44th Annual Hunger Games!

Tributes:

District One-Luxery Items:

Male: Cabriol

Female: Mirror

District Two- Stone mining, military, airforce:

Male: Orei

Female: Till

District Three-Electronics:

Male: Sadon

Female: Luster

District Four- Fishing

Male: Nereus

Female: Shasa

District five- Power

Male: Luz

Female: Katima

District six- Transportation

Male: Fleet

Female: Flutter

District Seven- Lumber

Male: Tynan

Female: Sienna

District Eight- Textiles

Male: Lyons

Female: Shade

District Nine- Grain

Male: Graze

Female: Willow

District Ten- Livestock

Male: Rangle

Female: Filana

District Eleven- Agraculture

Male: Twian

Female: Lecea

District Twelve- Coal Mining

Male: Jett

Female: Nuri

All day long it's been on my mind, the reaping. My concentration has been lacking, all day as I tried my best to harvest I could not. You'd think, that with these fields that stretch out over land as flat as your could imagine, where the grain grows in abundance, we'd have enough to eat. We don't though, and so I signed up for the tesserea to earn back a feeble amount of grain that I'd plucked with my own bleeding hands.

It's noon when the whistle sounds, and the peace keeper renounced our duties. I'm shaking, my names in that glass ball so many times it would be a miracle if I wasn't picked. Back home there are ten mouths to feed, all too young or too simple to work. I cross over to meet my friend Dysis, who squeezes my hand when we draw close to each other.

She is smaller then I, with darker skin more of a burnt carmel, only her tawny hair reminds me that she is really from District Nine like I am, that and her lean figure. Dark skin is common, but not nearly as dark as hers, my skin is more a copper like the rest of us so it blends in with my hair a little. I reach up to my tangled mess of red hair, unsure of what to say except. "Luck." In a low, defeated voice.

As the clock strikes fifteen past, a woman walks onto the stage. She's extraordinarily small with the largest doe eyes I've ever seen in a mysterious shade of emerald. On top of her head is what looked lay a pile of, what I took to be wheat, in honor of our district. Murmurs filled my ears, what had they done with the previous announcer?

As if in answer, she clears her through. "Hello district nine!" she giggles. "What a pleasure this is! Uh, well, um . . ." she taps the mic nervously. "This is such a great honor, and, um, I . . ." she trails off. "My name is Flora Hivers, and this year I will be taking the place of . . ." she's forgotten his name, but then she glances to the teleprompter and smiles. "Orion Veran! So, let's get started shall we?"

The usual Treaty of Treason is read, the mayor smiles down at us, and then Flora Hivers gleefully rushes to grab the microphone back. She explains the games, that two tributes from each district, one male and one female will complete in the Hunger Games, a fight to the death on television. But of course, it's masked in glory and fame, something only the capital people would buy into.

She claps her hands together and stumbles back a bit. "Oh! Dear me!" she stutters, collecting herself. She bounces on her heels and then rocks back and forth for a moment before regaining her train of thought. "So, here comes the real fun! Ladies first, I think . . ." she looks behind her to the victors for support and they nod cooly. "Alright, so ladies first." with a sort of sick determination she strides over to the glass ball and rubs her hands together. Then, in one fluid motion she picks a name from the ball nearly tipping it over.

A moment of silence. "Willow Ollimore." she says the name so sharply it hurts, or maybe it's just the feeling I have inside my gut. I don't cry. I don't return the sorry glances. They are powerless, the capital, they can break bodies, but they can't break spirits. They can't break me. People want to fight, especially when something is to be fought for. So I'm going to fight for the broken bodies and save broken spirits.

"Willow." she murmurs.

My mother is frantically detaching the twins from her sides, pushing through the crowd to no avail, for they are so tightly knit. My whole family is shouting to me, screeching my name and holding their hands out to me. There are some apologetic smiles, some tears, but none that stop Flora Hivers from waving and smiling at the camera as it periodically trains back onto her.

Pretending I don't notice the pain in my mothers eyes as I catch them, I wave and smile through glistening tears and then walk up onto the stage. Those burning hot tears prick my eyes, and I hope the cameras can't pick up on them. No one wants a weak tribute, and I'm bound to be liked better if I'm strong.

Flora Hivers seems sorry for me, and she pats me on the back awkwardly. "Well, it seems as if your loved by many, but you must be enjoying seeing them so absurdly happy for you!"

It's all I can do not to shout at her, because what kind of person takes that as happiness? Only, I just nod and smile, trying to hold back my sobs and not managing well at all. I have to gasp between each word and try to crack a smile, which mostly looks like a grimace. "I . . . just. . . can't . . . stand to see them . . .be away from people . . . people who . . . love me so much." I stammer. And then I break down, trying desperately now not to seem to scared, but seeming even more desperate as I screw up my face into what I hope looks tenacious, but I realize must seem like I'm in excruciating pain, which I am.

Sinking into a chair behind me and knowing it was not meant for me, I rest my head between my knees and sigh. Hang on. Hang in there, I tell myself and finally gain the courage to look up and, just when the cameras are ready to pull away and find themselves on Flora, I stand up and grin at the audience.

"I'm not going to let anyone down." I say through gritted teeth. "Not anyone I love."

My mother calls to me, finally close to the stage. By now, she has had enough sense to look like she is really genuinely happy for me, and instead of crying she just begins to clap and smile. Some people join in, and thankful for the release in tension, Flora cries, slightly too loudly into the mic,

"Let's have a round of applause for, uh, Willow Ollimore." It's fuzzy the way she says it and it squeaks, but I'm gracious because it drowns out the occasional sob.

And so I spend the rest of the time on stage while she picks the male tribute smiling at the cameras and primping, flipping my hair and randomly giggling, hoping I appear to enjoy all this evil.

The male tribute is someone I don't know very well, he's muscular and a year older then I am, intimidating as anything I've ever seen. No one claps for him or shouts to him, and I realize his parents are too sick with the influenza to even bother coming. His name is Graze Azato and all three of them will be dead soon enough, I think, and I frown before I remember to clap giddily.

Flora has one last thought before she dismisses us, and she rushes up to the front of the stage, heels echoing in the silent square.

"Well, I can tell this is just going to be a wonderful year of the games!" she stammers nervously. And with more assurance she adds, "May the odds be ever in your favor!" She's been practicing that line I can tell. It's the only thing that seems stable about her, and I can picture her standing in front of a mirror and rehearsing it over and over.

After the reaping, I close my eyes and enter the Justice Building with the peacekeepers not even bothering to watch me. I take a seat on the couch and begin to talk to myself about all the goodbyes I must say just right in order to be remembered just so.

First up is my mother and father, and my seven siblings. They push past the peacekeepers who don't even shout at them, let alone beat them as they would have ordinarily.

"Fifteen!" sighs my mother, kneeling down so her face shines up at me instead of down. I've always loved how she does that, how she makes herself just an inch shorter then you so you are in control. She knows children, my mother does, and she loves them like nothing else. Maybe even my father, who right now, is standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders.

The twins curl up beside me, their ringlets falling onto my lap. Emrinda, who is only ten stands behind my mother sobbing into her hair that is in a neat bun on the top of her head, and the others are scattered in various states of distress.

I lean in to my mother and just stare into her eyes. "I love you." I whisper. "And I'm going to come home so I can always love you."

My father is now clenching my shoulders so hard it hurts, but I don't tell him to stop. Instead, I reach up and touch his rough hand and sigh. "I'm going to miss each of you, and every bit of you is so precious to me. I love you." And I'm on the verge of crying. "Your love will get me through, if you send me it the entire way I am making it back home."

I can't say anymore, but I don't need to. We just sit together and cry and hold each other until the time is up. Then my mother takes of her ring, the one that was her mothers and then welded to one my father got her. Grandmama's ring is silver and simple with only a small purple stone in it, but the one that was her wedding ring is the most extravagant piece of jewelry I've seen in Nine, with four sapphires and my mothers name engraved inside. It took the entire village to pay for it, but in the end the blacksmith had a change of heart and gave it to them free.

Without hesitating, I slip it on over my pointer finger. My mothers hands have been a smaller size as mine since I was twelve years old, even though I'm still not her height. I hug her, then my father and then it is really time for them to leave, and they blow me kisses and call to me until I can no longer hear them.

I have two more visitors, Zia and Dysis, who hug me and sing to me in their melodic voices. Finally, Dysis agrees to recite the poem she wrote for me when my little brother died of the flue, the one called Weep Willow. It now holds no message but of fear. It's only two versus, but sweet and almost has a tune.

"We are forever, holding on

we'll never weep, Willow

we stand united, holding on

Never to weep, Willow

I've spent hours holding on

along you side, don't weep Willow

we'll go on laughing, holding on

forever, never to weep, Willow."

Reaching out, I touch her face and kiss her forehead. Zia just pulls me into her for numerous hugs and sings nursery rhymes. I can't tell how many times the words "forever, never, to weep willow." are said. I kiss each one a second time before leaving, and, tears flowing from their eyes and down my face, we say goodbye.