Chapter 1: 74th Reaping
I come home earlier than usual from my hunting and trading in the Hob. I have to, in order to get to the Square on time. Because today is the day of the Reaping for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Mandatory attendance, to see who of the district's children will be selected for a cold, cruel death as they fight to survive in a wild arena.
When I arrive at the ramshackle home I share in the Seam with my mother and sister, I see that they both are dressed and ready. I cross to my little Primrose, beaming. Prim - the one person I am certain I love.
"Oh! Look at you! You look beautiful! Better tuck in that tail, Little Duck," as I tuck in the back of her blouse.
My mother's voice - hoarse from lack of use - cuts through this rare moment of happiness. "I laid something out for you too."
I pause for a beat, not even turning my head to look at her. Five years ago, when Daddy died in a mine explosion, Mother turned into herself in grief, leaving her two daughters to fend for themselves; I have mostly raised Prim. It is something I don't think I will ever forgive her for. "OK," I say simply, forcing a weak smile onto my face for Prim's sake.
I draw a bath in our tin tub and bathe myself. When I see the frock that Mother laid out for me, I frown in slight disapproval. But it is the nicest article of clothing I own - a hand-me-down from my mother's youth as a Merchant, so I reluctantly put it on anyway. I even allow Mother to do one of the few maternal things she still does, which is braiding my brown hair in front of our cracked, dirty mirror. She smiles softly, but the joy does not reach her dead eyes. "Now you look beautiful too."
"I wish I looked like you," an envious Primrose grumbles from the settee. With her Merchant blond hair in pigtails, she must still feel she looks like a baby. I quickly set her mind at ease when I tell her, "Oh, no! I wish I looked like you, Little Duck!" And I mean it. With her Merchant features, Prim will be sought after far and wide for a Toasting, when she comes of age.
We leave our simple abode and cross the Seam into the Merchant section of District 12, known as "Town" by most folk. Joining the throng of children between the ages of 12 and 18 and their parents, we fall into step beside the Hawthorne family. They are a prominent Seam brood with whom we Everdeens are often mistaken as cousins. But then again, all Seam folks are related in one way or another. Gale Hawthorne, the eldest of his four siblings and my tall hunting partner who now tugs at my braid affectionately, could certainly pass as family. We have the same Seam-grey eyes. Our fathers worked together in the mines, perished in the same accident. I think Mother and Gale's mom, Hazelle, are hoping he and I will marry one day. They are to be sorely disappointed. Gale and I have only ever been friends. And besides, after seeing what love and marriage did to my mother, I never want to marry or have kids. For babies just grow up to be tossed to the arenas.
Prim and I check in for the Reaping just before 10 AM, the appointed time for the ceremony, in front of the Justice Building. A pinprick of blood, placed on a scanner, is all that is needed to confirm our identity. This being her first eligible year, Primrose is a little squeamish about the needles, so I have to talk her down. Though I can't say I blame her. I hated blood draws and shots too, when I was her age.
I take my place in the 16-year-old girls pen. Ahead of me and to my right, I can see Gale in the 18-year-old boys section. Prim will be standing with the fresh blood deep in the back. Effie Trinket, our district escort takes the stage, during a propaganda video with words I know by heart. I tune this part out, and only half-listen to the Reading of the Names. The names of Past District 12 Victors. It's a pretty short list, as in 74 years, we have had exactly two. Only one is still alive: Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy middle-aged man who won the 50th Hunger Games at my age. When his exalted name is called, the sad sack of shit stands up and tries to give Trinket a hug, before tumbling head-first off the stage. I grimace as Peacekeepers are called in to haul his unconscious body away.
Effie mercifully retakes the microphone to finally select this year's two tributes. As always, ladies first. "Nata Barrett!"
A Merchant girl my age takes the stage trepidatiously. No one shows any emotion of sympathy, and a few Seamers even exchange snickers. Nata Barrett is the Merchant daughter of the confectioner in Town. When a Merchant child is called for death, none of the Seamers mourn. There has been class animosity between the two groups for decades. When my mother broke all tradition and ran off the marry my Seam father, she was ostracized by her former neighbors. Yes, it is special, sick cause for celebration when a Merchant's child is Reaped. No Merchant from 12 has ever won the Games; both of our Victors - Haymitch and his long-dead female mentor - hailed from the Seam. For only the Seam kids know true hunger.
"Wonderful!" Effie chirps. "And now for the boys!" She plucks a slip of paper from the boys' Reaping Bowl and leaves no time before calling out, "Gale Hawthorne!"
My mouth drops open in horror as Gale resolutely takes the stage. His last year. His very last year of eligibility and he is picked! Then again, Gale told me on our hunt last week that his name was in the Bowl 42 times, on account of taking out tesserae. The odds were not in his favor, and he told me so.
At the edge of the pen, my eyes catch Hazelle Hawthorne staggering against my mother, who looks to be trying to console and keep her fellow mom from going into a dead faint. If Gale dies, who will take over as man of the house? Vick is too young; Posy is just a baby. I feel for Hazelle that she has been forced to go through this not once, but twice. Last year, Gale's brother Rory was Reaped his very first year; he was playmates with my sister Primrose. How will the Hawthornes feed themselves, if Gale does not come back alive?
I don't have time to posit an answer, as Gale and Nata are led into the Justice Building, and I leap ahead in a mad dash to the doors...
Most years, precious few visit our tributes, as they are seen as good as dead. Gale's popularity as a heroic hunter in the Seam ensures that the line to see him off is extending out the door, flummoxing the Peacekeepers who are not used to dealing with such crowd control. I got in line first, but Mother and Primrose and I let the Hawthornes go ahead of us. It is only right that the family gets first priority in bidding farewell to their loved one.
When my family and I enter, I leave Gale with a long hug and some parting advice. "Get to a bow. And if they don't give you a bow, then you make one." He nods determinedly, and for the first time, I dare to hope that District 12 might finally get another winner.
My hopes are dashed quickly, though. The very first day of the Games, the vicious Career boy from District 2 tackles my hunting partner and bludgeons him to death with a scythe. 10 other tributes die with Gale in that horrific Bloodbath.