The Hunger Games- Haymitch
JoannaReads
-Chapter 1-
I am running. They're gaining on me. I turn in another direction. Yet they come, closer still. Closer, closer. I try to make out the face but I see nothing. They pounce and I am tackled to the rocky terrain. This person- whoever it is- is holding a knife to my throat. I am going to die.
I wake with a start. Today is the day of the reaping. The reaping, the lottery that throws 24 poor souls, kids - the ages of 12- 18, into a fight to the death on national television. This event, The Hunger Games, is a topic seldom discussed here in district 12.
As I stand, getting out of bed, my head hits the ceiling. I have recently turned sixteen and I stand at the height of 6'. If I grow any more I will have to crawl around our tiny one-bedroom house.
I remember and curse under my breath. Today is not just any Hunger Games. Today is the second Quarter Quell. Every 25 years, one takes place. We heard what it will be like this year. Now, instead of 2 kids, 4 kids from each of the 12 districts will be reaped.
I walk out of my small room into what passes as our living room. There is a rocking chair that I made for my mother when I was eleven in the far corner of the room. There is a dilapidated table in the center of the chamber. That is what passes as furniture in our cottage.
I see my mother and my nine year old little brother seated at the table. They are eating breakfast, roots and water. I take a seat and give my mother a quick glance. She gives me a thoughtful one. She knows the kind of pressure that this puts on me. I support the family. My brother is not yet old enough to come with me to the black market, but he picks berries in our yard some days. Anyway, I primarily do the hunting, the root searching, and the money saving.
This year my name is in the lottery 51 times. The more times my name is entered, the more food is sent to my family. The thing is, this puts me at a much higher risk of getting picked. My mother is nervous, and I think my brother knows more about it than he must let on.
"I'm going to search for roots, Garret, do you want to learn?"
"Sure."
We exit the house and walk to a meadow. There, I tell him which plants are edible and which aren't.
"Don't go eating plants without my consent, okay? Not all of these roots are edible and I don't want to have to rush you over to doctor Loudia's."
"Okay."
After about two hours or so, we have picked dandelion, chickweed plantain, and wild onion— all of which I make sure are 100% edible.
When we return home, I realize the time and start worrying even more so than before. There are two hours until the reaping- it's time to get ready.
I go into my room and pick out my best clothes, a pair of slacks and a button down plaid shirt. When I walk inside I see my brother, dressed similarly in style. My mother is wearing her best dress and has her hair done up in a tight bun.
When the time at last comes, we walk in trepidation toward the public square where most events take place, such as public whippings. There, we await the appearance of the escort on stage.
Then we see her. Followed by Mayor Kinlit, the bizarre woman steps in front of the microphone. She has been the escort here for 20 years and is anticipating retiring. The lady is dressed in an odd looking outfit. Her make up obscures her entire face to the point that she must look like a completely different person under the mask. Her name is Jeggy Tomilson, and she wears a huge smile on her face, as if today were Christmas morning.
"Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, welcome! Welcome to this glorious day in which two lucky young men and women will join me in the hopes of becoming the next Hunger Games victor!," she says.
She has an odd accent, one that I have never admired, and speaks with a loud, annoying emphasis on every word. After showing us a short video about how the Capitol, districts, and Hunger Games came to be, it is time for her to announce the names of the "lucky" girls and boys.
"As usual, ladies first!"
She walks over to the bowl that holds the girls' names. She reaches her hand in, and for emphasis, twirls it around until picking up a small piece of parchment paper.
"MAYSILEE DONNER! Ms. Donner, where are you darling?," she exclaims as she scans the crowd.
I see a petite girl emerge from the crowd. I know Maysilee. I have been going to school with her ever since I was five. She is trembling. Her face is white as if all life has been sucked out of her. She walks slowly towards Jeggy. I feel a pang of remorse, but their is no time for that because as soon as she is up, the next female name is called.
"Alison Denniwager!"
This girl, at the age of 18, stands. She shows no emotion on her face, she is cool and confident. I admire her bravery. Alison strides up onto the stage and then it is time for the boys. My hands begin to shake.
"Martin Lukestull!"
Martin is 12 years old and I feel more sorry for him than anyone. He doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve to be sent to his death, not that any of us do. Poor kid. I am angered at the Capitol. So angry in fact, that I don't have time to fully proccess the next name is being called until it does.
"Haymitch Abernathy!"
Me.