"It is so unbearably hot" Mags squints into the sunlight directly ahead of us, raising her hand to shield her eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry, would you like me to leave?" I flash a grin towards Mags, who rolls her eyes. "You are simply unbearable, Finnick." She replies affectionately. "Oh yes, I-" I begin to respond, but something catches my eye. The steady stream of men, women, and children, all filtering into the Main Square for an express purpose.
"It must be nearly time," Mags grimaces, looking down at the silver watch that adorns her wrist. This will be our fifth Reaping together, marking half a decade from my victory.
The sun has just risen to its peak overhead the sea, bearing down upon the hundreds of people standing in front of us. You can easily identify the youngest children in the group. Many, despite the heat, look as though all of the warmth has been stolen from their bodies; they appear as though ice has been injected into their veins. Some of them are clinging to older siblings or parents as though this will be their last chance to do so. Even the youngest among us know what Reaping Day means.
Then there are the older children; sixteen, seventeen, eighteen years old. They stand stoic and solid. Some hold onto the hands of younger children, comforting and reassuring them. Many chose to retreat to the outskirts of the group, finding some solace in their isolation.
And then there are the sick, twisted children who stand as close to the stage as possible, anticipating their names being pulled from the obscenely large blue bowls placed carefully in front of me. Although few, they are the only ones the other Districts see in the recaps of the Reaping. The Capitol must think that it insinuates an approval, or even excitement for the Games. However incorrect, these children have an insatiable hunger in their eyes. It is unnatural, really, and disgusting that these children can have such a lust for blood.
Some people, on the other hand, are nervously laughing. They are undoubtedly imagining what our District's escort, Kyra Guilles, will look like this year. It has become a kind of game in the past few years, ever since the population has realized that it takes the edge off Reaping day to mock one of the Capitol's loyal adherents.
A shrill voice cuts through my thoughts, "Is everyone here? Alright, must be time to begin." Kyra stomps across the stage as a hush of silence falls through the crowd. She shoots a smile in Mags and my direction, waggles her fingers in a greeting. I contort my face into a type of grimace in reply. I take note of her freshly painted appearance. Her skin is an electric blue color, framed with spinning gold tattoos. Some people in front of us giggle and point nervously, especially the younger children. Kyra clears her throat and makes her way towards two opaque globes in the center of the stage. The very same from which my name was pulled not so long ago, and Mags' many years before that.
"Well," Kyra smiles down at her audience. "What a lovely day it is for a Reaping! Shall we get started?" Some people look on the verge of passing out. Those occupying the area closest to the stage give a cheer and raise their arms in the air as though preparing for battle. Who knows, I frown, maybe some of them will get their lucky break.
"Ladies first, yes?" Kyra's voice pushes onward, and her hand disappears into the containers holding too many names to count. She pulls out a singular piece of paper, and watches as the whole District collectively holds their breath. As always, Kyra feels the need to drag this out so that it is as dramatic as possible. She slowly opens the parchment to read the name; "Annie Cresta?"