Its reaping day today. You can tell because people are moving around lethargically. It's as if all the colour and fun has been drained from our district. Not that we have much colour in our streets or homes, but in the workplace we have a wide spectrum of colours fit for the citizens of the Capitol. It's hard to understand why those people would want our lowly hands to shape their trends and fashion. Its hard to fathom anything the Capitolites do…
It'll soon be time to go to the town square and watch more friends and relatives be plucked from their little community and slaughtered at the bloodbath. District 8 has never stood a chance. What skills of combat can we possibly gain from making a few dresses? Shall we simply sew the opposition together? Perhaps decorate them with an elaborate ribbon and pray that the colour distracts them long enough for a quick escape. That would probably work if we had Capitol tributes to contend with.
A young 16 year old girl, Briar, wakes up in her plain room, shared with her two sisters. She's not ready to become a tribute but she has little choice. No one in this district ever volunteers for anyone else because becoming a tribute is a death sentence. Volunteering is the same as throwing your pitiful life away. It's really a wonder how District 8 managed to claw two victors. What did they do to survive?
Briar has a long day ahead of her, she sighs as she steps out of her bread and walks through into the kitchen. There really is an atmosphere with her parents, they must be really anxious for her. Briar's name is in the bowl quite a few times, because of the amount of tessarea's she has applied for.
A few hours later, after the day has appeared to to drag on into weeks, the whole district is gathered in the town square. Parents stand on the outlines watching their children line up like lambs to a slaughter. Briar has a bad feeling about this year, little does she know that this feeling is justified.
Silence swallows up the entire town square as the districts exuberant Escort tiptoes onto the stage. "Happy Hunger Games and may the oods be ever in your favour!" Marshal Ivory shrieks across the square. Briar suppresses a tremble from creeping up her spine at his obnoxious accent. "Ladies first" Marshal announces giddily as he spins around before trotting up to the bowl of ladies names,
Plunging his hand into the bowl he rips out a handful of names, letting each one slowly drop out of his grasp until only one remains. Everyone's eyes were transfixed on the falling paper, watching as each name fell back into the bowl, sparring whomever from an awful fate but Briar's name didn't fall from his clutches, remaining in his blue tinged hands.
People watched and his nimble fingers opened the piece on paper swiftly, ready to call out a new victim. "BRIAR KEENE!" He shouted shrilly. That was the last thing she remembered of her reaping as the world shook and spun before her, the ground racing up to catch her as she fell into the blackness of her mind.
