The Capitol girl leans back against the leather chair and fingers her bright pink hair. It was looking a little faded, she thinks. Time for a new color. Maybe purple? And perhaps she can finally convince her mother to let her have dragonfly wings.
Aimlessly, she flicks the television on. That's right, she remembers. Time to start the 38th Hunger Games. Last year was kind of lame. The arena was just a forest and it was over way to fast.
She leans forward to see the president come on. He's looking kind of old, she thinks. Maybe he'll die soon. That might be interesting. She plays with the tiger skin pillow on the couch as the president clears his throat.
Mayor Tufts of District 9 is worried. Because he can't control his citizens, as the president told him to. Because he hears whispers, not just among the servants but among the people, of rebellion. That the districts might revolt again.
He tries; really he does, to keep his district under control. But the Capitol isn't happy, and when the Capitol isn't happy, heads roll. So he squeezes his pudgy hands together as the president announces what is going to happen.
"Greetings, citizens of Panem. It seems that some of you do not wish to remain…beloved…citizens of Panem. This would be a grave mistake." The president steps back from the microphone and surveys the crowd. "It would rip your families apart. And to show you just how catastrophic this would be, we have planned a special…twist…for the 38th Hunger Games."
Mayor Tufts lets out a tiny squeak of fear.
"To show you, our beloved citizens, how deadly a rebellion might be, the closest male relative of the female tribute will enter the Games with her, regardless of age. But to show the Capitol's unending mercy, we will permit two winners of the 38th Hunger Games, provided they are from the same district."
Mayor Tufts slumps to the floor.
Lydia smoothes down the coverlet on the bed. She has to get it ready for the poor tribute kids who will be arriving soon. In a way, they're lucky. It will be over soon for them. But not for her. The mangled stump of her tongue is a constant reminder of what happened that day.
She's sneaking glances at the reapings on TV as she works. In the Career districts, the pairs of tributes let out roars of excitement as they are reaped. In the other districts, the tributes bravely cling to each other.
Poor kids.
Poor stupid, cursed kids.
Vidia Deeps adjusts her sparkling blue hat as she prances onto the stage in District 9. This is what she lives for. She has to see these kids as tributes, here today and gone tomorrow, or else she will lose her mind.
Beaming, she waves to the crowd. "Isn't this exciting? Two victors! Are you ready?"
She thrusts her hand into the reaping bowl, reaching for the slip at the bottom like she always does. She rubs the slip with two fingers—please don't let her be twelve like the last one—and opens it.
"Oriole Whittaker! And the closest relative is…Henry Whittaker! How exciting! Come on up, you two!"
District 9 forms a pathway for the two tributes. Siblings. The girl is older, with wavy red-gold hair, and the boy, shuffling behind her, has dark brown hair.
As the girl strides up to the stage, the people of District 9 can easily see the expression on her face.
Oh, HELL, no.