I awoke abruptly to the sound of the mockingjay chirping a tune outside of my window. I hastily unfasten myself from my comfortable sleep and secure my long brown hair into a dingy ribbon. I look in my mirror and decide I look disheveled and awkward as usual, but do nothing in order to change this. I try to drag myself into the dining room to prepare some breakfast, but my feet don't agree in doing so. instead, I lie down a few more minutes, bracing myself for the day ahead. The reaping. It's today. I sigh. What do I care? It's not like they'll choose me.
"Emmy!" I hear the shriek coming from the dining room, I suppose I've slept in longer than I thought... I squander around my room a few more minutes and sluggishly walk into my dining room. "Someone woke up late!" my sister Quinn barks. "Can you blame me" I reply nonchalantly. Quinn had already past the age of applying for the reapings. "I guess not, but I made some pancakes!" I try to eat, but decide I'm not hungry and push my plate off to the side "Where is everyone?" "Dad, and the boys are at the grocery." There is a long pause. "Emmy, are you going to the reaping looking like that?..." I look down and realize I'm in my pajamas. "I didn't realize.." I mutter and trail off. "You can borrow my dress," she exclaims tying her pin straight burnt red hair into a ponytail. She's not usually this cheery.
I know it's because of the games. Despite the fact my family needed it, I didn't apply for tessera this year, so the odds are in my favor. The thought of going into the games frightened me so much. None of my six brothers and my sister are of age to go into the games, and I feel if I was to go, I'd do too much damage to them. I don't feel as if I'd last long in the arena, anyway. I'm not strong enough.
I slip away into my room and put on Quinn's simple white silk knee-length dress and put my long straight hair down. I wash my face clean and apply a thin coat of mascara around my pale blue eyes. I question, why must everyone look nice on the day of the reaping? The tributes are only heading to their death. I glance over at the clock and realize I should be heading to the square now.
Before I do so, I head down to my mother's room to find her lying in her bed, as usual. She's been confined there ever since she was diagnosed. She tells me I look beautiful, even though I know she's lying. Quinn is a lot more shapely and her dress makes me look even more lanky than usual. It seems as if my parents or siblings won't be accompanying me to the square today. I stumble down the stairs and through the door making my way to the reapings. I go into the 15 year old section and stand by myself.
An old stumpy man emerges from the square. Mayor Hart. "Welcome, District 9!" he greets us airily. After a few blithe words and good humored jokes, he introduces our sponsors. How could he be so happy about something so horrid? A beautiful young sponsor arises sprightly. She looked radiant and breathtaking with her dainty smile long delicate blonde curls, and striking silver dress. She introduced herself as Molly Dutch. Another man surfaced into the crowd and introduced himself as a sponsor. He looked and acted very clean-cut and professional. He had simple straight black hair, and grey eyes. He looked about 40, and called himself as Martin Morgan.
The sponsors explained how excited they were to work with us, but they couldn't conceal the look of malaise in their eyes. Mayor Hart becomes antsy and begins to cut them off. Time to pull out the names of the poor unlucky people who'll probably die fighting. The whole world watching for amusement. He's going to call the boy's name first.
He jumbles his hand around for a time that seems too long and eventually calls another fifteen year old. Allen Faye. I look over to Allen and see his mom and him, hands clasped together. Allen tensely fumbles up the stage, eyes fixed upon his sobbing mother. He manages onto the stage, where Mayor Hart asks him "Do you think you stand a chance in this years games?" He stands there knees locked, his black hair soaked in sweat, his face ghost pale, and green eyes squinting. He pauses. "No..." There are cries of agony coming from the crowd, mostly from his mother. I fail to see any sign of sympathy coming from the mayor. Time to call out the girls name! Mayor Hart maneuvers his hand around and pulls out a crumpled paper slip. "Emmy Dormer!" he yells. I stood there stock-still. I couldn't believe it. I stagger up to the stage, and manage to keep my face expressionless. "So, Emmy, do you think you stand a chance in this years Hunger Games?" "Yes, I believe I do." I recoiled confidently. I lied.