Right folks, this idea may be overdone, but I really couldn't care less. *le raves*
Disclaimer: I quite obviously don't own the Hunger Games. None of these characters are mine, except the ones that you don't recognise; they're most likely mine. I'm not making any profit from this, except the joy of reviews (hopefully!)
As if I didn't have enough to worry about, I was yet again reminded that it was Reaping day. Even though I was well aware that the likelihood of being chosen to represent the district in the sick form of entertainment known as the Hunger Games was one in a million, something just wouldn't let my mind ease. As far as I was concerned, anything that can go wrong will go wrong - according to Murphy's Law at least; rather cynical, I know.
Being from District 4, I hadn't had a particularly difficult life, so far at least. My father had wanted me to train as a career when I was younger, but my mother had none of it; something to do with wasting my childhood or to that effect. But really, who were they kidding? No teenager in Panem has a half-decent childhood for fear of being put in some arena and slaughtered, but that's the way it would always be and it was best to accept it and just put one foot in front of the other.
As I silently walked along with the crowd in the direction of the large make-shift stage that had been set up for the Reaping, I met a few of my so called 'friends'. Sure, I knew plenty of people but I wasn't one for trusting others. They were the kind of people who would complain about other people for complaining; a little hypocritical, but at least there was never a dull moment. Quite a bit of banter ensued, mostly to do with the girls wearing dresses that only came out of the wardrobe once a year, for this very occasion.
When we had all been separated by sexes and ages, there was a overly loud murmur from the ever-growing crowd of teenagers. When that Capitol escort appeared on the rather disappointing looking stage, it was I could to restrain a laugh. Though I knew that this oddly dressed person would be choosing who was condemned, it did indeed provide some comic relief from all the tension. Past victors were also lined up on the make-shift stage, some looking smug, and others looking painfully awkward. I couldn't help but stare at the female population of Panem's favorite, Finnick Odair. As much I attempted to deny it, that man really did have lovely arms. I suppose his face wasn't bad either. Or his legs. All in all, he was undeniably good-looking, but I refused to become one of those moronic girls who constantly throw themselves at him. I knew I was better than that.
I knew they would be choosing the girls name first, as they did every year; like it really made much of a difference. As the name was called, I held my breath, mentally praying that it wouldn't be my name. That's when I realized that there probably wasn't much use in praying, as I heard my name read aloud. Almost all of the eyes that I could see were staring directly at me; some with an undertone of pity, and others with an look of relief. What's the use of praying if there's nobody who hears? I slowly and unsteadily made my way to the platform, praying that I would keep my balance. But hey, if I was to lose my footing, it would make quite a light hearted Reaping, right? Luckily, I managed to make a reasonably acceptable ascent onto the platform. Afterwards, there was an opportunity for volunteering. As I expected, no one bothered which was fair enough, I suppose. I certainly wouldn't volunteer for anyone, as selfish as it may sound.
Merely seconds later, the boy's name was drawn. Gavroche McMillan. Safe to say, I didn't know him personally but something about his face looked familiar. What saddened me most about it, was that he didn't look much older than 12 years old; maybe 14 at the oldest. The poor thing looked close to tears, not that I - or anyone else, for that matter - could blame him. To no-one's surprise, they're weren't any volunteers on his behalf either. After we shook hands, we were led into separate rooms in the largest building in town, to say our goodbyes to friends, realities and anyone who would listen.
My parents were the first in. The babbled on about how I had to believe in myself, which eventually evolved into an argument between my mum and dad about how they should have trained me after all. In that moment I knew that whether I had been trained or not, I would never be prepared to take the life of another person. Wasn't it supposed to be God who decided who was to live and who was to die? Obviously not, since he hadn't been much help at the Reaping, in my case at least. It then struck me that maybe I was supposed to die in the games, in some sort of blaze of glory for people to remember me by. Either way, I much preferred the idea of dying in my sleep or something, but considering the circumstances, that wasn't even an option anymore.
A few of my friends later filed into the room, some crying and others simply looking rather morbid. The boys kept it simple by patting my back and telling me to try my best, whereas the girls were in a worse state than I was; crying and all sorts, until one mentioned that the upside was meeting Finnick Odair, after which that began gossiping about how lucky I was. Yes, lucky. They really didn't have a clue, did they?
Afterwards, myself, my district partner, our Capitol escort and our two mentors, Mags and Finnick, were led to the train station. As we walked, I promised myself that I wouldn't look back, in the knowledge that if I did, I'd end up a crying mess. The thought of not seeing District 4 again was utterly heartbreaking. Despite my efforts, one lone tear slid down my cheek, though I continued to hold my head high. A moment later, I felt a hand wipe the tear away in a rush. I turned my head slightly to see Finnick Odair looking at me with his eyebrows raised.
"Don't want them to see you crying now, do you?" He asked, though I assumed his question was rhetorical. "We wouldn't want you to seem weaker than you undeniably are." Finnick continued in a voice so quiet that his words were almost inaudible. I really didn't know how to respond to such a comment, unsure as to whether he was purposely insulting me or not. I simply forced a slight smile, before turning to face ahead of myself once again.
Once inside the train, I continued to face the direction in which I walked, refusing to give into the temptation to look out of the window. Sad the think I wouldn't be coming back, but if that's what it is, nothing would change it.
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