The Woods

It was the silence that woke me. The endless void that, if broken, could bring each blissful family to heartbreak; ruin. Preparation Day was sometimes worse than the Reaping. No one dared to speak, lest it bring misfortune to their family. But the dissimilarity between the days made many weep nonetheless. It was every five years that a ritual was completed; that a sacrifice was made.

Except the sacrifice wasn’t an animal. Rather, a maiden of maturity.

***

The streets were silent, the only noise being the trotting of horses as they trod along the road, pulling along carts. Even they didn’t dare to whinny, as if they knew the mourning that would occur the next day. Though there was a market being held, the town was ghostly silent, the only remnants of the once joyful occasion being the quiet clinks of coins as items were bought. I didn’t care for such superstitions, so as I walked, I didn’t bother masking my steps or quiet mutterings.

When I saw my friend, Delilah, I linked arms with her and greeted her. She grinned and we went to sit by the edge of the forest to speak. Her appearance was the opposite of mine. Her skin was chocolate brown, smooth and flawless, and she had used some sort of chemical in her hair so her wild curls were a gentle gold. She was beautiful. I looked like many of the other girls in the town, having pale skin and dark hair; a common look. If you were lucky, you would be born with golden hair and would have a guaranteed hand in marriage with a wealthy man. The rest of us would remain at the bottom. I supposed that was why she coloured her hair – to see if she would have such luck.

“How is your family?” Her parents, much like my own, were distraught about the Reaping, and I knew that Delilah would have to watch them slowly crumble as the day came closer. If she was chosen, they would break. I’d seen it before with the family living next to mine. Even if she wasn’t chosen, there would be no healing the scars dug into them, as they would need to re-live it all over again when her little sister became of age at the next Reaping.

“Bold move talking on Preparation Day,” she hummed, braiding a few strands of grass. Her fingers were quick and nimble, though she paid little attention to her own fiddling. “If you’re not careful, the Head Representative will punish you.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Honestly, Delilah. I thought you didn’t care for such superstitions.”

Her smirk, though she tried to put on a strong façade, wavered. “To answer your question, they’re a mess. Right now, they’re doing every ritual they can think of to bring our family luck. It’s a whole lot of nonsense, but it brings them comfort.”

I silently nodded. Our parents were the same in that way. I supposed it was easier for me. Unlike her, I didn’t have a massive family – just my father. It was easier to let go. I was told my mother had died in a fire when I was just a babe, but there was no marked grave for her.

“It’s unlikely either of us will be chosen,” I murmured. “There are ten girls and only one will be selected. They say it’s random, but we all know the most beautiful girls are more likely to be chosen.”

She hummed in agreement. “It’s likely going to be Rebeka,” she replied. Rebeka was one of the few gifted with golden hair and blue eyes. If she wasn’t chosen, she would likely wed a man of wealth who was searching for a young and beautiful wife. Both fates could be considered horrid in their own ways.

“I wonder what it’s like being at the top of the food chain,” I mused. “I hear they don’t let woman do anything but look pretty and bear children. What a waste of life.”

“But they have warm beds and enough food.” I nodded silently. That was what most of us lacked.

After about an hour, we decided to head back into the centre of town, where the Reaping would be held. We were expected to help set up for the next day. A stone bowl on a small pillar stood in the very centre of the town square, carvings of the Woods etched into its sides. The bowl itself was empty, but it would be what decided our fate the next day.

The people helping were silent, as to be expected, and for once, I kept quiet, lest I upset the Head Representative. He stood to the side with the two other Representatives. Each wore black robes, but his was more ornate with gold embroidery depicting the Woods. Though he was old, his eyes were like steel as he watched everyone.

I silently picked up a basket of hemlock and knelt next to the stone bowl with a few other girls. We arranged the hemlock, foxglove and nightshade around the pillar’s base. The flowers were poisonous, yet beautiful. I had always thought it was unusual to decorate with poisonous flowers, but there was a level of symbolism behind it. Just like the nursery rhymes we were taught as children, they taught us that not all beautiful things were good. Beauty could deceive; beauty could corrupt. It was those nursery rhymes that kept us out of the Woods.

The Representatives watched as we worked, occasionally walking around to see our progress. I avoided making eye contact, keeping to myself. Insulting one of them could mean the end for me, so as a child, I was taught how to make myself look smaller; intimidated. The proud and wealthy liked it when people were intimidated or even frightened of them. It gave them more power.

We were working for hours, until it was late in the afternoon and the sun brushed the horizon. The town centre had been transformed, having poisonous flowers everywhere in wreaths and braided into ropes that hung from the sides of buildings and balconies. It looked like the town had been overrun by plant growth.

“Good work.” The Head Representative’s croaking voice echoed through the streets. The sudden noise made me jump and we all turned to him. “Curfew has been met, so you must all return home now. May good fortune come to you all.”

With that, he and the other Representatives walked away, leaving us to return to our homes. I hugged Delilah quickly before I headed towards the bakery. Being Preparation Day, we were expected to be inside before dark, to ensure we weren’t cursed with bad luck. It was a silly superstition, but I didn’t want to upset Father, so I was quick to get home.

Father was a baker, so we lived in the small apartment above the bakery. It meant that the hot ovens heated the apartment so we were never cold, but it also meant I got sick of baked goods very fast. When business was slow and we had leftover bread that wouldn’t sell, Father made us eat it for dinners so it didn’t go to waste. But even if I became sick of breads and pastries, it wouldn’t stop me from being grateful nonetheless. We were one of the luckier families within the town.

“I’m home,” I called, opening the door to the bakery. A wave of heat hit me and I sighed in content. Though it was only late Autumn, the nights were becoming colder.

“Ah, Fida. How was your day, sweetheart?” Father was covering the breads and pastries with mesh fabric to protect it from insects overnight. He resembled me with dark hair, but his skin was dark and wrinkled from years of work in the field before he became a baker.

“It was alright,” I shrugged, moving to help him cover the baked goods. “I helped set everything up for tomorrow.” His eyes darkened slightly, but I knew better than to comment on it. He, like everyone else, hated the Reaping. I silently thought of something to change the topic. “Let’s go have dinner, Father.”

He nodded and we walked upstairs together. I let him lean against me for support, wincing at his grunts of pain. He was becoming too old to move around too much, but we weren’t able to afford somewhere else to live, and it wouldn’t be convenient to live anywhere else, as he was needed at the bakery daily. Once the Reaping was over, I would be allowed to work, and I would help him run the business. He was becoming incapable of doing so alone.

After sitting him at the small table, I went into the small kitchen and stirred the pot of soup I had left to simmer that morning. I ladled it into two small bowls and cut two slices from a loaf of bread. Setting them onto a tray, I carried them out to where Father sat, passing him a bowl and piece of bread.

We silently ate together, knowing that talking might make him break. He’d been dreading the Reaping ever since my eighteenth birthday. It was only maidens of the age of eighteen that would be included in the Reaping, and unfortunately for me, I was two months off becoming nineteen.

When we finished eating, I took the bowls away and washed them before putting the kettle over the fireplace to heat the water. After a few minutes I had a steaming cup of herbal tea, which I gave to Father. The village’s doctor said it would help with the pain he went through, though I saw little progress in the time he had been drinking it.

“Please don’t stay up too late,” I said, kissing his cheek.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He patted my hand before I slipped into my bedroom and changed into my nightgown. My room was small, having only a bed and a cracked vanity, but I was more fortunate than some other people, so I was grateful for what I had.

As I brushed my hair, I glanced at the small painting on the vanity’s table. It was of Mother and Father twenty years ago. They were both smiling as they stared at whoever painted them. It was true joy; something Father now lacked. I stared at the woman, smiling sadly. Apart from the hair that flowed beneath the shawl around her head, I resembled her closely. I took her pallid skin and forest green eyes; a colour that was rare in the village. Though I felt no connection to her, I wished that I could’ve met her.

I sighed, setting down the brush and climbing into my bed. The next morning, I would be getting up before sunrise to prepare for the Reaping. So, I closed my eyes and did my best to try and sleep.

My fate would be decided the next day.