FicWad

District Eight was a dreary, boring place. Always covered in factory made clouds, sunny days were rare and ill-enjoyed. For most people, these days were spent shut away in the school or in the factories, and the Peacekeepers made sure of that. Very few people stayed home. Mothers with young children, the elderly and the dying made up most of that group, followed by off-duty Peacekeepers, past Victors, and the Mayor of Eight himself (though he had Mayoral things to do and was honestly always busy).
Among the mothers, the young, the elderly and the dying was a boy named Frank. He wasn’t dying, not anymore at least, but he couldn’t work. He had an official letter and everything. Which is why when Frank wasn’t in school, he was stuffed up in his room doing the one thing that he was good at- writing music.
He wanted to get a guitar one day, but it was hard to find anything musical in a district that produced textiles. So instead he passed his time writing out lyrics and singing them too loud and way off key until Mrs. Baird had to bang on the door telling him to shut up because he was keeping her baby awake. A sweet lady, that Mrs. Baird.
The only day Frank was bothered to go outside, aside from his short trips to and from the school, was on Reaping Day. His mother woke him up by slamming the door open and threatening him with cold water if he wasn’t ready in twenty minutes.
“Jesus mom.” Frank grumbled as soon as he heard the water running down the hall. “No need to be so bitchy.”
Frank hated Reaping Days. He hated them more than any other day of the year. Everyone hated that day, but his hatred was a special sort. So Frank moved through the motions, getting on his nice shirt and his nice pants but leaving his nice shoes in the back of the closet because they were never going to break in properly and opted for his nice, comfortable sneakers instead. After all, if he got reaped, his survival wouldn’t depend on whether or not he was wearing nice shoes at his Reaping.
“Frank Anthony Iero!” Frank’s mom bellowed.
“I’m ready! Calm down!” Frank yelled back. “I just have to make myself pretty!”
His mother groaned dramatically and Frank smirked in response. The hallway outside his room, and the bathroom right next door, had been vacated by said groaning mother so Frank could do his hair in peace. He messed around with different styles in the tiny mirror, before going for something he had done before. Simple, classy and cute as J-
Frank cut off his thought before it could be fully formed. He definitely didn’t have time to think about her, especially since his mother had resumed her shouting for him to hurry up.
“I’m coming mother! Fuck, calm down already!”
After making a huge scene about whether or not Frank was going to eat breakfast before they went, mother winning with the ‘if you eat we’re going to be late’ line, the two made their way to the square. The sun was hiding behind the smog and everything was cast in a creepy grey light. Not to mention the fact that most everyone in District Eight owned the same three colors- faded blue, washed out grey, and needs-bleach white. Frank’s red tie stood out like a Mockingjay in a murder of crows.
Halfway to the square, Frank was greeted by probably the only person in Eight that he could stand to be around- tall, blonde and beaded, Bob Bryar had joined the funeral procession (as he had once called it).
“Hey midget.” Bob announced, reaching out to ruffle Frank’s hair.
Frank swatted Bob’s hand away and whined. “No touching, Bryar.” He warned and they both laughed.
The two continued their walk to the square, making jokes and small talk until their names got checked off and they had to go their separate ways, Frank to the sixteen year old section and Bob two sections ahead with the eighteen year olds. Feeling totally alone despite his section being full, Frank drew back in on himself. He wished he was older so he could go dick around with Bob. He wished she was still around so he would have someone to get wasted with later that night- midnight shots to celebrate another year of not getting sent to the slaughter.
She was gone, though, and all Frank had to look forward to was getting so drunk that he couldn’t see and sleeping until noon the next day.
The pre-reaping procedure went the same as every year. Mayor Cobain read the list of Victors, the Treaty of Treason and said a speech about something Frank didn’t care about. Things never really got interesting until Eight’s escort took front stage. Something- strike that, everything- about the man bothered Frank, from his slicked back pink hair to his feathered outfit to the fact that he was a good six feet tall, while Frank sat at five-foot-four.
“Happy, Happy Hunger Games!” He said enthusiastically. “Ladies first, as always.”
He strutted over to the name filled to the brim with the name of every girl ages twelve through eighteen inside and reached a manicured hand inside. Every one of his movements reminded Frank of an Ostrich. The black and white feathers pluming from his collar didn’t help the mental image, and Frank had to hold back a laugh. Reapings were not a place to laugh. His mother had taught him that lesson with soap a long time ago.
The Escort (Frank realized he had completely forgotten his name) had returned to the microphone. He unfolded the paper, every crinkle a wave of tension across the waiting audience, and took a deep breath before reading the name. “Lindsay Ballato?”
In the eighteen year old section on the other side of the square, a few girls cried out in protest as one among them detached herself from the throng. Frank stood on his toes to see her. Lindsay smoothed out her plaid skirt before climbing the stairs to stand next to Ostrich.
“Do we have any volunteers?”
Just like the year before, when it was someone who actually mattered, there are none. None of the girls who cried out when their friend’s name was called stepped in to take her place. It’s the same way none of them stepped in for J- her when she was reaped. Frank shook his head quickly. He couldn’t think about her. Not while he was sober, at least.
Ostrich was already standing at the microphone with a second slip of paper, this time with the ‘lucky’ boy’s name scrawled on it. “Frank Iero.”
Frank’s stomach dropped into his shoes. It- it couldn’t be true.
“Is Frank Iero here?”
Every single person had their eyes on him. After a moment, he shook himself back into reality and shuffled up to the stage. Everyone was still staring at him. He felt so small; smaller than usual, now that he stood next to Ostrich and Lindsay, both of whom had to be half Giant or something.
“Do we have any volunteers?”
Frank faked a cough, hoping that people would remember that he technically could drop dead at any second and take pity on him. Alas, he had no such luck. Not a person in the crowd moved. Frank sought out Bob’s gaze, desperately begging him to take his place. Bob dropped his gaze, shaking his head sadly. Betrayed, Frank turned his gaze to the ground, blasting holes in it with his eyes.
“Well, District Eight, I present you your two new, new tributes!” Ostrich announced. “Let’s give them a round of applause.”
Frank turned to Lindsay and took her outstretched hand, shaking it lightly. She had a tight grip and calloused hands. The look on her face said she wasn’t looking to make friends. Good, Frank thought. He didn’t need friends.
Frank and Lindsay were escorted inside the Justice building and to separate rooms so they could say their goodbyes. As soon as Frank entered his room, the door was shut. He walked over to the only window in the tiny room and looked outside. Very few people lingered in the square- among them, a few peacekeepers, the mayor and Ostrich.
Shaking his head, Frank turned back around as the door opened. Bob’s massive figure came into view. He held something in his hands, but Frank didn’t bother to look. He was so engulfed in rage that his first response was to punch Bob as hard as he could.
The taller boy took the hit with stride. “I probably deserved that.”
“No shit!” Frank shouted. “I- god, Bob! We’re the only ones left and you- you’re just going to let me die?”
Bob shook his head cryptically and handed Frank whatever he had been holding. “Just… trust me, okay? She made me promise…”
Frank took the object and turned it over in his hands. It was a dog tag necklace. He turned the tags over. On one was her name and on the other, the babies’ names. Or what she was going to name the babies. Tears welled up in Frank’s eyes and he wiped them away before slipping the chain over his head.
“Shit! Man, are you crying?” Bob asked, leaning down to look at Frank, who turned away quickly.
“Time’s up.” A peacekeeper appeared without warning, and Bob gave Frank a heavy clap on the shoulder before following the man out.
The remainder of Frank’s half hour was spent sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, waiting for his mother to show up. He didn’t know why he expected her to show up. She never did for anything else, why would this be any different? She hadn’t even gone to say goodbye to her. She hadn’t understood why Frank was so angry with her.
After twenty seven minutes of staring at a wall, Ostrich and two peacekeepers gathered up Frank and escorted him outside, where they met up with Lindsay and two more peacekeepers. They marched in silence to the tribute train. Frank dreaded the moment he stepped on that train. Stepping on the train meant sealing his fate. No more opportunities to run. That train was going to hurtle him into his death.
Wrapping a hand around his dog tags, Frank wondered if she had been afraid. With that thought in his head, he could no longer stall and was forced onto the train. As the door sealed behind him, so did his fate. There was nothing left to do but move forward.