but I'm worried for Matthew. He still has a lot of time left in the line up. 

I sigh as I walk down the sidewalk lazily toward the reaping platform. They always set it up the day before it occurs. I stop and watch as a multitude of peacemakers move lines and tables around, organizing and decorating with streamers and a long pathway leading to the platform. The sun sets as they work, filling the sky with beautiful yellows, oranges and reds.

This death draw...these games...they aren't about punishing us anymore, they are about the Capitol wanting entertainment. About wanting to make us suffer for something generations before us did. I just hope me and my brother aren't chosen.

I shake my head and sigh heavily at the platform before turning around and heading home. I was at the market earlier, helping sale a bunch of different things off, mainly meat. I get a cut of the food and that helps my family out a little ways.

I walk through the door of my rugged home and over to the noise of my parents talking. They stop upon me entering the room. "Hey, bud. How was the market?" My dad asks. "It was fine. No extra food today though." I reply.

"That's fine. Are your clothes ready for tomorrow?" My mom asks. "Yes, ma'am. All ready to go." They nod and I turn and walk to my and my brother's shared bedroom. I walk in unnoticed and take the opportunity to sneak up behind Matthew. 

I lean down close to his ear and scream, "Hey!" He jumps so high up, he might just fall out of his chair. I can't stop myself from laughing. "Dalton!" He whines with a face red with anger. "Sorry baby brother, I couldn't help it." I laugh. 

He rolls his eyes. "Have you eaten?" I ask. "Yeah. Mom had some leftover stew from last night." He replies. "Alright then. Time for some shut eye." He groans. "Why? I don't feel like sleepin'!" I smile. "None of that. Go to bed. I'm gonna do the same." 

He whines but complies. I blow the lit candle out and make my way over to our little stack of clothes. I pull my work shirt over my head and chunk it in the corner. I shrug on a shirt that's a little too big, one of Brocks hand-me-downs.

I take my pants off and slide a pair of shorts on. I walk over to my too small bed and flop down, covering up with my thin sheets. "Dalton?" Asks Matt. "Yeah?" I ask back. "What do you think is gonna happen tomorrow?" I close my eyes. He's scared...of course he is. 

"The same thing that happens every year. We are gonna go listen to those rich dogs talk and then watch as two poor kids are sent to their deaths. And then watch as it all plays on tv." I explain. There's silence for a few moments. "What if that poor kid is me or you? Or what if it's JJ, or Frankie, or Lula?" I sigh. I turn over in my bed to face him in the darkness.

"Then it is. But it won't be you. I can't say for your friends, but I can say that it won't be you." I try to reassure him. "How can you be sure?" He asks in a small voice. "Because I am. You'll see, tomorrow it'll be some kid we won't even know. Alright?" A few more moments of silence. "Whatever you say, Dal."

I hope my words ring true.

I close my eyes and let myself fall into sleep.