District Eleven Reaping: Something Beautiful

Dorrin Thyme, District 11

He heard her screams echoing around the alley walls, and then, in an instant, they were gone. It was Julia. He knew it without a doubt.

The fear started in his stomach and spread, rising up into his throat and coursing through his veins until it consumed him. And he was running, his footsteps clattering against the stone and resounding throughout the lonely streets, attempting to follow the fading sounds of her pained cries.

He turned the corner and saw her, splayed out on the ground with crimson ribbons of blood trickling down her cheeks like tears. Rocky was standing over her. His fingers were curled around the leather hilt of a large, sharp knife, and a predatory grin stretched across his lips. "Let's end this now, sweetie. No more playin'."

Dorrin's world moved in slow motion as Rocky lunged toward her, knife pointed at her heart. Now he could see that she was sobbing, tears intermingled with the blood.

"Stop!" he screamed, willing his legs to move faster, but it was too late. Rocky's knife slid into her heart and then back out again, stained maroon with her blood. A deep, shuddering gasp escaped from her.

"Julia!" the cry tore from his lips, but in his heart he knew that she was gone. Already her eyes were beginning to glaze over as she drew her last breaths.

"Oh, look who turned up. Big cousin Dorrin here to save the day, hm?"

"You little—" Dorrin snarled, surprising the smug boy with a tackle fueled by rage and grief. By some miracle, the knife clattered from Rocky's fingers as he fell, and Dorrin lunged for it, but Rocky was faster.

Rocky swore and flipped Dorrin over, pulling himself to his feet and brandishing his knife. "Think I'm gonna go that easy? Tough luck."

Dorrin fought to keep the sudden wave of tears from spilling out of his eyes. He wouldn't give Rocky that satisfaction of seeing him cry. "You killed her," he moaned brokenly.

"You just realized that? If you wanted to stop me, you should've helped her pay off Westfield. Too late now. But you, buddy, you've paid your debts, so I'm not technically supposed to harm you."

Bile rose in Dorrin's throat, and he spat at Rocky's feet. The boy ignored him.

"No," he leered, pushing his face close to Dorrin's. His dark eyes glinted wickedly. "No, I'm going to arrange a much more entertaining way for you to die."

Dorrin's eyes flew open and he shuddered, icy chills running down his spine. Forcing the panic in his chest down, he wiped the moisture out of his eyes and propped himself up against his headboard. Every night he had the same dream. Every night the worst day of his life replayed in his head.

His reaction generally came in stages—first, when the shock and grief were still fresh, he would remember how Julia's innocent features had contorted in fear and pain, and the tears would stream down his face. Then he pulled himself together and cursed Rocky to the deepest pit of hell. But then he always remembered the ending of his dream, Rocky's ominous threat, and he would shiver, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He was a coward, and he hated it, but he couldn't get over his very rational fear.

It was partially because the general populace of District Eleven had been trained to fear and respect Mr. Westfield and his group of hulking minions. Old Mister Westfield was one of the richest people in the district, though he took up residence in a large, battered old house at the outskirts of the district. Apparently his wealth was insufficient for him, because his paid hit men—usually muscular teenagers—would routinely go around collecting 'tribute' from the already-impoverished citizens. Nobody knew why Westfield demanded so much money, but general consensus was that he was just a terrible, greedy human being. Not that anyone said that to his face—the old man rarely exited his home.

The poorest of the poor had no means to pay him off, and if that was so, they were usually granted a short extension. No one but the bankrupt refused when Westfield's boys came calling, because everybody knew the price of rebellion. Almost everyone, at least…

Dorrin's uncle's wages from the fields weren't enough to keep his large family fed. Though Dorrin's father had begged him not to, the man had refused to pay up, bringing threats from Westfield's boys. Dorrin had patrolled their house to make sure all his cousins stayed safe, but Julia had been lured away by Rocky as she was coming home from school.

He remembered how Rocky, smirking darkly, had run away, leaving Dorrin to pick up his cousin's broken, bloodied body and carry her home. How he had been forced to stand there and tell her family what happened, how he had been forced to admit that he had failed. He hadn't been able to keep her safe. He remembered the tears, the screams, the grief…

His uncle had run to Westfield's house the next morning to pay, lest any other of his children be harmed. But the price had been paid, and there was no going back. Every day, Dorrin missed Julia's laughter, the way she skipped on her way to school, the gentleness with which she handled her old dolls.

One day, he would make Westfield and his boys pay for what they had done, for how they had made the whole district suffer. He would tear them down from their pedestal. Maybe then he would stop having to look over his shoulder. Maybe then his nightmares would disappear.

Ivy Reynolds, District 11

Ivy hurriedly stuffed her books into her bag and flew out of the tiny schoolroom. She didn't want to screw up her daily routine, especially not the day before the Reaping. It would be bad luck.

Holding her breath, she rounded the bend in the dirt path and looked ahead. She relaxed—sure enough, Destiny was already there, loping slowly along with her straight black hair swishing gently across her shoulders. Ivy ran forward until she was a few paces behind the broad girl and then slowed, her short legs moving to match Destiny's stride. And she watched.

Destiny stopped after a few minutes, her eyes following a small orange butterfly that lazily fluttered across the road. As it alighted on a bright dandelion flower, Destiny crouched beside it, careful not to let her shadow disturb the insect. She studied its little patterned wings in wonder, cocking her head to the side slightly. Ivy watched, intrigued.

Everybody in the district knew Destiny's story. Her father had left her mother before she was born, and when she was only four years old, her mother disappeared. Suicide, everyone whispered, though nobody could say whether it was from a broken heart or because she didn't want to face the daunting task of raising her daughter.

Destiny was taken care of by her frail, aging grandmother. Ruth Lemez was the sweetest woman in the district, and she lavished love upon her granddaughter. Ivy could see how much the two cared about each other.

Destiny sighed in disappointment as the butterfly flew away and continued to lumber forward, eyes roving the sides of the path for any new excitements. Ivy fell behind her again.

The other girls mocked Ivy sometimes for her fascination with Destiny, just like they mocked the girl herself. Stupid, they would snicker from the shadows whenever they talked about Destiny. Sick in the head. Idiot. They would stare at Ivy wonderingly and ask her why she was so fascinated with the girl. She just shrugged her shoulders and walked away.

It was no use trying to explain it to them; they would never understand. Destiny was simple, yes, but there was something beautiful about the way she could stare at a butterfly in wonder. About how her entire face would light up whenever she saw something new or when she successfully tied her shoe. About the innocent, loving way she would hug her grandmother. It was as if there was something special about Destiny, something that maybe everyone in the world had once had but lost. Ivy couldn't quite put it into words, but it was that unique quality that made Ivy walk home from school right behind Destiny every day. It was why Ivy's eyes were always drawn to her wherever they were.

Ivy had never spoken a word to Destiny Lemez in her life, but somehow she felt as if she knew her better than anybody else in the world.

Destiny Lemez, District 11

Destiny tugged at the neck of her stiff, starched dress. She had already worn it for a few Reapings, and it was uncomfortably small on her large body. "Don't like it," she whimpered sadly.

"I know, baby," Grammie said gently. "You won't have to wear it for long. I promise. Come on, now, we'd better get going." She took Destiny's hand and led her out of their little house.

"Story?" Destiny asked hopefully. She could see the anxiety in her grammie's eyes, and it made Destiny worry, too. She knew the Reaping wasn't a happy day because it always made Grammie look like this.

"Alright." Grammie smiled, and some of the tension eased from her face. She proceeded to weave a tale of a frog who liked to wear hats and sing, with Destiny giggling wildly throughout the whole story. "Shhh," she whispered gently as they reached the marketplace. She stood on her toes to embrace Destiny before sending her off. "Stand over there, Destiny. With the other fourteen-year-olds."

Destiny reluctantly left her grandmother's side and headed into the throng of teenagers. The children scooted away from her when she stood. To her left, a girl coughed delicately. She blinked and glanced over, recognizing the girl as the Bird Girl. Her hair was the same color as the large, loud crows that hopped around the schoolyard searching for crumbs. The Bird Girl wasn't very nice—she was always scowling at Destiny.

She looked around and finally spotted the distinctive red locks of the Girl with the Pretty Hair in one of the younger sections. That girl seemed nice.

Destiny sighed. The fabric of her dress was itchy against her skin, and she longed to take the offensive garment off. But Grammie didn't like that and said she couldn't take off her clothes when there were other people around, so she didn't. All she wanted was to make Grammie happy with her.

She wrinkled her nose as the district escort hopped up to the microphone. What was he wearing? He looked like a clown. She laughed softly, causing everyone around her to glare.

He talked animatedly for a while, but she didn't understand anything. It got very quiet when he walked up to a huge glass bowl and pulled out a little piece of paper. "Corey Thyme!"

The crowd murmured as a scrawny boy slowly walked up to the stage, his skin pale despite his olive complexion. The boy couldn't be older than twelve or thirteen.

"Wait!" a lone voice cried out. "I… I volunteer for Corey." A larger boy stepped up to the stage, his body trembling slightly. Corey's eyes widened, but the other boy gently pushed him backwards.

"Oh," the escort murmured, flustered by the sudden turn of events. "Well, alright then. What's your name, son?"

"Dorrin." The boy said quietly. "I'm Dorrin Thyme." The audience was silent. This was the first District Eleven volunteer in… well, actually, this was the first District Eleven volunteer. Ever.

There was a moment's pause as the escort stood there awkwardly, but he quickly pulled himself together. "Congratulations, Dorrin! And now…"

Destiny was shuffling her feet in boredom when she suddenly heard her name. Her head snapped up in confusion—who was calling her? It didn't sound like Grammie.

"Destiny Lemez!" It was the clown. She frowned; everyone was staring at her.

"Destiny, baby," she heard Grammie say. Grammie's voice was shaking, and she didn't like that. It didn't sound right. "Go up on the stage."

She didn't want to, not in front of all these people, but if that was what Grammie wanted, she would do it. She trod up to the stage next to the clown and the pale boy, aware of everyone's eyes on her.

"Thank you," the clown said, sounding relieved. "Shake hands, now." Dorrin reluctantly stuck out his hand towards her, and she stared. What did he want her to do?

The clown coughed, and Dorrin gently reached out and took her hand, pumping it up and down. She frowned and pulled away the moment he released her.

"Ladies and gentleman, I present to you your District Eleven tributes!"

Ivy Reynolds, District 11

"No," Ivy whispered over and over again to herself. "No, no, no." There were so many other people who deserved to go up on that stage more than Destiny. The thought of having to watch her die… it sickened Ivy.

In an act of impulse, Ivy hurried down to the Justice Building where Destiny was saying her goodbyes. She had to say something, offer some comfort. She couldn't let Destiny leave without talking to her.

When she came to the right door, there was already someone in the room with Destiny. She heard Ruth Lemez's voice, and with her breath caught in her chest, she peeped in the room through the crack between the door and the wall. Ruth was hugging her granddaughter and sobbing quietly. "I love you so much, Destiny. Don't forget that. You're going to have to go away for a while, and I can't come with you. Whenever you feel scared or hurt, just remember me. I'll always be watching out for you, baby…" her sobs overcame her, and Ivy jumped away as Peacekeepers walked past her and entered the room. One cast her a disapproving look.

"I love you!" Ruth cried as she was pulled out of the room. "Destiny, Destiny…"

Ivy hesitantly stepped into the room. Destiny was seated on a chair looking frightened and confused, her thick fingers brushed over the plush fabric of her chair. "I know you," she brightened when she saw Ivy. "Girl with the Pretty Hair."

"That's what you call me?" Ivy said, surprised. She unconsciously raised her hand to her waves of hair. She'd always hated the bright red shade of her hair, so different from the dark browns and blacks of the other people from District Eleven. But Destiny thought it was pretty. "Thank you."

"You walk behind me," Destiny said suddenly.

"Yeah," Ivy said, amazed that she had noticed. She gently reached out and put her hand on Destiny's arm, hoping the girl wouldn't flinch. She didn't. "Every day, huh?"

Destiny nodded. Ivy wasn't sure what to say. Did Destiny even understand what it all meant? That she was going to the Hunger Games? Surely she knew something was wrong; her eyes were filled with a deep sadness Ivy had never seen.

Ivy choked up. "It'll be okay, Destiny," she said, squeezing her hand. "It'll be okay." She knew how much of a lie that was, but how was she supposed to explain everything?

"Bad," Destiny said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. A single tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. "Bad, bad, bad, bad…" she repeated the word over and over again under her breath.

"It is," Ivy said quietly. "It is bad."

Dorrin Thyme, District 11

Corey was miserable, just like Dorrin knew he would be. His parents were devastated. He couldn't explain to them why he had done it, but he thought his uncle understood. Julia's death had already been his fault. If there was anything he could do to prevent the death of another of his cousins, he would gladly do it.

You did the right thing, he told himself. And he knew it was true, deep in his heart. But he still wished that someone's name besides Corey's had been drawn…

A thought suddenly made him stiffen. Rocky's threat… could Mr. Westfield influence the mayor? The Capitol, even? He certainly had enough money to. Had they arranged the choosing of Corey's name, knowing that Dorrin would volunteer in his place?

Dorrin let his head drop into his hands. He didn't want to think about it. Not now.

A knock on his door surprised him. All his family and friends had come to say goodbye, so who was this?

Ruth Lemez entered. She was a mess, with her hair tangled and her eyes red. His sorrow only deepened by looking at her. "What is it?" he asked, the words coming out sharper than he had intended.

She winced. "Dorrin, I realize that this is going to sound selfish, but I have to ask you something."

He waited.

Ruth sighed. "Destiny was… is my life. She means everything to me and I… well, frankly, I know that there's no way she's going to win." She sounded on the verge of tears. "But please take care of her. Please don't let her die a horrible death. She doesn't deserve that." Ruth was weeping silently now, tears falling down her cheeks and onto the carpet.

Dorrin looked at the ground. He had already sacrificed himself for Corey. Destiny would only hamper him, and he needed to try to survive the Games.

But… he thought about Destiny's innocence, the way she had stared at his hand confusedly, not knowing what shaking hands was. How could he turn down a request like Ruth's?

"All right," he said gruffly. "I'll try to take care of her."

"Thank you," she whispered. "And...I'm sorry. So sorry." She stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door behind her.

Dorrin sat in the seat beside Destiny on the train. Her eyes were wide as she took in all the finery; she stood up with her hand outstretched, trying to touch the elaborate crystal chandelier above the dining table. Dorrin gently pulled her back down. "Don't touch that, Destiny. It's sharp."

"Oh." She sat quietly for a minute, then turned towards him, her eyes filled with tears. "Dorrin?"

"Yes?"

"I miss Grammie."

For a moment Dorrin was overcome with emotion. Destiny would never see her grandmother again. He took her hand. "It's okay," he said. "I miss my family, too." Inwardly, he made a decision: he would try his best to protect Destiny, no matter what the cost was. She deserved to get home to Ruth. How could the Capitol even let a girl like Destiny take part in the Games?

"Bad," she muttered, as if reading his thoughts.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound cheerful. "We'll get through this. One way or another."

"Okay," she agreed quietly.

They sat together silently, waiting as the train took them to a frightening new world.

A/N: Gosh, it's been a while since I've updated, and I'm sorry about that. D: I'm still alive! I would say that I'll be updating more frequently, but now that school's started, I can't make any promises. I'll try my best, though. Also, sorry if my OCs start to deteriorate... I'm running out of good ideas. Please review~ I'm updating sponsor points as I write this, and remember, I still need a D9 male (seriously. You don't want to see another OC from me; I'm dry). Thanks so much for sticking with me!