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oxford-dwitt · 5 years ago

Text

-- bethlehem steel

self para; the night before the reaping

A hot acidic bite sat at the back of Ox’s throat. It could only mean one thing - the Reaping was tomorrow. The night before filled everyone in his family with different emotions, of course, but for Ox it was an electric kick drum in the back of his head. It pulsed through his brain and set his fingers on fire. He couldn’t stay in this house all day. He couldn’t. He would have to be back for dinner; a family tradition that hadn’t worked for the d’Witt family saw them together and silent for a few minutes, just sitting with one another.

But for now? Ox could run. And so he did. It was reckless and aimless, but the wind rushing past his face made him feel like a stalk of wheat. He imagined how they bent without breaking, no matter the stormy winds. They only fell if cut down.

Ox ran to the abandoned barnhouse that lay past the hill behind his neighborhood. It wasn’t secret by any means; he had attended parties at this barnhouse, taken dates and lovers there, and even once had a birthday party there. Yet something about the weeds and the dust seemed sacred and private. When the sun rose, light lanced in through a single missing piece of the roof. Stray cats often hunted mice around the perimeter, and somehow - mysteriously - it was always empty when he wanted to be alone and always full when he wanted to be near others.

This afternoon, the barnhouse was quiet and peaceful. Empty bottles from a night of partying were strewn about. Oxford threw himself to the ground, panting slightly, and stretched out in the dirt. He could see the first few traces of starlight filtering in through the cracked roof. For just that brief moment, Ox felt at peace with the evening. For just that brief moment. Then the acid bit back. The Reaping was tomorrow. The yearly reminder that he was a no one to the Capitol.

The acid grew until Ox was roaring. He screamed at the ceiling until his body threw itself at the walls. He swung his fists into the soft wood over and over again. His brain didn’t have time to process information before he was snatching bottles from the ground and hurling them across the space to shatter into dust. Bottle after bottle was launched to their demise. It didn’t make him feel better.

It seemed like no time at all until Oxford had smashed every single bottle available to him. However, the rasp of his now-weak voice and the darkness of the sky told him he had vented for longer than anticipated. Shit. He needed to get home. He ran. The wind on his face helped him hold back the tears.

When he arrived, he found his mother, Mohra, just finishing the table settings. She looked up at him with a sweet smile, the dread in her eyes masked with swept bangs. Ox silently took his seat, where his father, Dorn, was already seated. His older brother Barker was pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven, and his younger sister Kye was pouring water for everyone. Hedda, Barker’s wife, hovered in a corner, waiting for dinner to start. Everyone was quiet.

Soon, the table was set and everyone was gathered: six people seated in seven chairs. After a moment, Mohra spoke. “Well, another Reaping is upon us. Let us take a moment to give thanks we haven’t needed to add any names for tessarae this year.” She looked across to Oxford. “This year is scary, of course. Let’s take a moment to say a prayer for all three names we have in those bowls. Oxford, Hedda, and Kye.” Barker gave his wife’s hand a squeeze. It would be her last Reaping tomorrow. Kye, on the other hand, would be in her first. Oxford himself had gotten used to the long lines and the tense atmosphere. Only a few more years and then he’d be safe like the rest of them.

“And, of course, let us take a moment to remember those we’ve lost to the Games.” Mohra’s voice choked the slightest bit. Dorn took her hand, knowing he wouldn’t be able to speak if he tried. “Hedda’s father, Ulster. And our...” The name caught full in her throat, and the acid bit in the back of Ox’s. The table looked around at each other, pleading with someone to say it. Oxford was the only one able.

“Our Delta.” The empty chair at the table seemed to radiate energy when the name was called. A slight girl, the second born, Reaped at age twenty into a Games designed for a Career. The shortest sibling. The one with the reddest hair, who looked the most like their father - the rest of the siblings looked more like their mother. Delta Benevie d’Witt of District Nine.

Everyone around the table tried to say her name, to varying degrees of success. Five years was not enough time to dull the pain, and chances were low that it would dissipate any time soon. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence. At the end, everyone helped clean up and hugged each other goodbye. Barker and Hedda left to return to their house down the road, and Kye retreated to her room, leaving Oxford with his parents. As usual, silence was king. Ox stood and walked to the door. When he reached it, he turned to look to his parents. He took a breath in to say something, but thought better of it. His father nodded acknowledgement. Everyone processed the night before the Reaping differently, and Dorn knew that Ox needed to be alone. Ox nodded, then turned and left. He ran.

He arrived at the barnhouse as moonlight was just beginning to drift into the room. Ox gently laid down in the glass dust from earlier. He ran his fingers across it, enjoying the slight bite into his skin. He took a deep breath in and tried to scream once more, but his voice was shot. It came out as a light, breathy wail. The sound wasn’t what mattered, though. It was the scratch in the back of his throat that replaced the acidic bite. That’s why he continued to scream.

He awoke the next morning with a burning in his throat and a rash on his face from sleeping in the dust. But at least there was no acid.

#self #the night before #bethsteel

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