Hey, This is a Hunger Games fic, a friend of mine wrote it and asked me to post it. So read and review.
:D
This is it. My first reaping. I don't know how to feel. Amidst the anxiety and fear is a feeling of empathy for the lost souls of the tributes. First they would have to overcome the guilt and regret that would occur after slaughtering an innocent child and then, if they somehow managed to outsmart the competitors, they would forever be haunted by terrible nightmares and flashbacks of their days in the arena. They would be another lost child wrecked by the Capitol's games. I would never be able to deal with that.
I dress into my sister Katniss' first reaping clothes, a pale coloured blouse and a skirt, The blouse is too big for me and keeps coming untucked at the back. "Tuck your tail in little duck!" My sister said as she tucked it in for me. "Quack!" I replied. Katniss looks beautiful wearing one of mother's dresses. We head out to the square which will soon be lined with the people of 12, children lined up for slaughter and parents hoping with all their might that their child will not be reaped today. Katniss and I line up at a desk to be registered. When I get to the desk, a peacekeeper pricks my finger and scans my blood. Primrose Everdeen 12 Y/O flashes up on the device. "Next" she calls and I am directed to an area marked for my age group and stand and wait. I get one final glance at Katniss before our district's escort, Effie Trinket, taps the microphone in front of her. "Happy Hunger Games everyone!" She chirps. She obviously does not know the meaning of happy. Children roped off for slaughter, all for the entertainment of the Capitol. I do not think that is anything to be happy about. "Hello and welcome to the 74th annual Hunger Games! May the odds be Ever in your favour!" She says in her unmistakable Capitol accent. "Ladies First!" She chimes as she reaches her hand into the glass ball with the names in. She pulls a slip of paper out of the ball and takes a while to unfold it, her abnormally long false nails getting in the way. She finally manages to unfold the paper slip and reads out the name. Its very unlikely that it'll be my name on that paper as I am only one slip in thousands. Effie takes a deep breath and reads out the name. "Primrose Everdeen!" She chirps. I freeze. The odds have definitely not been in my favour.
"Come on up then!" Effie says. I stumble up to the platform, my eyes frantically searching the crowd for Katniss. I do not know how I managed to walk as my muscles have stopped responding to my brain. I finally reach the front and I can feel every single pair of eyes in the crowd fixated on me. Well, that is until the District 12 mentor Haymitch Abernathy stumbles off the stage and passes out in his own vomit. Effie clears her throat obviously trying to get the attention back to her. I still cannot move. "Now it's time to choose our male tribute." She says and then rummages through the second glass ball. She pulls out a second paper slip. Again, she struggles to unfold the paper due to her nails. A clear flaw of the Capitol's appearance based society. The crowd is full of pale, frozen faces and silence soon to be broken. Effie unfolds the white slip of paper and reads out the name in her warbling voice "Peeta Mellark!" The name brings a vague sense of recognition in the back of my mind but mostly it is just another name, another piece for the Capitol's games. He is the baker's son, a boy who will probably only be missed for his extravagantly decorated cakes and buns. He has two brothers, I think, the eldest is past reaping age but one is reapable. Peeta slowly makes his way to the stage, clearly stunned by this recent development of his life. "Now we have our District 12 tributes!" Effie says with a smile that no one sees, They are all too focused on the faces of their tributes that will soon be broken and forgotten, just two faces in distant memories. The mayor rises from his chair and begins to read the long, dull Treaty of Treason, the same as every year. Mayor Undersee finishes reading and gestures for Peeta and I to shake hands. I look long and hard into his icy blue eyes and try not to think about how in a matter of weeks, both of us will most likely be dead. The Panem anthem blares as we turn to face the crowd. The odds are heavily stacked against me I suppose.