location: district 8 date: the reaping
I grieve to sew up my heart's delight. heigh ho says thimble.
district 8 was packed to the brim with each inhabitant of the textile focused urban infrastructure. as usual, the stage was set up in the main square of town just in front of the government buildings. while surrounding that and reaching well into the sky were the nicer factories. the wealthy and well-statused families were grouped and seated nearer the stage. the less fortunate had a much longer walk, and those of little cove could barely even see the large bowls of names from where they sat on the very outskirts.
thimble still felt uneasy. it was the first year that reaper blue, her older brother, had aged out of the process, thankfully, so she sat on their bench alone. well, not alone alone; there were all the other lucky lottery participants, but it felt absolutely isolated.
the night before, thimble accidentally pricked herself on a needle while sewing her reaping dress. the blood quickly welled up on the tip of her finger and stained the white linen fabric. that felt like a bad sign. reaper noticed too. he and clementine rose, their eldest sister, always spent the night before the reaping in the same room. soft carpets were rolled out in padded stacks across their grandmother's floor and pillows were littered in the corner. one messy stack of blankets contrasted sharply against the ones perfectly folded next to them.
clem was already tucked beneath those folded blankets and attempting to get some rest, but reaper noticed and frowned. thimble hadn't done that in years. he hopped up to get her a bandage and suggest that maybe she wear one of her dresses that were already done. there was no chance of that happening. thimble loathed to repeat a style, especially not on a day like this.
"I'll make it work. it is still fixable!"
he crossed the room and sank down next to her to tend to the minor wound. it seemed like there was a lot that he wanted to say, but for maybe the first time, could not find the words. he opened his mouth, but thimble interrupted him. "sing the song for me." she suggested instead. reaper obliged. he began to sing a ballad about falling stars while she stitched a big, red rose blooming from the stain on the corset of her gown. he sang until thimble herself tumbled into the mess of blankets all tuckered out, and the morning it appeared he had the words.
"thim." his voice had always been a pleasant tenor and warmth as winter breakfast. "listen. just save the one in a million for your dresses, right? I love you." he pressed a kiss onto her forehead. clementine brushed her hair out and arranged it with a flower before they went down the two levels to meet their parents and walk together towards the reaping. thankfully, their grandma was elderly enough now that she was no longer forced to witness this sort of sight.
it took forever for them to bumble through the first drawing. yet, the second happened so terribly suddenly.
the mic feedback whistled. 'THIMBLE VIRIDIAN RENALDI' oh. her brother cried out before thimble even realized what was happening. she looked over her shoulder to catch reaper doubled over and clem allowing silent tears to slide down her cheeks. thimble stood up. thousands of faces turned to look at her now, but every sound disappeared behind blood rushing in her ears. if thimble looked at her family again, she would weep. she couldn't cry now. the game had already begun. thimble tried to swallow which was entirely useless as her mouth was dry.
in a few steps, thimble made it out of the benched seating to the runway that lead up to the stage. it was a long walk. good. that would give her some time to calm down and think. no one was going to volunteer for her so how did she survive this? could she? could thimble win? yes. they could. it wouldn't be easy. there was no way the playing field would be even, but had it ever been? didn't she already play those odds? hell, it may not be worth it, but shouldn't she try?
as her pace remained steady, people began to whisper through the crowd. the cameras panned and pulled to see her full gown. style was always a statement. thimble, by happenstance or fate, was making a loud one. her dress made it appear as though blood were already pooling at her rib cage; stabbed in the gut as she had been by her name being called. it was appropriate. it told a story. a story that could help her. thimble took the stage, found the camera, and offered a knowingly empathetic smile.
this could work.
it had to.