I peal my eyes open, the early morning light shining on them. The old clock next to my bed reads 5 a.m. I run a hand through my messy black locks, a few dry strands of hair falling through my fingers. I can never sleep through the night, but today is worse than ever. It's the reaping for the Hunger Games. I know it's unlikely for me to get picked, but I'm constantly worrying about everyone I know.
We have a fairly tight community around where I live, most people willing to help out one another. I've always been worried a close friend will be picked.
I push the thoughts of the reaping out of my head, and walk downstairs, where I find my mother sitting on a faded yellow chair in our living room.
My mother was once a very beautiful woman, with long flowing dark hair and a warm smile. At least that's what I'm told. Of course she's always been beautiful to me, but stress over the years has drastically worn out her face.
She holds a cup of tea in her hands, and a book sits in her lap. She looks up as she sees me walk down the stairs. I walk over to her and she gently rubs my arm.
"Nervous for the reaping?"
I shrug "As nervous I always am," I say as I take a seat on our couch.
"There are thousands of names in there Kyra, only five are yours," she says comfortingly to me.
"But what about Anna?" I ask her. "And Harlan?" My two closest friends from school, both who've taken out large amounts of tessera over the years.
"Don't worry honey, everything will be alright." She gives my kind smile and reaches for my hand. "Come, I know what will cheer you up."
I follow her into our small kitchen, where my mother take out the ingredients for bread. I guess you could say my family is pretty stereotypical for district nine, but baking with my mother has has made me happy ever since I was young. I was always good at it. I have steady hands, my mother says. Good for mixing and measuring. And because of my excellent and eye coordination, I've hardly ever spilled ingredients out of the mixing bowl.
My mother frowns. "It looks like we're out of basil, could you run down to Anna's and get some?"
"Of course," I say.
I doubt we're really out, but I know my mother wants me to see my friends to calm down before the reaping. I jog out of the house and into the street, where a couple of people are walking. After a few moments, I arrive at Anna's modest home, where her family sell herbs and vegetables in one room. A bell jangles at the door as I walk in.
Anna looks up from some knitting she's working on, and gives me a huge smile, despite the obvious lack of sleep. She runs up to me for a hug.
"Hey!" She says, "how are you?"
"As good as I can be on reaping day I guess. How about you?"
"God, I nearly forgot it was reaping day! It'll be my sister's first year." Her smile slowly fades. "But that's okay, I'm hear to volunteer for her if anything happens."
"I think it'll be okay Anna," I say, "her name's only in there once."
"You're right Kyra, thanks. So what can I get for you?"
We walk over to the bins of food they have for sale and she helps me find the herbs I need. I give her the money, plus a few coins I put in the tip jar.
She smiles at me as we walk to the door. "Good luck today Kyra."
"You too, Anna."
She hugs me again before I walk out, heading back home.
As I arrive at my house, I can already smell the bread baking. My calls out to me from kitchen, "I already made one loaf, we'll use the herb for the others."
I head into the kitchen where we finish baking. My thoughts calm, and I know I'll make it through another reaping.
When we've finished and the loaves sit on the table, I jog upstairs to wake my father.
Quietly stepping into my parents modest bedroom, I give my father a light tap on the shoulder.
Though he's an older man who can barely work anymore, he has the greatest respect around here.
He pushes himself harder day after day, and tells the local children stories of before life was this way. Of the happiness before the games began, even when war raged around everyone.
My mother even considered not having children at all when they first married, but my father constantly told her the stories of life before the games, and how he knew we would achieve that again someday. He finally convinced her to have kids, and he says she was never happier than the day I was born.
He always says we can't be afraid of the capitol, because our fear is the only thing that keeps them in control of us. I know what he says is true, but that doesn't tame the fear I have that one day the capitol will hear of his rebellious stories and take him away.
My father turns around slowly, smiling when he sees it's me.
"Good morning dear," he says to me.
"Hi dad," I say softly to him, "come on, it's time to eat."
I trod back down the stairs to help my mother set the table.
It's a tradition in every district to have a family meal before the reaping each year. I try not to think about the fact that it could always be my last meal at home before heading off to die.
As my family and I sit around the table, my parents give me the same talk they have every since the first reaping I was eligible for.
How much they love me and how grateful they are to have me as their child. As much as I love my parents, the talk has always just made me more nervous for the reaping.
I sit at the table, picking at the bread and other food on my plate as my parents talk about neighborhood happenings.
Eventually, when my mother notices my nervousness, she gets up from the table.
"Only about an hour until the reaping, we'd better start getting ready," she says to me.
I smile at her, grateful for the distractions from my own thoughts.
We head into the bathroom, where she slowly starts brushing through my tangled hair.
My mother has always helped me groom myself, since I'm not the best in that area. I prefer to stick with baking and working.
She separates my hair, putting two parts on each side. She then combs through and braid each side of my hair, sending two sleek braids falling at the middle of my back.
Finally, she pulls out a soft pink lipstick, spreading it evenly across my lips. She also smears some on each of my cheeks, blending it in to give them a sweet feminine touch.
She gives me a smile.
"You look beautiful dear," she says to me, "you're becoming such a lovely young woman."
I hug her and she takes my hand, leading me to my room.
She hands me a knee length green dress and black slip on shoes that don't look very sturdy. She leaves the room and I change into the clothes. The dress is a little tight on me, since it's the same one I wore last year, but my small frame fits into it well. I also slip a think silver ring onto my finger, the single piece of jewelry I own.
I take a deep breath before walking downstairs to pace in my living room as my parents get ready.
When they come down in their nicest clothes, I know it's time to go.
Many other families walk down the street around us, young children excited for the big event, unaware of the horror that they're heading towards.
My eyes scour the streets, spotting Harlan, his parents, and brothers walking to the town center.
I jog up to him to wish him luck before the reaping.
He gives me a smile when I catch up to him, and we have a light conversation until we arrive.
I take a deep breath.
"You ready for this?" He asks me.
"I guess so," I tell him, as we go to sign in.
The finger prick always startles me, even though I know they have to take blood.
"Good luck," Harlan says to me, as we crowd in with the rest of the sixteen year olds.
"You too, I say back to him.
Everyone begins to settle, and I look over the stage.
On one side sits our mayor, on the other our single victor, Barric Stager.
Anna quietly makes her way over to us through the crowd of teenagers as the major steps up to read the Treat of Treason. He tried to make it sound interesting every year, but no one ever really pays attention.
Our escort, Florentina Little, sits picking at her lengthy electric blue nails, obviously bored.
When the major is finally done, Barric steps up to make his speech.
His hands shake as he takes out notecards. He stutters through about seven minuets of his speech before finally giving up and sitting back down.
He's never made an entire speech before, and has barely been able to have a conversation ever since he claimed victory to the twenty eighth Hunger Games. No one's ever dared to make fun of him though, perhaps out of respect for being district nine's first victor, or just because of the lingering presence of the peacekeepers.
After a short silence, Florentina steps up.
"Alright then! Let's begin this years reaping! Boy go first!"
Harlan slips his hand into mine, and he gives it soft squeeze.
She walks over to the large glass tank that holds all the male names, reaches in, and picks out a folded piece of paper.
"Carter Barlington!"
I feel Harlan sign of relief next to me, but I recognize the last name of the tribute.
As he slowly walks up stage, I recognize him.
"Harlan," I whisper, "that's Alfred's brother." He and his younger brother share the same tan skin and deep brown hair, though Carter is definitely physically stronger than his younger brother from my class.
The peacekeepers rush him on stage, then return to their regular stance.
"Great!" Florentina shouts over the dead silence. "And now time for the ladies."
She walks to bowl of female names, and circles her hand through the pieces of paper before selecting one.
"And the female tribute this year is Kyra Alasia!"