If We Burn..

Reaping Day.

The day that has scared us ever since we turned twelve.

And yet five years later I feel... well, nothing really.

My name's only been entered 10 times. There's no chance it'll be drawn.

At least, that's what I tell Littlewing.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves here.  I'm Midnight Skye. I'm a light teal pegasus, with black hair, rainbow-colored eyes, and a cutie mark of a crescent moon the same color as those eyes. Littlewing, on the other hoof, is also a pegasus- baby pink with salmon hair and a cutie mark of a heart and a feather- but a birth defect caused her wings never to grow, so she can't fly. As a consequence, she has very brittle bones and can't run very fast. She wouldn't last five minutes in the arena.

We live in District Twelve, In the orphanage near the meadow. Every year since we became 12, we gather in the District Centre, next to the Justice Building, not knowing whether we will survive until next year, or be thrown into the Hunger Games, where we will either be dead on the Arena floor, or kill twenty-three others, and be the sole survivor.

'I promise, if your name is called, I will volunteer for you.' I say

'Swear on your life?' Littlewing mutters

'Heh. Swear on my life.' I make an 'X' motion across my chest 'Now can you do my hair? please?'

'Okay.' she pulls my hair into a high bun, then does something fiddly so it looks like a bow.

'Thanks, broseph. Now, we better get dressed.' our reaping dresses are a rarity, beautiful garments from District 8 put mistakenly on the fabric delivery train. Mine has a simple black bodice, with a skirt patterned with the constellations, whilst Littlewing's  has a white bodice and a light blue skirt patterned with clouds. The bell for breakfast goes just after we put them on, but neither of us feels like eating today.

Littlewing glances my way as we file in for the reaping. I'm a year older than her, so I stand in front of her, with the other 15-year-olds.

Sassy Saddles stands on the podium, as she does every year, with the victors, Katniss, an olive green unicorn, Peeta, a sky blue pegasus, and Haymitch, a matte grey earth pony,  standing to the right, with the mayor.

'Happy Hunger Games everypony!' she says with her usual verve. 'And may the odds be ever in your favour!' I think about the 10 slips of paper with my name carefully written on them in gold ink, and I turn around to face Littlewing, but she just stares at her hooves. 'But before we begin, a reminder of what the hunger games are all about!!'

Like every year, things started out with the history of the Hunger Games-  how Canterlot had united the lands of Equestria two hundred years ago, after the centuries of war that had followed the assassination of The Royal Sisters and Princess Cadenza; the coronation of Princess Glimmer, Princess Sunset, And Princess Twilight; how, seventy-six years ago, the twelve districts had all rebelled against Canterlot and the Empire who ruled it; how the rebellion had been crushed, and District Thirteen destroyed; and, finally, how the Hunger Games had been established in order to remind the districts of the costs of rebellion.

While she spoke, the crystal projectors that had been set up onstage displayed various images- my "favorite" was the one with the hateful-looking rebels charging at the horrified Canterlotters, with Princess Glimmer gazing down from the clouds, tears rolling down her cheeks. Of course, the picture of the rebel rearing up, forehooves held ready to smash down on a terrified foal, was a close second.

When I'd been younger—too young for the Reaping, even—this yearly presentation had given me awful nightmares. At some point, I'd stopped feeling terrified and started getting cynical. It's not really the safest attitude to have, but I keep quiet, so no harm's done.

  'Now, fillies first!' says Sassy as she trots to the mare's reaping ball.  She closes her eyes and levitates one out of the ball.  She trots over to the centre and clears her throat.

Please don't be me, please don't be me... I think, my heart pounding in my chest. My wings give a small flutter, a nervous habit I developed when I'm just itching to sneak into the woods and fly.

Sassy takes a deep breath, and scans the row of 12-year-olds, practically fillies, dressed in overlarge clothing and all with the same terrified expression. She glances at the slip of paper, and all I think is Please don't be me, please don't be me.

She clears her throat, and an agonizing moment of waiting is followed by;

"Midnight Skylar!"

No...

"Come on up dear, don't be shy!" she says, in that silly fake Capitol accent.

I silently shake my head as I pass Littlewing, and she gives an almost imperceptible nod.

'Any volunteers?' of course not 'Ah, well!'

"Now let's have a round of applause for our brave filly tribute!"

There's the sound of hooves clapping, but I can barely hear it. My head feels numb- how could I have been chosen? Five entries, five in a sea of hundreds... And I was chosen.

'Well, now that's done with, let's choose our colt tribute!'

Sassy's falsely bright voice snaps me back to reality,

as she grabs a name at random and reads it out.

'Nicotine!'

and I relax.

I don't know this guy.

I don't need to show any restraint.

as he walks up the stairs -you can see him trying not to cry- I take a good look at him.

grey coat, black and green mane, a cutie mark of some symbol with an 'X' in the middle, with a kind of wiry fitness, but I could probably take him if it came to that.

S-stop it. You're thinking like a Career. I blush in spite of myself.

Sassy asks for volunteers, but, as usual, there's none.

'Now, a round of applause for our colt tribute!'

There's applause- and then we're ushered into the Justice Building, and I walk automatically, and nothing matters because I'm going to die.