Prologue
April slowly traced the letters carved into the stone, recalling as she did so what had happened a year ago today. The letters spelled out a name, Viola Henshaw, the name of the girl who had been April's best friend. Until the Capitol took her away, took her as a tribute in the Hunger Games. And no-one from District 12 who became a tribute had ever returned alive; there were thirty graves in this section of the Burial Ground, one for every youngster who had been reaped in the past fifteen years.
Fifteen Hunger Games had already come and gone. Fifteen Hunger Games in which twenty-four young people were made to fight to the death until only one of them was left standing. Fifteen years of the Capitol punishing the districts for their attempted rebellion by making the people watch their sons and daughters kill each other.
Every year, the Hunger Games were televised across Panem and everyone was required by law to watch. So, when Viola was strangled by the girl from District 1 at last year's Games, April had been forced to watch the whole thing. Viola had managed to stay alive for six days, a long time for a District 12 tribute to survive in the arena; no-one else from 12 had lasted more than two days, underfed and undertrained as they were. But Viola had not only survived the bloodbath (though her district partner, whose grave was next to hers, wasn't so fortunate) she had lasted longer than any previous District 12 tribute. Some people in 12 had even dared to hope that it might finally be their year, that, after losing twenty-nine tributes in or shortly after the bloodbath, they would finally have a victor. But it was not to be.
April closed her eyes, remembering how Viola had died. It had happened when there were nine tributes left, meaning Viola just missed out on a place in the final eight. The District 1 girl (whose name April refused to mention even to herself) had ambushed her. She fought back using a knife she had managed to grab at the Cornucopia and appeared to be doing well; she and her opponent even managed to disarm each other. But the girl from District 1 had then looped a length of rope around Viola's neck, pulling it tighter and tighter until the boom of the cannon announced that District 12 were out of the running for yet another year. The image of Viola's face, contorted by strangulation, had been on every television screen in Panem. And it had seared itself on April's memory.
Now, it was reaping day once more, meaning a year had passed since April and Viola said their final goodbyes. This afternoon, the entire population of District 12 would have to report to the square and sign in. Everyone between the ages of twelve and eighteen would be herded into roped-off areas to wait for the moment when two of their names would be drawn from the reaping balls, the moment when two of them would be condemned to die. For April, who was seventeen, this was the penultimate year in which she would have to face this ordeal, but her sister, Faith, was only fourteen, so she had four more years to go. And then there was her twelve-year-old brother, Otto, who was about to face his first reaping.
April dreaded the thought of having the name of one of her siblings called at a reaping, even though she knew it was unlikely. It was usually kids who had taken out tesserae and therefore had extra entries who were called. Since her parents were part of District 12's merchant class, they were slightly wealthier than the mining families who lived in the area known as the Seam. This meant they never had to worry about where their next meal was coming from, so their children had never had any need to sign up for tesserae. Had April been in this position, she would have had thirty-six entries this year. Six because it was her sixth year of eligibility, plus thirty for six years' worth of tesserae for a family of five. But merchant kids did not, as a rule, need extra entries and were therefore at less risk of having their names drawn.
However, this did not mean they were completely safe. Viola had been from the merchant class too, but her name had still been pulled out of the reaping ball. That meant April could soon be following in her footsteps . . . No, it wasn't likely that a merchant kid's name would be drawn two years in a row. More likely it would be two kids from the Seam with several lots of tesserae between them who would be sent to their deaths.
Sent to their deaths as Viola had been sent to her death last year. April looked down at the stone marking her friend's final resting place, trying not to think about whose graves might soon be added to this section of the Burial Ground. There was little doubt in her mind that it would be graves, plural; District 12 had never produced a victor, had never even had a tribute in the final eight. In every one of the first fifteen Hunger Games, their tributes (with the exception of Viola) had all been knocked out early and April saw no reason why the Sixteenth Games should be any different. All she could do was hope that the kids chosen this year would at least survive the bloodbath.
April traced the letters of Viola's name one more time. Then, she got to her feet and turned to walk away, heading for her home in the wealthier part of District 12. She still had to get ready for the reaping; the white blouse and green plaid skirt which she had picked out last night were on her bed, waiting for her to put them on. Reaping day was supposed to be a day of celebration, though needless to say only the people in the Capitol actually enjoyed it, and everyone was expected to dress up for the ceremony which took place in each district's main square. But no amount of dressing up could hide the day's true purpose: to select two young people and send them to their deaths as a reminder of the Capitol's power over the districts.
Still, April thought as she reached the toy shop which her parents ran, at least she and her siblings would only have ten entries between them. So the odds of one of them being chosen were slim compared to many of the kids from the Seam. Even so, she couldn't help feeling a sense of dread at this time every year.