Chapter One
It's a brisk morning, and the warm air hardly whisks me out of bed for the day to come. I've dreaded the exact date for six years now, and now that the seventh has hit, this will be the last that my name, Colin Hummings, can be drawn for the Hunger Games. I have to be happy in that respect though. This will be the last time that I won't have to worry about being sent into an arena, surrounded with others armed to the teeth with weapons, waiting for my inevitable end.
Hardly anyone wins from where I'm from anyways. Living under Panem, there are twelve districts that have to send one boy and one girl to fight one another in the Hunger Games. I am from the eighth district. We specialize in textiles and make the clothes for the people of the capitol. It's even become a hobby of mine, clothsmaking. I love the feel of a needle and thread moving together to patch something together. Not much of a talent when it comes to the Hunger Games though; all this brings is comfort if my outfit goes up in flames. I can always sew another.
I have to get up, though, or else I will suffer some deranged punishment from Panem. The capitol of this demented country is something we, the people of District 8, despise. It was in the interest of those in the capitol to make us labor while they relax and watch out youth die in the arena. All this, all the work and effort we do, it's all for them. I'm bitter to the end.
Then again, I can be proud to live in District 8. Many of the victor's from the past games have told my family of the horrors in the other districts. Especially district 12 and 11, who get little to no comfort from the outside world. The higher your number, the farther from the capitol you are, the farther you are from the safety of the barbaric world. Then again District 13 was the most civilized, and now they're gone. Just a small pile of rubble on the map thanks to their rebellious idea's against Panem.
Here at District 8 we have our own well built homes and never feel scarce for money. We make clothing after all, and the people of Panem always love new clothes. Sometimes the people in the capitol design their own wares, but then the idea's have to come here for mass production. Most of the time we design new clothes since most of the citizens are well known for knowing fabric. My favorite is cotton. We know how to shape and come up with new ways of designing.
My sister, Ellie, is already up as I walk out of my small room. She's getting ready for the day as well, where we both will be heading for the reaping. We're twins, Ellie and I, looking almost identical except for our hair. Mine is cut short so I can work in the factories. So many horror stories come about when people's hair's get stuck in the textile machines. My sister, though, let's her brown hair hang so low you might think it could touch the ground. She works with my mother in our small clothes shop, where we sell product and Ellie helps create new designs. She's a one of a kind mind.
My father and I work in the factories though. We help mass produce work clothes for districts 4 and 11. The capitol says that the clothes must be made a certain way, and we are able to easily make the cloth in the way requested. The differences are significant though. 4 gets clothes that are made for water, 11 gets clothes that help the skin breathe in heat.
Today, though, school and work are closed for the reaping. That's what they call the day. The reaping. Doesn't it sound so welcoming? The day that the capitol gets to collect us and leave us at deaths door, for only one of us to leave with the images of horror and violence.
All I can do I hope Ellie and I make it passed our last year.
She's not smiling either, looking down at the large loaf of bread and small plate of eggs. We always have a big meal on the day of the reaping. Mom says it will give us good luck. Her family always fixed one when she was going to the reaping, and not once was her name pulled. I think it's just amazing we get to eat some eggs once a year. I love the taste.
But even as I go to grab some, almost greedily I think, Ellie is just sitting there, looking down at her plate. I know today is a terrible day but she usually has more energy than this. Why is she so down? Why isn't she going for the eggs first, telling me 'ladies go first,' like the attendant from the capitol does?
I have to ask after a few moments of idle banter between our parents.
"What's wrong Ellie?"
"Oh..." She shakes her head, a weak, fake smile on her face. "Nothing, sorry."
Ellie grabs some eggs and makes a comment about how I should have waited. Didn't she see me grab the eggs before her? Maybe it is all getting to her like it is me. This is the last year we'll be in the reaping and we can't afford to have either of us pulled for the Hunger Games. We both support the family. I got to work in the Textiles when I was sixteen giving some extra money for mom and dad. With Ellie helping Mom at the shop, we sell more clothes. We both help out to keep the family from having to get tesserae.
Tesserae is a nightmare for all the youth in the Districts, at least I would assume it was. It's something the kids can do when we're 12-18 years of age, where the capitol would send us rations for the year, but our name would be entered three times for the Hunger Games that year. Worse off, the names are carried from year to year, so each year you would get tesserae meant your name would appear three more times. Many have been drawn just for trying to get the rations for saving their younger siblings.
With that fresh in my mind, I know our chances are high for freedom. Ellie and I are only in there seven times now. We can't get drawn with so many other names pocking around in that pool of others. We have luck on our side.
Ellie and I get the day to ourselves now, before the reaping that is, which is coming up soon. So we just sit on the steps outside our house. I play with some thread in my pocket, looking at the velvet color fly off the string as the sun shines on it. Ellie sits, just staring, like she had inside.
"Maybe we'll be making clothes for the games when we get back," I say, trying to ease the tension building on Ellie's shoulders.
"Cheering on whomever is put in the games?" Ellie let out a giggle, brightening up the mood.
I smile. "Maybe Justine will be put in. She's always good at the P.E. in school. I bet she could win the games easy."
Ellie nods and goes over the design for the shirt with me. It has Justine punching down one of the District 1 kids. I can't help but laugh, knowing the small bit of symbolism there. It's always District 1, 2, or 4 winning these things. The other kids usually assume they will die and give up.
Who stands a chance against those kids either? Most of the time they are raised for the games in hopes that they will win the ultimate glory of being the Hunger Games victor. It's as if the blood they spill doesn't matter. Like they are animals. Which makes me hate them so much more. How could any person be treated like an animal?
Panem doesn't mind that philosophy for sure.
Ellie and I are having fun with our chatter of what we would design for the games when we notice the other kids heading toward the Justice Building. It's at the center of the district, where many events take place. It's the place where the mayor lives. It's the place where many events are held. It's where the reaping will begin.
We stand, and Ellie's face immediately goes to the cold stare she's had all this morning. I help her up from her seat, and not letting go of her hand, walk to the reaping with her.
We can't be drawn. We just can't.
I have to separate from her, though, since boys stand to one side and girls to the other. I feel like that's so kindergarten of them, to make the boys and girls play separately while the drawings happen. But then again I remember to one of the reapings that my mother had been in. She said when the girls name was drawn, a boy had grabbed the girl. The two were madly in love. When he tried to run off with her, the guards shot the boy right in the back. No remorse for love, no remorse for past actions. Panem is cruel.
I stop in the crowd, and next to me stands my best friend, Trey Dresdain. He's been there to help me pass most of the classes we were in, and his family helped my father get the job in the factories. Trey seems full of spirits unlike most of the crowd though. It's his last year too.
"So what's the plan after this little shin-dig?" Trey asks, making some clicking sound with a smirk.
"Ellie and I are gonna make a shirt of Justine Renold punching a kid from District 1."
He bursts out laughing, drawing the eyes of the Peacekeepers on him. The dreaded Peacekeepers. They work for the capitol and keep the districts in check. Usually with force. Like they had with the boy trying to save his love in my mothers memories. The Peacekeepers do not appreciate any form of rebellion, so I quickly shut Trey up.
"You don't want the Peacekeepers to 'make' your name appear, do you?" I ask.
"Of course not Colin," Trey frowns and looks at the eyes on him. "Just trying to lighten the mood, like you were."
"Alright."
And then she steps on stage, center front with that stupid, cheeky grin of hers. Develon Gripps, the capitols attendant for District 8. There is an attendant for each district, looking after the tributes called for the Hunger Games while the mentor helps train the tributes for the inevitable battle ahead of them.
Develone Gripps, though, is one of the strangest women I have ever seen. The reason being is that she does not look like someone from the captiol. She's dressed in some moderate clothes, not something poofy or extravagant like most of the attendants I've seen on TV. Her hair is also so natural, black locks that hang down covering her chest. She's so natural for such an unnatural world.
Then we hear the microphone tune itself, fix upon the right volume for Develone Gripps. She's going to call out the names in just a few moments. She's going to send two of us to our end.
"Good morning District 8," Develone speaks in her usual, cool voice that almost makes the entire populace freeze in spot. "And welcome to the 66th reaping for District 8."
I can't knock off this chill I have. Develone is so cool and smooth up there that this entire processing has made me shiver in my shoes. It's early summer too! How does she even invoke such fear with such a natural attitude.
"Now then, like every year, we will begin with the girls," Develone smiles at the girls. There's a hint of some emotion one her face, but I can't place it. It's there every year. What is it on her face that catches my attention.
She motions toward her right, the crowd of girls is on that side, and a bowl filled with small slivers of paper fill the bowl. It's huge. So many people must have asked for tesserae because I know there are not that many faces in the crowd. I know, though, that seven of those names belong to Ellie.
"May the odds ever be in your favor," Develone speaks.
Her hand swims through the bowl like a shark, hungry for the fish that it is seeking. And Develone is taking her time trying to find a name. Nothing on the top, nothing on the bottom. What's her game?
The sliver of paper comes out in her hands. My stomach is in knots. I want to vomit my breakfast. Who's in her hand? Who did Develone Gripps just force into the arena?
"Ellie Hummings!"