Hopper anxiously awakes from a dreamless sleep, trying to choke back the lump in his throat that had been gathering for the weeks leading up to today. The day of the annual Reaping. This was  the day when he desperately hoped that the odds would be in his favor. As he shakes with anxiety he almost doesn't notice the ache between his legs. A familiar sensation to him these last few years at this time of day, something that wakes him each morning. Unsteadily, he rolls over onto his left side and grasps sleepily for the old sock that he uses for this activity. Hopper finds it under his tattered school books. He then quickly slides down his boxers, slips the sock over this dick, and begins to rub. But today, Hopper finds it hard to focus, as the sun peaks in through the moth eaten curtains of his bunk bed, he tries to push the thoughts of the day ahead out of his mind and focus on the feeling of friction given by the rough, old sock which he had saved from being handed down to his brother a year before. Picking up the speed, Hopper bites his lip as he brings himself to completion inside of the sock, falling back down onto the bed and taking off the sock, stuffing it between the thin mattress and the wooden frame of his bunk. Promising himself that he would come back and wash the sock when no one was around, Hopper uses this as a way of reassuring himself that he will be back. If not, who would put away the sock then?

After a while, he pushes the curtains aside and hops down onto the floor, making a thud noise and waking up his younger brother, who pokes his head out from the curtain of his bunk underneath Hoppers. "W'as happ'in?" mutters the child, sleepily. Hopper shakes his head and says, "Can it, Pete. The Reaping is today." And at this the little brown haired boy nods sleepily and pulls his head back inside the curtain, either too stupid or sleepy to fully grasp the significance of that. Hopper then sits down at the table and shakingly pours himself a cup of coffee, as his mom comes in and dishes out bowls of porridge with black berries she had grown from vines on the side of their home. She does this while muttering the whole time about how it just had to be her husband who had to go to work that morning because someone had to open the train station for the Reaping.

Hopper doesn't taste his breakfast, doesn't relish his morning dump, or even enjoy getting the warm water from his special bath. His name is in eighteen times, once for himself each year, plus again for extra grain rations, then once for each of his four siblings and parents each year. Again, for extra grain. His mom allows him a special warm bath because of this; the water will be reused to bathe each of his younger siblings afterwards. 

When Hopper is finally dressed and standing before the mirror, he wrinkles his nose at the sight of his freshly ironed shirt and slacks, and the old conductor's hat on his head. His mother is puttering nearby, talking about how the mechanics and bicycle manufacturers always dress up their kids. 

Hopper ignores her constant, quiet ranting and tries to get his messy hair to stay flat underneath the leather brim of the hat. His older sister polishes his shoes while younger sister tries to find his belt. His younger brother sits in the middle of the floor with a towel around his shoulders, his mother searching for something decent for the child to wear, as she likes to put it. An unsteady breath leaves Hoppers lungs as he watches this from the mirror, trying not to imagine his brother facing days like this in the future.

His siblings dress and once all are ready, the family make their way to the door. Hopper is still frozen in front of the mirror, however, wondering if this will be the last time that he sees his home (but then, who would clean the sock?). His thoughts are interrupted by his little brother, who hugs his leg and begins to whine about how its time to leave. Sighing, Hopper forces himself to grin and says with half a laugh, "okay, little monkey."

Hopper makes his way to the door with his little brother Pete holding onto his pants leg. As they make their way over the thrush hold of the old iron shipping grate that is their home, Hopper looks down at the little boy sucking his thumb and says, "I think that today, you should be the conductor." With that, the older boy puts the conductor hat on his brother's head, and they begin to make their way to the annual Reaping. 

    Hopper anxiously awakes from a dreamless sleep, trying to choke back the lump in his throat that had been gathering for the weeks leading up to today. The day of the annual Reaping. This was  the day when he desperately hoped that the odds would be in his favor. As he shakes with anxiety he almost doesn't notice the ache between his legs. A familiar sensation to him these last few years at this time of day, something that wakes him each morning. Unsteadily, he rolls over onto his left side and grasps sleepily for the old sock that he uses for this activity. Hopper finds it under his tattered school books. He then quickly slides down his boxers, slips the sock over his dick, and begins to rub. But today, Hopper finds it hard to focus, as the sun peaks in through the moth eaten curtains of his bunk bed, he tries to push the thoughts of the day ahead out of his mind and focus on the feeling of friction given by the rough, old sock which he had saved from being handed down to his brother a year before. Picking up the speed, Hopper bites his lip as he brings himself to completion inside of the sock, falling back down onto the bed and taking off the sock, stuffing it between the thin mattress and the wooden frame of his bunk. Promising himself that he would come back and wash the sock when no one was around, Hopper uses this as a way of reassuring himself that he will be back. If not, who would put away the sock then?

After a while, he pushes the curtains aside and hops down onto the floor, making a thud noise and waking up his younger brother, who pokes his head out from the curtain of his bunk underneath Hoppers. "W'as happ'in?" mutters the child, sleepily. Hopper shakes his head and says, "Can it, Pete. The Reaping is today." And at this the little brown haired boy nods sleepily and pulls his head back inside the curtain, either too stupid or sleepy to fully grasp the significance of that. Hopper then sits down at the table and shakingly pours himself a cup of coffee, as his mom comes in and dishes out bowls of porridge with black berries she had grown from vines on the side of their home. She does this while muttering the whole time about how it just had to be her husband who had to go to work that morning because someone had to open the train station for the Reaping.

Hopper doesn't taste his breakfast, doesn't relish his morning dump, or even enjoy getting the warm water from his special bath. His name is in eighteen times, once for himself each year, plus again for extra grain rations, then once for each of his four siblings and parents each year. Again, for extra grain. His mom allows him a special warm bath because of this; the water will be reused to bathe each of his younger siblings afterwards. 

When Hopper is finally dressed and standing before the mirror, he wrinkles his nose at the sight of his freshly ironed shirt and slacks, and the old conductor's hat on his head. His mother is puttering nearby, talking about how the mechanics and bicycle manufacturers always dress up their kids. 

Hopper ignores her constant, quiet ranting and tries to get his messy hair to stay flat underneath the leather brim of the hat. His older sister polishes his shoes while younger sister tries to find his belt. His younger brother sits in the middle of the floor with a towel around his shoulders, his mother searching for something decent for the child to wear, as she likes to put it. An unsteady breath leaves Hoppers lungs as he watches this from the mirror, trying not to imagine his brother facing days like this in the future.

His siblings dress and once all are ready, the family make their way to the door. Hopper is still frozen in front of the mirror, however, wondering if this will be the last time that he sees his home (but then, who would clean the sock?). His thoughts are interrupted by his little brother, who hugs his leg and begins to whine about how its time to leave. Sighing, Hopper forces himself to grin and says with half a laugh, "okay, little monkey."

Hopper makes his way to the door with his little brother Pete holding onto his pants leg. As they make their way over the thrush hold of the old iron shipping grate that is their home, Hopper looks down at the little boy sucking his thumb and says, "I think that today, you should be the conductor." With that, the older boy puts the conductor hat on his brother's head, and they begin to make their way to the annual Reaping.