Chapter Text
The reaping. The same thing every few years, a new kid getting picked from each district.
Murphy often prayed he'd been sent to the arena, just to escape — he knew nobody from district 12 ever won, (well apart from the rare few times someone shockingly did, only to to be forgotten, like everyone is district 12) and that didn't scare him.
He didn't have anyone to care about him anyway, both parents dead, an orphan. He had no friends, nothing.
Unfortunately, Murphy only had two more chances to be reaped (he had turned 16 only a month ago) yet, even with those chances he knew he'd never be picked — he never got what he wanted. Instead, he'd be stuck in this shitty district for the rest of his life, with nothing to do. He'd always expected his life to turn out shitty. It always had been.
There, on that cold morning, he stood in the pit of people — boys looking scared, fearful for the fate that awaited them. All he felt was numbness, knowing he wouldn't get picked — again. Forced to a life of nothingness.
Screech. The woman tapped on the microphone.
"Hello! Welcome to the reaping for the 74th annual hunger games!" The woman glanced around at all the faces — grimy, pathetic and downright ugly. She detested coming to this district sometimes, the grey colours clashing with her colourful patterns.
"Ah, let's begin shall we?" If she expected a response, she didn't get one. All eyes just stared up, scared gleams in their eyes.
Silence filled the district, only occasionally broken by heavy breaths, or sobs.
"Hm. First, the boys." Her pristine hand circled the ornate fish bowl, filled with the folded up pieces of paper with people's names on. Murphy tuned out, he was getting bored of these games, after having had his chance ripped from his the last few years.
"John Murphy."
His blood ran cold. His name had been picked.
He'd been wanting this for years, yet now in the moment, all he felt was .. fear, apprehension. Did he truly want to send himself off to death?
Well. It didn't really matter, he didn't have a choice, nobody would volunteer for him, and it's not like he had anyone waiting for him to come back up alive.
Slowly, he trudged up to the stage, he could feel eyes on him, burning into the back of his head — boring into his soul. He swore he could hear some people, parents and children alike, letting out a sigh of relief. Relief it wasn't them (or their child), or maybe relieved that John Murphy would finally be rid of.
Nobody in the district liked him. And, he knew it. Common knowledge you could say.
His feet aimlessly pulled him up the stairs to the stage. His heart thudding in his chest. He had wanted this. He had. He deserved to be reaped.
He .. didn't he?
He did nothing with his life, so why should he be allowed to keep it? It was meaningless anyway.
He zoned out, as the woman read out the girls name.
"Octavia Blake." Gasps rung out the district. Octavia was a well known member of the district — loved by everyone, especially her older brother Bellamy Blake.
"I volunteer." Speak of the devil.
"I volunteer as tribute."
Hold on, Bellamy had been on the cusp of survival, by next week he'd have been out of the reaping — yet here he was volunteering, giving up his life.
"Oh! We have a volunteer! How exciting."
Nobody else agreed. Everyone loved Bellamy — an uproar occurring for his act of bravery. Nobody had cared when Murphy was picked.
"Bell! NO. You can't do this!" Weeping, Octavia was dragged back into the crowd by who Murphy assumed to be her mother. He didn't really care to be honest.
Carefully, he observed as the older boy approached the stage, no fear to be shown — only confidence emitting from his stance. He was prepared. Of course he was.
Their eyes locked, only for a moment, but it felt like a year long conversation to Murphy. He could see the fear behind Bellamy's eyes, the older boy questioning exactly what he'd just done — the idea that he could possibly die, leaving his sister alone.
However, he could also see the determination in his eyes. Bellamy knew he'd have to kill Murphy, snd Murphy knew the boy would succeed. He had someone to get home to after all, Murphy didn't.
"Guess you're gonna have to kill me then, huh?" He gave Bellamy a sharp grin, not wanting to display the pit growing in his stomach at the idea of dying in an arena, nobody to care for him as he bled out to death..
The blank expression turned slightly, Bellamy looking almost.. regretful. Probably because he was scared he was going to die.
"Yeah. Guess so.."
There was a pause.
"You .. you don't think you'd kill me, huh?"
Murphy blinked slowly, his thoughts running in circles, he knew he could kill Bellamy, he wasn't afraid to either, yet as soon as the thought came into his head, he couldn't help but fight it off. He.. didn't want to kill the other boy. He'd rather sacrifice his life into the other's hands.
"I could try." He smirked.
Silence stretched between the pair, guards taking them to the train. Murphy already knew he was done for.
Those glances..
He had butterflies in his stomach.
No.
No.
He was in love, with Bellamy Blake.
He couldn't be, Bellamy was an arrogant asshole — underserving of Murphy's love, not that he'd want it anyway, nobody would.
Yet, even though Murphy could feel the rage and disgust burning through his veins, he couldn't help ruminating over the idea of laying his life out for Bellamy. He.. he wouldn't mind dying if Bellamy was the one to do the job.
Maybe.. maybe he'd be careful about it.
John could only hope.
He knew, deep down, that Bellamy would do whatever it took to make it back to his sister — the other boy didn't care who he took down with him, even if it be his own district partner.
So, Murphy sat down on the train, prepared for the fate awaiting him.