The Reaping || 'Blue Screen, Harddrive Wipe, Upgrade' || OS
Whoever thought to call the Reaping a 'Reaping' must have thought themselves very clever; A giant, wince-worthy pun that more than one affluent individual got a chuckle out of.
Lysander figure that this wasn't lost on the outer districts most of all, who spent their days with the seasons... It was around this time that the children went out to the fields to pick the first batch of crops, in the heat of the midday sun, for the first harvest.
It was a metaphor venturing straight into uncanny valley and too much dwelling on the subject, made it outright creepy.Â
Bread and goddamned circuses... Distract the population with entertainment, and pray to those gods that be that the masses forget that they're starving. But how the hell can they forget when the entertainment is the state-sanctioned death of their own flesh and blood?
Humanity... Human nature... It was rich of Lysander to think the concept itself was a joke when they all knew it was wrong, but they silently let it happen.
All the looks he was receiving; adults knew him to be the outcast, cursed child, and those who knew him looked on with distaste. Their looks burned into his skin like the hot sun above.
He zoned out of the speech, out of the video and looked around. It always took him a few moments to orient himself in the natural sunlight; the UV lamps he installed at the suggestion of his doctor kept him healthy enough, healthier than most of the other children around him. But to be honest, he always did like and prefer the sun, even if was blinding.
... God, he always considered himself unhealthy, (his doctor refused to agree with him,) but these children...
Reapings never failed to make Lysander more aware of what he didn't have. What looks of disdain the parents gave him, they gave their own children long glances of worry, and the children themselves had looks of tangible fear. His own expression was one of indifference.
Was he taking these Reapings for granted? He clearly wasn't afraid, not to the extent that everyone else was. The silence that befell them was only awkward instead of tense, and a girl's name was called out.
Lysander looked at his feet. Every individual had equal potential, equal opportunity to make a difference, every right to do something of worth. He just... didn't recognize it in himself. He tried to make himself care, but all that came to mind was...
Who was he to do anything of regard in a world that hinged on the whims of an oppressive minority?
A shrieking cry rang out in the square, and a small crowd of people huddled around a woman as she reached towards the boy's group. Lysander looked forward and saw a short boy, in the 12 year olds' group, glance back with wide, dark eyes. Their eyes met for a moment, and the woman let out another cry, muffled this time.
"Mom....?" Lysander heard the boy call out quietly, but not what the Escort had addressed him by.
"Mom...?!" There was something in the tone of the boy's voice that struck Lysander. It was desperation and disbelief. The boy started to walk back towards his mother, peacekeepers trailing behind him in a slow pursuit. Behind them, the woman's muffled screams grew more frantic.
Lysander's hand shot out to hold the boy back as he passed, and he raised his scarf to cover his mouth. Startled, the boy looked up at him, and tried to push forward, past Lysander. The older boy's grip tightened on his shoulder. "It's alright." The programmer said, "I volunteer."
He stepped past the boy and stood aside the group of boys. In a louder voice, Lysander yelled,
... Who was he, to do anything in an era lead by an oppressive minority, whose cameras and eyes were on him now...?
Someone, a human who could make a difference, with his dying breath.
