This was disgusting. Really, truly
disgusting. Felix picked up the slimy, grey meat and tossed it into a
bucket, his nose wrinkling in distaste. It was odd, really, seeing as
he was from District Four, the place of oceans, bleach-blondes, and
seafood. Seeing as oysters were seafood, why would should Felix have
any problems with it?

That was due to food-poisoning. Not
just a little bit, but the kind that makes you sick for a week. And
being sick for a week during the most plentiful time of the year made
everything that much worse. Not being able to fish means no money. No
money means no food. No food means no living.

It's not like it mattered that much,
though. Felix had more than enough money and food set aside to last
him a week. It was more just a pain in the butt to know he was
missing the best fishing season of the year.

Felix stood up, grabbing the bucket
full of oyster shells in one hand and the bucket with their meat in
the other. The soft yellow sand stuck to his body, but he didn't care
much. It would rub off as he walked.

He made is way along the beach,
eventually making it to the shack that served as a house for him. It
wasn't bad, really, seeing as it was about five dollars a month to
rent. Most people would've used it as a storage shed or something
equal in quality, but Felix had made it his home. And since he only
used it for sleeping in, really, it worked pretty well.

He set the oyster meat bucket down on
the table right inside the door, then trotted off into town with the
shells. His goal was to sell them to the jewelry lady for a few
cents, as he usually did. Of course, she didn't buy all of them, just
the ones she thought were good enough for her shop. Usually that
consisted of almost all of them, pardoning only the broken or
colorless ones.

Felix arrived at the shop, sold the
shells, then walked back to his shack. He glanced up at the clock,
which told him there was about an hour until check-in for the
Reaping. Great, he was going to be late. Again.

Quickly taking a salt-water bath, he
brushed his hair into the most appealing fashion it could manage. He
then slipped on the best dress-shirt he had; a light blue thing with
darker patches, as if imitating the waves on the ocean. He slipped on
pale-golden shorts that reached his knees. With these on, he looked a
lot like the beach.

He zipped out the door, not bothering
to lock it behind him. He was far enough away from town that nobody
would wander down there, and if they did, it would look a bit
suspicious. Besides, by this time, everyone else would've been at the
Reaping.

When he arrived, they pricked his
finger, then corralled him into one of the sections for the 18 year
old males. Most of the other boys there he recognized, and many of
them he knew only had their name in a few times, much like himself.

This was no ordinary reaping, though.
This was his last one, and this was the one he was going to volunteer
for.

((uber long an not needed intro. c:))