I don't own the Hunger Games or any of its fantastic characters. Here is my take on the District Two reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. Review please!
"Rayna Newcon."
"I-," the proper volunteer begins.
"I volunteer!" I yell, cutting her off.
Well now I've done it.
But I bring myself back to my senses, and walk towards the stage. You were trained for these games. You can do this, Clove. I meet District 2's escort, Chevonne Glistor, at the edge of the stage. As she leads me over to the microphone I can't help but think of how much my older sister, Anin, must hate me right now. She sketched out every detail of how I would win these Games, and I've just thrown it all away. No fifteen-year old is supposed to volunteer.
In District 2, children are sent to the Academy at age 8, if they are eligible. (That's two years younger than the Academy in District 1.) The Academy is much like a University in the Capitol, only we study much different things. Also the process is diverse. Once you are 12, you are assigned a dorm, and you begin living on campus. Whereas at a Capitol university, you come and go as you please. But universities are for academic studies. Our studies are focused on one thing at the Academy. How to kill.
Then there's the Academy's annual Volunteer Competition. Every eligible eighteen-year old who has attended all 10 years at the Academy can participate. Girls fight girls, and boys fight boys. Until there are two left. Those two will become our tributes. The others don't die; they just live life, regretting that they lost the competition. That's the story for my sister, Anin.
She was the runner-up for the girls, and almost won. But she didn't, so she never entered the Games. This is why she has made sure that I will. Even during the breaks home from the Academy, I train. Harder than I do at the Academy. She pushes me hard, to do my best, and to never let my guard down. So I don't. She thinks that by the time I turn eighteen, I will be ready for the Volunteer Competition, and the Games.
But I am ready now.
"What is your name?" Chevonne asks bubbly as ever.
"Clove Lansin." I answer. I knew I was going to volunteer for a while now, but it still feels unnatural looking over District 2.
"Lovely, lovely, lovely! Now I believe you're a little small for an eighteen-year old," she says curiously.
"I'm fifteen." I say quickly.
"Didn't want to wait?"
I shake my head, and smirk.
"And now, the male tribute for District 2." Chevonne ambles over to the boys' reaping bowl. Her heavily manicured hands look out-of-place inside the simple, glass sphere. Her hand hovers a bit, then attacks one of the names. Once she's at the microphone again, she unfolds the slip of paper. Then, she reads the name, "Niko-,"
"I volunteer!"
Before volunteers were called, he was invisible in the crowd. Swallowed whole by the ocean of grey and black, which is District 2's population on reaping day. But once he had shot up his hand, you couldn't miss Cato Reven if he was a crack on the pavement. He strolls to the stage, flashing his signature grin across his pearly-white teeth. He was made for the games, and everyone knows it. That's how he won the volunteer competition this year. And that's why he's going into the arena this year. With me.
He crosses the stage to stand beside me."What's your name, dear?" Chevonne asks him. He leans in, close to her, and whispers his name.
"District Two, I am honored to present your tributes for the 74th annual Hunger Games; Cato Reven and Clove Lansin!" The crowd explodes with applaud, and it comes to my attention how easy it is to forget the vastness District 2, or its population at least.
I stand and grin, in an effort to make myself look sponsor-worthy to the Capitol's eye. I can feel Cato's gaze on me, studying my face. After about thirty seconds of his staring, I know he is onto me. Inside me, the discomfort is eating me alive.
My eyes drift up, and meet his. They are a beautifully deep, royal blue, but distant nonetheless. Distant and unreachable. That's all he is.
But my theory is proven wrong, when out of nowhere he takes my hand in his, and tucks both of them behind the folds of my grey dress. Hiding them from our families and friends, from the Academy, from District Two, even from the Capitol.
Then I realize what it all means; he was unreachable. Now, we both are.