A Notefrom The Author…..
Hey everybody! It's Katie(: I read the Hunger Games and this character kept on coming into my head. Meet Nicolai. I'm pretty sure you're going to like her story. Enjoy and review pretty please!(:
Adults and children alike wander around the cobblestone square aimlessly (The stone coming from District 2) as they wait. Wait for The Reaping. Wait for the two tributes to be chosen. Wait for two of us to be sentenced to death. They call this the Hunger Games. The government tells us it's to show us the horrible effects of war. We all know it's just a way for them to control us.
Nervously, I smooth my hands over my skirt. It's a floaty, gauzy, champagne colored wisp of a dress that my mother made me wear. Light as air, Shiny as a lake on a warm summer night. It's been worn by every woman in my family on her 14th Reaping for nine generations. Supposedly, it's good luck. No one girl has ever been Reaped from my family before. The boys have not been so lucky
My uncle, my great-grandfather, and my little brother have all been chosen.
My uncle, Leif, Survived on cleverness and skill. He stayed hidden in bushes and trees until there was only one other tribute left. Silently, Mercifully, My uncle shot an arrow through the girl's heart. She, a pure wall of muscle that had dominated the competition, died instantly.
My great-grandfather, Percivil, was a different story. He was 18 when he was Reaped. He had already started his family, sure that he wouldn't be chosen. Great-grandfather Percivil was the 3rd tribute to be taken out of the game. The male tribute from District 11 gutted him. It took my great-grandfather 3 days to die.
And my beautiful little brother, a bo-
"Nicolai! Pay attention!" My mother grasps my hand firmly, staring up at the silver platform in the middle of the square.
Raised about 7 feet above the ground, it towers over all of us. The platform is draped in a black curtain, bouquets of red roses laid gently in the corner, a rather depressing scene. In a way, I suppose, this is many children's funerals. A way to honor the future dead.
"If I die young,
Bury me in satin.
Lay me down in a bed
Of roses
Sink me in the river
At dawn
Send me away with
The words of a
Love song"
My heart aches at the familiar echo of words in my head. I wrote that song last year, the day that I saw my brother, Wren, die. The day I saw a freakishly beautiful boy with my same brown curls be stabbed in the heart. The day a part of me disappeared. I wrote that song as I watched his body be lifted away. 2 days later he arrived home and I held I quiet ceremony. My father wrapped my perfect little brother in satin and sent him into the lake, his favorite place to be, while softly singing my song.
"If I die young,
Bury me in satin.
Lay me down in a bed
Of roses
Sink me in the river
At dawn
Send me away with
The words of a
Love song"
Wren was brilliant. Smartest kid in school. He had an eidetic memory and remembered every fact and figure. He was quick and strong and beautiful to an unreal degree. Perfect sapphire eyes, brown curls and a ski slope nose.
In a way, I should've expected this. Wren was too good to be true. I didn't deserve him. But for 12 years, 5 months, and 6 days Wren Lifee was here. Here and gone. Moved on to a better place more deserving of him. Not being worthy of him and not missing him are two very different things.
"If I die young,
Bury me in satin.
Lay me down in a bed
Of roses
Sink me in the river
At dawn
Send me away with
The words of a
Love song"
"And our female Tribute from District 6 is….." My haze is broken by the loud, booming voice of the announcer. His turquoise suit is sprinkled with glitter and his eyes are hooded in lavender dust. He seems almost unreal as he digs into the jeweled ball that holds our names, our futures, our forevers, tommorows, and todays.
"Nicolai Lifee!"