Our world wasn't always this way. It is the only way any of us remember, but this wasn't always the case. Before the Dark Days, before the storms, the floods, we were one sovereign nation. But then the Capitol tried to take over, and there was the rebellion. It is not our place in the districts to know about the rebellion, about the battles or the rebel leaders. Each of us in the twelve remaining districts has our own piece of the puzzle, our own tasks that make life for the citizens of the capitol a little easier.
My name is Qwerty Jobs. My family, before the Dark Days, had been innovators in the technology game. So, it's no surprise that we live amongst those in District Three. I've always had a mind for technology, but when it's around you all the time, is there any surprise? Even living in the technological hub for all of Panem, there is still poverty, still hunger, still want. I guess it's the same in all of the districts, though.
After school, most days, I find myself offering my services to repair some things here and there around the district. I trade circuit boards for food, coal, and the things we need in our house to survive. My father works in the plant, making motherboards, microchips, and the other little tech bits. My mother is a teacher in the local school, teaching third grade mechanics. I have two younger brothers, Chrome and Safari who are nine year old twins, and an older sister, Iso, who just went through her last Hunger Games reaping last year.
Each year it gets harder and harder. As you go, your name is entered in the reaping more and more times. It's a miracle when your name is not called and hell on earth when your name is. At least this year, my parents have only one child whose name is in the running, and not two like they've had for the past five years. I'm seventeen years old, so with Iso and myself splitting the burden of the tessere, my name is in the reaping twenty-seven times this year. The odds, it seems, are starting to stack up against me.
When I woke, the morning of the reaping, my mother was in our kitchen, making breakfast. Eggs, which are hard to come by, were frying, and it made my stomach growl. Chrome and Safari are already dressed. They're not in the reaping, but our whole family presents a well put together front every year since Iso was eligible for the games, by looking our best. Even though I'll be standing alone in that crowd of my peers, my family is still presenting us unified.
I'm not even fully in my seat at the breakfast table when Iso is behind me and starting to comb through my chestnut hair. Mother places a plate of eggs, and bread on the table before me. Of course, I tear the bread in half, and give one half each to the twins. They're growing and they need it more. I'm picking at the eggs, though. Somehow, my appetite is almost gone. We don't have much time before we have to report to the city center for the Reaping. The reaping's are scheduled so that if one wanted to, they could watch them all live. That means that we have to be at the city center by 9 am.
"Ow!" I yelled when Iso pulled my hair back. She was trying to get the knots out of it, I know. But even still, I wasn't expecting it.
"Sorry, Tee-Tee!" She said looking over at my shoulder. "It's like you have a rats nest up here. When was the last time you brushed it?"
I give a small shrug. "I don't know.. Wednesday?" It's Monday now. She just rolls her eyes at me, and continues her work. I don't see the point in physical appearances. Not with what I'll be doing once I'm out of school. If I'm lucky, I'll work in the plant with my father... If not, I don't know where they'll want to put me.
At about quarter till nine, we're heading out the door. I'm wearing one of Iso's old dresses, a pale blue thing, with a lace trimmed collar. At least this was better than the school uniforms I find myself in during the week. I've got Safari's hand held in my own as we walk to the center. He doesn't want to let me go when I line up with the other seventeen year old girls are. But, eventually, my father pries him away from me, and I take my place, between my friend Wifi and Solaris.
The three of us do as we do every year and hold each other's hands. This is always the worst time. The waiting, for Franz Poppet to start the ceremony. You never know what names are going to call. No matter what, it is totally and utterly random. They've erected a small stage in the town square, right in front of our Justice building. Much as they do every year for the reaping. There are four chairs behind the podium. One for Franz, one for the Mayor, an older woman by the name of Marnie Dixon, and the two victors that will be serving as our mentors this year. I wonder who in the pool will be called for the task this year.
I'm relieved to see Beetee take the podium in one of the victor's places. Out of all of our past victors, he has gotten more and more of our tributes closer and closer to victory. It's a good sign for District Three with him there. The woman is newer. Her name is Aix. She is younger, twenty or so years old, with long silken blonde hair. Something that is a bit of a luxury when you end up working in the plant. She also has a cool intellect, and was so calm under pressure, she easily won her year.
Just as the clock strikes nine, Mayor Dixon takes her place at the podium. She's reading the same thing she reads every year on this day. The history of Panem. Where we came from, where we are today, and of course, the reasoning why we need the Hunger Games. She then goes and reads the list of previous victors. As one of the wealthier districts, we do have our fair share. And when she gets to Beetee and Aix, the crowd does give both of them a gentile round of applause.
Then it is time for Franz to take his place. He offers Mayor Dixon a warm, glowing smile as he does every year, before he addresses the crowd. "Happy Hunger Games, one and all! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" He said in a crisp, clear voice. No one views this as a happy occasion. Two families in the district will be sending away children, and knowing that at least one of them wouldn't be coming back. It's a horrifying thing to think of. Every year after the reaping, my mother and father would hold Iso, then myself, holding us close and thanking fate that we weren't called. It's like this every year.
He then goes onto saying how much of an honor getting called for the games it is to be here, and how much he looks forward to his visits to our district, not only for this portion of the games, but for the victory tour on the years we win.
My heart is pounding as he moves over to the large glass bowl holding the names of the potential female tributes. "As always, it's ladies first!" You can hear the audience sucking in a collected breath. I guess it's like this in all of the districts. After all, the Capitol is literally taking our children, and putting them together for a death match. Twenty-four of us will be put into the arena, and fight till the last boy, or girl, is standing. This is not something that anyone wants.
He reaches around in the bowl for what feels like forever, before the slip of paper is pulled out. He holds it up with a look of pride on his face. After carefully unfolding it, he speaks out in a loud and clear voice.
"Qwerty Jobs."
This is it. My name. The last thing that I thought would happen. Yes, there was a chance, but Iso was never called. Somewhere in the crowd, I hear my mother start sobbing. Solaris and Wifi both embrace me in a tight hug, before the Peacekeepers come over, to escort me up to the platform. My mind is reeling. I feel like I'm going to be ill as I step up the two steps, and stand next to Franz. Turning slowly, I look out over the people from the district, desperate to find my family. I see Iso, and she's wearing and expression of pure shock. No one saw this coming after all.
"Wonderful, wonderful. Now, are there any volunteers for Ms. Jobs' place in this year?" Franz asks, his eyes scanning out over the crowd. You could hear a pin drop. Not a single one. But this is the norm. We don't breed Career Tributes.
"Well then, it's the boy's turn now." Franz says in the same cheery tone. He reaches into their bowl, and grins brightly as he pulls out the slip. Again, he's slow as he unfolds the slip of paper. I'm shaking now, though, and I feel a hand on my elbow. Beetee is there, and not in his seat. I need this, though. I need the comfort.
"Buffer Stark."
I look out into the crowd then, the boys, and I see this little thing coming forward. He's twelve. No one likes it when a child this young is called. They almost always die in the first day. I can see it in his eyes. He looks ready to cry. He takes his place on the podium though, standing to Franz' left while I stand to his right.
Again, Franz calls for volunteers from the pool of boys, and again, there is not a call. Not even a cough. The only sound that is heard through the district is the sound of the wind blowing through the banners in the square.
At this point, Mayor Dixon is reading the Treaty of Treason again, like she does every year. My mind is elsewhere, though. I'm looking at my parents, then to little Buffer Stark. I can't dwell on him. I know what I must do from here on out. I have to do everything in my power to survive. Once the mayor ends her reading it's time for the National Anthem, and I'm calculating the odds in my head. I can't align myself with the child standing beside me that will be like writing my own death certificate. What I need to do is survive.
The moment the anthem ends, Buffer and I are escorted into the Justice building. I'll only have moments to say goodbye to my family. And I don't know if I'll be coming back alive.