Dancing with the corpse
I'm scared. It feels like there's a knot in my throat. I leave my mum's sides to go at the section for the twelve year old, like me. Today, the whole district's eyes are on us, the youth. We are the one that may be reaped for the Hunger Games. Parents, teachers, shops keepers, even peacekeeper look at us with sympathy. They know that two of us will be send to the Capitol, and be flat-out dead in few weeks. Everybody knows, but no-one speaks. Even here, in the public place, where we hear people shouting and arguing about the prices of things like food and goods, an eerie silence glides all around us. It is broken by the sound of occasional whispers of the grown-ups, betting on who will be picked or who will cry first. The latter kind is the worst kind.
After a few minutes of waiting, a young and peppy lady makes her way toward the podium installed for her. She smiles brightly and shakes hand with the mayor, an old grumpy man who happens to be my dad. My dad is the mayor of the district, he is in his late forty but he looks like a dried plum. Father is kinda cold and mean. I guess he doesn't have much choice.
The lady's smile fills my heart with a light feeling hope. I really don't want to be picked out. I don't want to die. She stands still in front of the microphone. Her outfit looks like somebody vomited colors on a dress and tied an enormous glittery bow on it. I mean, this girl is in her early thirties but she looks like one of those old ladies who got surgery or something. Fashion is weird.
She starts speaking; I can't understand a word. Everything seems so unreal. The Hunger Games, the Capitol, even District 8 seems fakes. We can clearly see the fresh paint on the walls of the building.
I mean, District 8 is a pretty screwed up place. We live in bad conditions, people get sick because of the smoke, children are starving because everything cost so much and the smell is horrible. I hate this place. I would love to be able to leave somewhere else. To be able to live in the Capitol could be a lifetime opportunity. Even though I am the daughter of the mayor, we ain't scoring points of living conditions, we still have days where food is hard to find and I work as seamstress in a factory. Only, I don't work for ten hours a day plus I can go to school. What a life.
The speech is boring. The escort, whose name's Astrid, is rather happy about it though. Even patting herself in the back after the video about rebels dying and stuff. They omit Katniss Everdeen, though. Last time we seen her, she was escaping the Capitol after killing one or two officials. You wouldn't want another fiasco like the 75th Games. That game never ended. The victors either escaped to go live somewhere else, died like martyrs or were captured by the Capitol. Pretty cool, if you ask me.
I look at my mum. She mouths, "I love you," which sends a shock in my spine. I could be reaped and be sentenced to death, right now. My mom's name was Cara, but she changed it to Kara because she found it fancy. My dad, though, has the most boring name ever, George. I think they met during an one-nighter, or something. Since they had sex, Kara got pregnant and a wedding magically happened few months before my birth. They named me Violet.
My thoughts were cut by the sound of my own name. Everybody looked at me. I don't get it.
"Violet Tulippe! Where are you, sweetie?! I don't bite, come!" It was the escort. Then I realized it. I was reaped.
It feels like I was looking at my own body. I see myself walk to the stage then I shake the hand of the escort. I mumble my age at the escort. She tries to hide the sorrow in her eyes while she looks at me, she spins toward the audience and ask for any volunteer. The whole district is quiet. No-one dares to speak up.
An awkward silence stalks the district. Astrid takes a quick glance at me and bit her lips. I wonder why she cares. I guess since the tributes from the Capitol can be reaped, she kinda feels bad for us.
"Well, this is awkward," she announces in her mic, I can hear the distress in her voice. She plunge her hand into the bowl of the males and takes out a name. The funky lady changes her whole body language and starts to beam as she shouts the name of the tribute.
Alexander Mayer.
It's him. Oh crap, I'm screwed. Well, I was already but now, I'm like really deep in trouble. He's the kind of guy who looks really nice and sweet but really, I think he's a serial killer or something. He's eighteen and pretty handsome too. He is also very creepy. That killer combo, though.
The newly chosen tribute pushes roughly the males in his category but nobody dares to call him out. He could just kill them. Tears start to well in my eyes when I see the sadness in my mom's eyes. I look at the side but only meet the gaze of my dad whose pain is present as ever as if he was getting stabbed by someone. I can't stop them from falling when I shake the hand of my district partner. He grins. I'm scared.