T'was the day I would have to face the reaping once again. One more year and I would be free. I woke up that morning like any other, almost forgot about the big cerimony for a moment. I ran up to the kitchen to find my parents already waiting for me; I could see the disappointment in my mother's eyes. She made me hear that cowboy hat and clothes - oh, the variety of clothes on Ten was lovely - and without having time to eat anything, we mounted our horses and to the square we went.
Even after all this years, people were still frightened by my father. They usually steped back when seeing him, so getting to the square was piece of cake. Perks of being a marginal's son.
My parent's stayed on the entrance while I walked into the centre of the square. There I met, what her name was? Lexie, I think, my cousin. The living definition of 'brat', red-haired, freckled, annoying girl. Two years younger than me. With a grin on her face, she asked me, "Scared?" which I answered no, not at all, and kept walking until I was next to all the other 17 years old boys.
The escort soon arrived, with her red wig and big, fake horns she surely looked like a Barrosã cow. I couldn't contain myself and let a laugh escape from my mouth, the escort insisted in looking like a different breed of cattle every year.
"Welcome to the year of the 49th Hunger Games", she said, "in which we're gonna reap two of your children once again so that they can die in front of all country", I completed. She seemed very excited to show us the same boring movie as every year, during which I almost fell asleep. Her high pitched, annoying voice brought me back to reality, when she said she was going to pick the female Tribute who was going to represent District Ten that year.
- Glenda Calhoun - she called, with a smile on her face.
"Calhoun, Calhoun", I searched back in my memory. Nope, I didn't recall anyone with that surname. A young girl, possibly 14 or 15 years old, timidly walked up the stage. The escort didn't lose time and took a paper out the boy's globe.
- Atticus Fletch, - she called confidently. My heart skipped a beat. That was me.