Gideon Cabot, District 10
The rising sun welcomes me as I rise with it. Bright and early, I dress in my best clothes and wipe a damp rag over my face. We don't have a mirror in our shabby, run-down shack that we call home, but I can see my reflection in the water at the bottom of the barrel. We keep this barrel outside during the winter to collect rainwater and use it all during the summer. It's a thousand times better than the murky water that comes from the district well.
My little sister, Wren, toddles into the kitchen and rubs her eyes. "Where's Pop?" she asks innocently.
"He went down to the stables before the sun came up," I reply, wetting the rag again. "Come here."
I wipe her tiny, round face until it shines. Wren smiles her cheesy smile and I can't help but return it. My five-year-old sister is the last gift we received after Mom passed. I love and cherish her every day because she's the last piece of my mother I will ever have. Wren is also the most sweet, adorable child which makes her all the more lovable.
Wren giggles and tugs at my sleeve. "Why are you so pretty today, Giddy?"
"Today's an important day." I wish it wasn't. Reaping Day is the worst day ever for the districts of Panem, second only to the real Games.
"Why?" Her big brown eyes glance up at me, framed with thick lashes. I finish cleaning her face and set down the rag, picking up the grain sack.
"Because it is. Here, eat some breakfast." I hand Wren her small serving of dry oats. She munches gleefully away, happy and ignorant. I can't help but envy her. She has seven more, long years of childhood before the real, cruel world will be thrust upon her. I don't know what I'd give up for just one of those years back.
I tell Wren to put on her cleanest clothes before I quickly head off to the stables. Pop is in Pinky's stall, milking her. Pinky is the healthiest cow in these stables, so we milk her regularly and share the sweet milk with all our neighbors. In District 10, we are all a big family. Not by blood, but by pain and suffering. We all hold the weight of the world on our shoulders, so we try to share it and spread it out evenly. No one in 10 lives lavishly. We neighbors barely scrape by together.
Pop glances up from the tin bucket. "Mornin', Gideon," he mumbles quietly. My pop is a soft spoken man. Very different from my mom. You could hear her singing, loud and proud, miles away. I love that she wasn't afraid.
I wish I wasn't afraid.
"I have to get to the Square to check in," I say. "Will you take Wren later?"
Pop nods. I'm near the barn doors when I hear him call out to me. I turn around and he gives me a shy grin. "May the odds be ever in your favor."
I smile back. "Thanks Pop." And I'm out the door and racing to the Square. The faster this is over, the faster I can get back home to Wren and Pop.
Other kids my age form a line at registration. District 10 holds its reaping in the Town Square, which is always littered with hay from carts that pass through town. Smaller kids play on the hay stacks while the older kids sign in. I check in with the Peacekeeper and walk briskly to the 12-year-old section. This is my first reaping, suffice to say, and my name is in the lottery four times. One is mandatory, three others is for the three people in my family that need the extra food to survive the cruel winter. Most of my tesserae actually goes to the cows and sheep my family is responsible for taking care of.
I stand in my designated area and wait.
Emmie Rey, District 10
Our District's escort hops around the stage for a minute before the mayor is ushered to the podium to speak. He talks in his monotony voice and then the bright pink escort takes his place.
"Ladies first!" she squeaks. Yeah, yeah. We know.
Her chubby pink fingers take their precious time picking a tiny piece of paper. They finally shoot in and grab one. She hops over to the microphone and squeals gleefully, "Emilia Rey!"
Me.
Take a deep breath. One foot in front of the other. Eyes forward and chin held high. Facial expression blank. Don't trip on the stairs. That's what my older brother, Mickey, taught me to do if I ever get picked. He told me to stay strong, even when I feel like falling apart. He says it's not worth it to fall apart because it takes too long to pull yourself back together, if you can. He says being strong is no more than showing how well you hide the pain.
"Volunteers?" the escort asks.
No one steps forward. Predictable. Mickey is out of the reaping, and even if he was, he couldn't volunteer for a girl. Against the rules.
"Boys next!"
My eyes scan the crowd. I see a few of the girls looking at me in pity, some in relief. They are sorry for me, but not sorry enough to save me. I don't feel any vengeance towards them. If I was faced with the same decision, I know I would've done the same thing. One girl's bad luck shouldn't cost you your life.
The pink escort prances across the stage to the boys' lottery pot. She plucks a name from the bowl and skips back to the podium. Her cheeriness dampens my sour mood even more than I thought possible.
"Gideon Cabot!"
Same as me, a 12-year-old is chosen. Just our luck, isn't it?
When I see his face, a wave of recognition washes over me. His name rang a bell, but now that I see him, I remember everything. Gideon is in my class at school. His home sits right next to the stables. His little sister is the cutest little girl around, leading the lambs in endless circles when grazing in the meadow. Gideon gives his food rations to the horses. I remember seeing him sneak the grain down to the stables at night. Once I saw him do that, I began giving my extra rations to the pigs my family takes care of. They haven't been this plump in years, thanks to my tesserae.
"Shake hands, kids!"
I turn to look at Gideon, my new district partner. Neither one of us breaks down in tears or tries running away. We save that for later. Right now, sponsors are watching ever so closely. I won't screw up any chances to get out of this alive. It is a game, after all.
We shake hands and the crowd lightly claps their applause.
"Congratulations to District 10's newest tributes, Emilia Rey and Gideon Cabot!" the escort screeches in her painfully loud Capitol accent. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."