Prolog
I stare out the small dirty window in our kitchen. Instead of the streets buzzing with activity like normal they are eery silent. For today is the day of the reaping, and I can only hope not to be the unlucky name pulled out of reaping ball. I know I am one of the only twelve year olds to have they're names go in 8 times, but I needed to sign up for tesserae, my family would've starved without it.
My mother wakes up and tells me to dress, I do what I'm told and wake my brother and sisters, who are fortunately to young to be reaped. Out of my 5 brothers and sisters I am the oldest, the one they look up to so me being calm on reaping day is important for them to stay calm to.
When everyone is ready we start walking towards town square, our district is one of the biggest out of the 12 districts so town square will no doubt be full of people during the reaping. This being my first year I don't know what to expect, but as soon as we get there I know i wont have to do much, just stand and see if your name is called. They herd us into marked off areas, and we wait for the rest of the district to show up when the mayor takes the stage. He introduces himself and the district to the camera, then talks about the dark days and eventually calls up Spring Beek district 11's escort from the capitol. She mounts to the stage with an enormous wig of curly hair and sparkly tattoos glowing in the sun. She mounts to the stage and in a squeaky high-pitched voice calls out the annual "May the Odds ever be in Your Favour!" and goes to the girls ball. My name is on 8 of at least a thousand other slips of paper so i can only hope the odds are in my favour. But when Spring grabs a slip of paper hat almost blows away from her hand, every one becomes silent.
"Rue, is there a Rue here?" she continues to squeak, and I start walking to the steps. I know i will not win this, it's inevitable, and i know that no one will take my place. So when I take my place and spring asks for volunteers im not surprised when the only response is the wind.
