I woke up in a cold sweat, as I often do the day of the reaping. This time, though, it's different. I'm no longer only worried about Katniss's name being drawn, but my own as well. This is the first year I have ever been eligible for the dreaded hunger games, and, despite Katniss's reassurances, I'm terrified.
What if I get thrown into the arena where twenty-four kids fight to the death on live television? What if I lose? What if I don't come home?
I'm scaring myself for no good reason. I only have one slip of paper in a ball of thousands! It's Katniss I should be worried about; she's the one who signed up for the tessera multiple times! That's a lot. I should have signed up, even though Katniss forbade me to even think of it… even though that would make the odds even less in my favor. It might make me feel a little less guilty if she was reaped.
Ugh! I command myself to stop thinking. It will only stress me out more. I go through the motions of getting myself ready, willing myself to not think, but once again, I find my mind straying to who I would never see at school again; to whose family would be mourning tonight, instead of celebrating with the rest of the spared families; to who I would witness die (most probably) a bloody, gruesome death.
Katniss was already awake and gone, probably hunting with Gale, so I get mother up to start our preparations for the big day. Mother dresses me in a nice top and skirt, and has me sit on a stool so she can begin the elaborate up do I've seen done so many times on Katniss, but never had done to me. Once she's done with that, she attempts to fix my impossibly huge top with pins. It is a little tighter, but not by much; the back keeps falling out and is hard to reach to tuck back in.
As soon as I hear the door creak, I bolt up to greet Katniss, but seeing that she's tired, I decide against it. She lays down her hunting gear and climbs into the tub of warm water Mother and I prepared for her earlier. She then proceeds to wash off the grime and sweat she managed to acquire in the woods this morning, but eventually, she has to emerge from the soapy water and begin preparing.
"Come here, Katniss," begins Mother, beckoning her over to where she'd laid out one of her personal dresses for the occasion. "I want you to wear this today," she says, handing Katniss the beautiful blue dress.
"Your old dress?" exclaims Katniss, evidently pleased. "Are you sure?"
"Of course," replies Mother. "Let's put your hair up, too." Katniss sits on the stool and allows Mother to towel-dry her hair and braid it up in the same elaborate do as mine. By the time she's through with Katniss, she looks like a different person.
"You look beautiful," I whisper quietly.
"And nothing like myself," she agrees. She then leans down to hug me. I can't tell if it's because she's scared, or if she knows I am.
"Tuck your tail in, little duck," Katniss says affectionately. I turn to look in our cracked mirror, and sure enough, my top had yet again worked its way loose and made me resemble a duck. I giggled and waddled around.
"Quack," I say as I give one last shake. Katniss shares one of her rare laughs with me and smooths my blouse back down.
"Quack yourself," she says, accompanied by another little laugh. "Come on, let's eat," she says, planting a kiss on my forehead. For breakfast we had some rough bread made from tessera grain and some of Lady's milk. Lady is my pet goat and my most prized possession. We started some fish and greens in a stew for our celebratory dinner and we had some strawberries and bakery bread for dessert. I couldn't help but wonder; if one of us got reaped, would we still eat our little feast?
At one o'clock, we started walking towards the square where the reaping would be held. If you weren't deathly ill, attendance was mandatory. The Peacekeepers would be coming around to check every house and if you weren't sick, then you will be locked up and presumably killed.
Everyone from District 12 filed in and was required to sign in. This was how the Capital kept tabs on the population of all the districts. Twelve- through eighteen-year-olds are herded into the designated areas roped off for the ceremony; girls on one side, boys on the other; oldest to the front, youngest, like me, to the back. All the family members of those children crowded around the edges and looked on anxiously, while people who didn't have and family that age placed bets about who would be chosen.
We get pressed in tighter as more people arrive. The large square can only hold a portion of the eight thousand people that populate the district, so latecomers are directed to side streets where the reaping will be streamed over separate televisions live.
I end up pushed in the very back with a few friends from school. We huddle together and look pitifully at each other, but no one says a word. We are all too anxious to concentrate on anything other than the big ball that contains our fate.
Two of the three chairs on stage are full; one with the Mayor, and one with Effie Trinket, the Capital escort. They have their heads together, murmuring and glancing disapprovingly at the empty chair.
Just as the town clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It's the same dull story every year. He tells of the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once called North America. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, the brutal war for what little sustenance remained.
The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games. The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the tributes must fight to the death. The last one standing wins.
Taking the children from our districts, forcing them to kill one another while we watch — that is the Capitol's way of reminding us how we are completely at their mercy; how little chance we would stand of surviving another rebellion.
Whatever words they use, the message is clear. "Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there's nothing you can do about it. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you just like we did to District Thirteen."
In order to make it as humiliating as it is torturous, the Capital requires us to regard the games as a festivity like a sports event. The winner of the Hunger Games gets to go home and live a life of luxury. Part of the prize is lots of gifts showered on your whole district, mainly food. This ensures that the starving districts will be mad the next year, which makes for a more exciting Games. Oh, the ways they try and manipulate us.
"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," recites the mayor. He then proceeds to read out the list of victors from district 12. We have had only two all seventy-four years; only one is still alive. Speaking of which, Haymitch Abernathy stumbles onto the stage, obviously drunk. He collapses into the third chair and seems to be confused by the clapping that's bursted from the crowd. In this confusion, he tries to give Effie a big bear hug. She finally fended him off, but not before her bright pink wig got knocked a little off centered. To try and direct the cameras back to the actual reaping, the Mayor introduces Effie.
As bubbly and annoying as always, Effie Trinket stands at the podium to give her trademark, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She goes on a bit about how honored she is to be here and how excited she is and then it's time for the drawing.
"Ladies First!" she exclaims, running over to the girl's ball. She plunges her hand as far down into the ball as she can before coming up with a single sheet of paper. I figure I'm pretty safe, but I'm worried about Katniss. So I chant over and over in my head: please don't pick Katniss, please don't pick Katniss, please don't pick Katniss. Effie reads the name in her distinctive Capital accent and I feel the world start to turn because the name she just called wasn't Katniss's.
It was mine.
sorry about the previous typos, but i fixed them :) please review and really please don't be worried about hurting my feelings! i take constructive criticism well (especially since this is my first fanfic) REVIEW! (please?) thanks!