It is an absolutely beautiful day, a sharp contrast to the events that were to take place later.
Today was the day of the reaping for the 78th Hunger Games.
I tumble off of my thin mattress, barely catching myself before hitting the worn wood of the floor. I hear my mother bustling about, trying to figure out a way to make a breakfast of our pathetic supply of food: a coarse loaf of bread and an apple that I had taken from the Meadow, a spot outside of the fence encircling District 12.
"Athena time to wake up!" she chirps with false brightness as she walks into the tiny, closet like space that is my bedroom. She's trying to cover up the fact that she's as nervous as I am.
I groggily drag myself through the door and into the kitchen, eyeing the sliced pieces of grainy bread sitting on a clay plate at the table. I sit down, still not really interested in my breakfast. Normally, I was ravenous in the morning. In the Seam, everyone is. We have to live off of meager grain rations given to us by our government.
And even though many of us starve to death each day, the officials find a way to pass it off as something else: disease, old age (as if any of us live to really be considered "old"), anything they can think of to keep it from looking like they're starving the citizens of District 12.
"Where's Dad?" I ask. Normally, he would've gotten up before the sun to head off to the mines, where he worked all day in dangerous conditions and still didn't make enough money to feed us. But since it was Reaping Day, no one was working.
"Hunting," Mom replies. My father had somehow managed to get a hold of a bow, some arrows, and a good hunting knife a few years back, and would wake up hours before work and sneak through the fence around District 12 that was supposed to be electrified, but rarely was. The man who had given him the weapons taught him how to hunt and forage, which made my family slightly better fed than other Seam families. But hunting was very illegal, so if my father were to be caught, he would be killed immediately.
"Hmm," I say, taking a bite from my bread and chewing. "Maybe I should go, too. He could probably use my help…" My father had taught me how to hunt and find edible plants, but I still wasn't nearly as good as him. He rarely took me hunting anyway, partially due to my mother nearly driving herself insane with worry every time we went, even though security was very lax around here.
"Not today, honey."
I sigh and continue eating my breakfast and drink the water my mother brings me. I suddenly realize that my little brother, Alvi, hasn't been seen or heard since I woke.
"Where's Alvi?"
Mom hesitates for a moment. "Well, he's about the age you were when your father first started taking you to the woods…"
"What? He gets to go hunting today and I don't?" I say, feeling betrayed. My father would take my little brother but not me?
"Well, today is reaping day, and we need to get you cleaned up and make you look nice…"
I was seventeen, so I had my name entered to be drawn for the Hunger Games. Because the reaping was televised and broadcasted to every citizen in Panem, everyone got all cleaned up and dressed up for the cameras. I groaned.
An hour later I had taken a bath and put on one my few dresses: a purple thing that hit right above my knee. I hated it.
My mother was standing behind me, brushing my shining black hair until it was completely smooth. My black hair was the only thing I had in common with the rest of my family and most of the Seam. I had fair skin and bright green eyes, where most Seam residents had olive-toned skin and grey eyes.
The front door opened and my father and brother stepped in, my father with a dead squirrel in his hand.
"We managed to catch this," he said in his deep, booming bass.
"Yeah, I can't believe it! My first time and we caught something!" Alvi said, thrilled.
"Oh, wonderful!" my mother said. "Now, you two get cleaned up. We have to be at the Square at one."
At one o'clock, my family walks to the Square, where all of 12 is required to gather unless they are on their deathbed. All of the twelve- through eighteen-year-olds are in roped areas organized by age. Family members are around the perimeter, praying that their children or siblings won't be chosen. All around us there are cameras, perched on rooftops, right next to us, and up on stage.
My brother, only eleven, is standing with my parents, lost somewhere in the crowd. I'm glad I won't have to worry about him this year, but I dread next year, when his name will be in the huge glass ball with a thousand others names, with a chance of being pulled out and read in Effie Trinket's ridiculous Capitol accent.
I look around me at the others of my age group, seeing some that I know from school and briefly making eye contact with them. Will one of them be chosen as a tribute? Will they have any chance of surviving?
I continue examining the crowd and see the face of my only friend, Millie Dagret. I make my way through the crowd and stand next to her. I have plenty of acquaintances, people I talk to in school. But only one real friend, someone who I can really talk to. I grab her hand and squeeze it.
On stage are Mayor Undersee, Effie Trinket, with her hair a lavender bob, and Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the winning tributes of the 74th Hunger Games. Somehow, even though the Games would allow only one tribute to win, they had both managed to get out alive.
Mayor Undersee steps up to the podium and begins to read the history of the Games.
Panem came to be when it rose up in the ruins of what was North America. It had a Capitol surrounded by thirteen districts that brought peace and prosperity to everyone. Then, there was an uprising of the districts against the Capitol, which became known as the Dark Days. Districts 1 through 12 were defeated, and 13 completely obliterated, as could be seen in the footage shown every year of the ruins.
As a reminder that we were all completely at the mercy of the Capitol, we were given the Hunger Games.
The Hunger Games aren't hard to understand. Every year, each district has to provide a girl and boy tribute. The twenty-four tributes are taken away, where they will be imprisoned in a outdoor arena, which could be anything from desert to a frozen wasteland. The tributes would fight to the death over a course of several weeks, and the last one alive wins. The winner would have a life of ease back in their district, with a house in the Victors' Village, plenty of food, and the rest of the district would be given prizes, most of them food.
Then the mayor starts on the list of 12's past victors. We have had four, and the three still alive are Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss Everdeen, and Peeta Mellark. Katniss and Peeta will be the mentors for this year's tributes.
After being introduced by Mayor Undersee, Effie Trinket bounds up to the podium and says, "Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor!" as she has done for as long as she's had this job. She then proceeds to blabber about how great it is to be here and what an honor it is, and manages to sound a little less sarcastic about it than usual. Then it's time for the drawing.
" Ladies first!" she says, following the same script she always does. She reaches into the big glass ball with a thousand girls' names on tiny slips of paper. Everyone is silent as she digs around for a second, then pulls out a piece of paper. She walks over to the podium, smoothes the paper, and reads in a loud, clear voice, " Athena Drales."
I feel the blood drain from my face. No, no, no! That can't be right! I must've heard her wrong.
But as I look around, I find everyone looking at me, me, and I struggle to draw in a shaky breath. I square my shoulders and clench my fists, and walk with leaden steps to the stage. I climb the steps and turn to face the crowd. I find my mother's face in the mass of people. Her face is not only bloodless, but a little green. I look away, afraid I might cry. I will not give the other tributes who will be seeing this tonight the satisfaction of seeing me cry, of having a name put on the list of people to weak to even worry about. Instead, I decide to shut off all emotion and not feel anything.
"Alrighty!" Effie Trills, " It's time for our male tribute!"
She strides across the stage to the glass ball with the boys' names in it and pulls out a slip of paper. She walks back to the podium and reads " Dalin Goodling."
I watch him walk up to the stage and take his place next to me. I can see he is also struggling to keep his face emotionless. I can't believe that, out of all the guys in District 12 that could be chosen to be put in the arena with me, it had to be him. As I said before, I didn't have a lot of friends. But he was almost one. We had all of our classes together this year and he sat by me in most of them. We talked a lot and worked on many assignments together, and I liked him. He was nice, always polite and respectful, and funny, too. I couldn't believe we were going to have to fight each other to stay alive.
Today, the odds were most definitely not in my favor.