Panem Snow 8:01 The Capital
I awoke with the biggest smile known to the Capital. It just had to be the biggest one! Beaming, I quickly tore off my fluffy covers and looked outside of my window. It was the Reaping Day of the Hunger Games.
I rushed over to my dresser and started to get ready for the day. My Granddad, President Snow of all Panem, had promised to take me and my best friend Galze to all 12 Districts and watch the reaping. After a tough decision between a fluffy dress or a delicate dress, I choose the delicate one, I started working on my hair. Braids. Oh how I loved them. But they could be rather hard at the end. I couldn't wait to get the hardest part of the day over with so I could have fun for the rest of the day.
Katniss Everdeen 8:01 District 12
When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My
fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth but finding only
the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had
bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she
did. This is the day of the reaping.
I prop myself up on one elbow. There's enough light in
the bedroom to see them. My little sister, Prim, curled up
on her side, cocooned in my mother's body, their cheeks
pressed together. In sleep, my mother looks younger, still
worn but not so beaten-down. Prim's face is as fresh as a
raindrop, as lovely as the primrose for which she was named.
My mother was very beautiful once, too. Or so they tell me.
Sitting at Prim's knees, guarding her, is the world's ugli-
est cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the
color of rotting squash. Prim named him Buttercup, insist-
ing that his muddy yellow coat matched the bright flower.
He hates me. Or at least distrusts me. Even though it was
years ago, I think he still remembers how I tried to drown
him in a bucket when Prim brought him home. Scrawny
kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The
last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim
begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned
out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and he's a born
mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I
clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped
hissing at me.
Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever
come to love.
I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my hunting
boots. Supple leather that has molded to my feet. I pull on
trousers, a shirt, tuck my long dark braid up into a cap, and
grab my forage bag. On the table, under a wooden bowl to
protect it from hungry rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little
goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. Prim's gift to me on
reaping day. I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I slip
outside.