District Three is one of the larger districts located in the heart of Panem. It used to be a city but not much has changed in the years that it has been part of Panem. It is crowded with sky high buildings that I suppose once might have looked nice but are now broken, run down and covered in graffiti. The buildings are even more depressing since the failed revolution happened and parts were destroyed. It is in one of the worst buildings, even for District Three, where I live. The building is tall but not wide and it is not metal like the other buildings but has year's worth of paint peeling down the sides. Above the door is a stained and faded sign that reads "West District Three Orphanage", I've lived here all my life.
Inside, it is, if possible, even more of a miserable place. The walls are a mouldy yellow colour with darker stains and patches. The place has a gentle hum of voices which is eerily quiet when you consider the sheer amount of children who reluctantly call this place home. Occasionally when you walk through the door you can hear the loud wailing of a new resident, this usually stops after a few hours as they become hollow and cold, the effect of this place.
My room is on the top floor with the more permanent residents who the workers try to just keep quiet and out of the way. I have a bunk and a shelf and share the small room with five other girls who are just like the other quiet, emotionless residents and keep mostly to themselves. My best friend, Connor, lives across the hall in the boy's dorm on this floor. He's different from the other children here; his hazel eyes still have a spark in them and he's not as skinny, though that's mostly down to me.
Living in the orphanage, you eat fast or you don't eat at all. I'm fast and agile but you don't get nearly enough, so when I was eight, I got a job. Only helping out at a family run carpenters who pitied the orphan children but it paid well enough to ensure that neither Connor nor I would starve. When the orphanage found out, I was beaten and put in solitary, a small room in the cellar of the home, for a week. Something about not being thankful for being at the orphanage instead of on the streets. Whatever, you starve on the streets and you starve in here.
I work in one of the factories now, developing musical chips, I had to lie about my age but I will not let Connor or Grace, a little girl who I think of as a sister, starve. She joined when her parents were killed during the revolution, and risked starvation; I guess the rebels cared for orphans as much as the capitol did. Today though starvation's the least of their worries.
I stand in front of a dusty, cracked mirror, the one in our floor's bathroom, brushing my hair. I have to hide my hairbrush down the side of my bunk, I've never had any possessions given to me so if the workers find out they will think I stole it, worth a two days in solitary. I bought it with my money though, of course that's worth a week as well as a beating.
I'm wearing a ripped orange dress that they gave me for today, as much as I love new clothes, orange is definitely not my colour. Of course if I am chosen today then the colour of my dress won't be what is on my mind. Today is the day of the first ever reaping, last week President Snow announced the Hunger Games, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't petrified.
I can hear the scramble of feet and know that it must be time to go, shaking; I return my hairbrush and take a last look in the mirror. The dress is too big for my slim frame, I'm less bony than the other girls but I'm still underweight. My dark brown hair is swept into a ponytail as normal and I'm not even taking my cello-taped glasses off, why should I try to look nice for the people trying to kill me? I sigh and see Connor in the hall and run over, he's wearing a light blue shirt and dark trousers, why can't I wear that instead of this orange parachute?
He laughs when he sees me, a sound so unnatural within these walls that it draws glares from the other children yet he still doesn't stifle it.
"So when did you break out of prison?" he jokes, now that he mentions it, the dress does resemble the jumpsuits prisoners use to wear, before every criminal, no matter how petty the crime was shot, whipped or turned into an avox.
"Come on," I laugh, pulling him along with me. Only Connor can draw a laugh out of me on such an awful day. We arrive in the town centre and we fill our names in so that the Capitol knows that we came, attendance is mandatory. Our names are registered eight times, four because we are sixteen and four again for four years worth of tesserae, even though the games have only just begun, orphans are forced to sign up for tesserae to help the orphanage afford food.
When we go into the separate sections and it really hits me why we are here, to fight to the death for the Capitols amusement and to punish us for the revolution. It's okay, Grace is safe, she's only eight. And that just leaves me to worry for Connor's safety, and just as I see him in the boys section a young woman with a silver beehive mounts the stage.
"Welcome and Hello," She says in her stupid Capitol accent, "The reapings for the first ever annual Hunger Games will begin shortly." She smiles around at the miserable faces in the audience and I notice that she actually has jewels in her teeth; the things the Capitol thinks beautiful never cease to amaze me. "But first however, I would like to introduce your mentor, Quentin Holden." She beams.
A short man with purple skin stands up from a chair at the back of the stage, for such an exaggerated person it's surprising that I hadn't even noticed he'd gone on stage. He doesn't walk forward but awkwardly waves at the audience before sitting back down.
The Capitol woman jumps back to the microphone, almost falling of stage in her eight inch platform shoes. I'd laugh if I didn't know that the idiotic woman on stage could at any moment pull my name from the glass ball. "Right, it is time now, may the odds be ever in your favour." She smiles again, seriously, didn't her jaw hurt with all that smiling? That is why I'm a miserable person. Well no I'm not, but I'm not exactly happy-go-lucky.
I begin worrying but then it dawns on me, "ladies first!" she says, why would an orphan be chosen anyway? The whole point is to give the message that the Capitol can take the rebels children. And I'm nobody's child. Her hand goes into the ball. So they wouldn't pull out my name! And just as I'm convincing myself I'm safe she mutters the name that will change my life forever. "Tori Yates!" that's me, I think, and then I faint.