Disclaimer: I own nothing but the characters. Everything about the Hunger Games world belongs to Suzanne Collins. I am just telling my own made up version, of a Games we heard so little about.
It is an overcast morning when I open my eyes. I see this from the small window in my bedroom. Not just my bedroom. It belongs to me, and my three older sisters. I seem to be the only one who is still in bed, and it does not surprise me. Until I remember what day it is. Reaping day.
I scramble out of the bed shared with Ruby, and make my way out of the room. Our house is small, just big enough for us. There are four rooms. The main room, two that serve as bedrooms, and the bathroom. That's all we have, and that's all we need. When I enter the main room, I see my sisters and father all sitting around the table cheerily. We have reason to celebrate today. It's the day after Ruby's birthday. She is nineteen now, which disqualifies her from being reaped for the Hunger Games. Not that she would have been today. None of us would be. I won't be.
Today is what the game makers are calling the Quarter Quell. It is the 25th anniversary of the very first Hunger Games. Today the tributes are chosen by the districts. Everyone who does not qualify to participate, was required to cast a vote in the previous weeks. Today one girl, and one boy, chosen by the very people of their district, would be sent to almost certain death.
I sit down beside my father, as mother comes through with breakfast for us all. We get eggs today, instead of our usual grain mush. I savour every last bite. It doesn't happen often that we have such good food. We chatter about mindless things, and when the topic turns to today's reaping, I leave the table. I cannot listen to this. I will not. It may not be me, but it will still be somebody. I need to get ready anyway. I have perhaps two hours to make myself look my best.
When I finish bathing, and dressing in a white dress that used to belong to Jade, Amethyst finds me. "Let me do your hair" she insists. I let her, because she is better at it than me. Her hair always looks so good. She is just beautiful in general. My sisters and I were all blessed with strawberry blonde hair. Amethyst's is always taken such good care of, in the hopes that people will notice her. They do. I've seen it. All the boys adore her. Even the boys my age. I don't know how she hasn't gotten married yet.
"There, Sapphire. Beautiful as always." I look in the mirror above our dresser when she's finished. My hair is pulled up into a bun on the top of my head. Some of the hair is left loose, and trails down my back from the bun. It curls softly, and for a moment, I don't recognise myself. For a moment, I look like Amethyst did at my age. But then I see my crooked little smile, and my lips that are too thin, and I look like me again.
"Not as pretty as you." I smile at her. Our mother is calling us from downstairs. Its time to go. We make our way down the stairs, where our stern faced father is waiting impatiently by the door. Jade and Ruby are arguing over what shoes to wear, and mother is checking her hair in the back of a spoon. We all look our best on reaping day. There will be cameras in the square, filming everything for the Capitol. Nothing gets by the Capitol cameramen. Nothing.
I hug Amethyst tightly when we get to the square. There is a part roped off in the center, where all the children eligible for the role of tribute stand. The rest of the population of District Eleven, must wait outside of the area. We are to line up according to age. Twelve year olds in the front, and Eighteen year olds in the back. I am fifteen. Right in the middle.
Our Capitol representative is an odd man. He has bright blue hair, and eyeliner to match. His name is Aibhne Cherish, and he frightens me. He is always too enthusiastic about sending two of us to death. He acts like it's a big honour. Its not. It is punishment, for a war waged before any of us being punished were alive. He sits on the front steps of the Justice building, in a seat alongside the mayor. In The third and fourth seats, sit two previous victors of Eleven. Clayton Winberg and Chevy Adams. Both are rather mean looking guys. Hardened by what they had been through in the arenas.
The mayor steps up to the podium in the middle of the stage, and starts to speak. He tells the history of Panem, a country that was formed from the ruins of a place called North America. Ravaged by storms, and floods and fires, and a war for what remained. The result was Panem, a beautiful Capitol, ringed by thirteen districts, all of which lived harmoniously together. Twenty six years ago one of the districts rose up against the capitol, and a revolution started. The dark days they are being called. Twelve districts were defeated, and one was completely destroyed. The thirteenth district was no longer. The treaty of Treason was enforced, giving new laws to enforce peace, and ensure the Dark days never happened again. The Treaty gave us, The Hunger Games.
The rules of The Hunger Games are very straightforward. As a punishment, for the uprising, one girl and one boy from every district will be offered up as a tribute, to participate. All twenty four tributes are to be imprisoned in an outdoor arena, that could be any kind of terrain. Over several weeks, all the tributes must fight to the death. The very last tribute standing, is the victor. They win the games. The Capitol requires we the people of Panem to treat this as a sort of festival. Something to look forward to every year. A sport if you will. The winning tribute receives a life of ease when they return home, and their district showered with prizes for the year. This year was a special Hunger Games. The twenty fifth annual. To commemorate it, instead of randomly drawing out a name, like they had done in previous year, all the districts were required to vote on their tributes. There would be no volunteers to take their place.
"It is a time to repent, but also a time to give our utmost thanks." I resist the urge to roll my eyes. There is nothing to be thankful for. Sending twenty three innocent children to death. He is reading a list of past district eleven winners. The only two names on the list are Clayton and Chevy. They nod respectively at the crowd, and the mayor introduces Aibhne Cherish, who is met with polite enough applause.
"Happy Hunger Games everyone!" He says it so happily, and I want to punch his blue eyeliner filled face. He walks over to the table to the right of the podium, which holds not the glass balls containing thousands upon thousands of names, but a small wooden box carrying only one. The one voted on by the district. The one who had the most people working against them, to go into that arena. The crowd was hushed when he opened it, wondering what unlucky girl was going to have her name called. Making a show of it, he picked up the paper, and walked back to center stage, to the podium. "Our female tribute" He opens the paper and reads the name upon it. I am suddenly aware of a rushing in my ears, and every eye in the square turning to look at me.
Traitors. All of them. Every last person in this square. I wanted to hurt them all. I wanted to cry and run away. But I Held my head high, and stepped out of line.
Because he had called Sapphire Middleton.