Chapter 1: The Reaping
I sigh deeply as I make my way through the town I have resided in for all 15 years of my sorry life. No, sorry about that, I have to remember to think positive. Everything is fine, at least for now. But even that is a lie. Why do I lie to myself? I haven't a clue. 'Tis not fair, this life! I continue my stroll down the beaten walkway until I reach the center of the market in which my destination lies. Exhausted workers pour from the stores around me, from the buildings that look as if ready to collapse at any second now, and the hungry people still carry their axes as they will soon return to their work in the forest. You see, we live in District 7, the lumber district. Almost everyone works in the forests, even children, for we are sent to work for our families at a very young age. I do not work in the lumber business, though. I much prefer swords. My father's work, which is from what I can tell, just counting the number of supplies our town has and needs, allows him to make just enough money to let me buy what I need to live my dream. And what dream is that exactly? I plan to become proficient enough with a sword to raise an army against the dreadful Capital. We will rebel and I will lead the army as a knight of sorts. I already have one warrior on my side. His name is Gunther. We are not the best of friends, but we are on good enough terms to practice our sword-fighting together. He hates the Capital too, though sometimes I wonder if he practices with me just to get away from his sorry excuse for a father, the District's merchant, and a very horrid person.
As of the moment I am heading to the shop of my friend the blacksmith, 17-year-old Smithy. I am to get yet another sword, this time a shortsword. I reach the small forge, greet Smithy, and he smiles back. "I'll be right there with your sword, Jane."
I nod and watch his pig for the moments he is gone. It is a very interesting set-up he has, with his pig running in a wheel to help power the flame that he uses to forge metal. Smithy returns and I hand him the money to pay for the sword, and it is all I have left. "Thank you," I say when he hands me the sword.
"No Jane, I must thank you," he insists. "Times are hard and if not for this money Pig and I would have gone without dinner tonight."
I laugh, but not with happiness. "I'm glad I could help you." I say before turning away, wondering whether or not my family will have dinner tonight. I wonder if we would have dinner even if we were the richest in the District, for today is the reaping. There is a slim possibility that I will be chosen, though I try not to think about it. My name has only been entered a few times, so I should be fine. After all, everything is fine, isn't it?
"Smithy?" I ask, turning back around to face him.
"Yes Jane?"
"Are you worried? About the, you know…reaping?"
He looks down at his work. "Of course. Everyone is, even those who are not of age to be reaped, for we all know someone we love might be chosen and will never come back. All we can do is hope the odds are in our favor."
I think for a moment. "Thank you for your words," I say and then turn back around with determination, but not without glimpsing a small smile from the blacksmith. Back home I head to meet up with my parents before the reaping, which is in just an hour. They must be worried sick about me, and I am worried sick about them, about what would happen to them if I was reaped.
My house is not too far away from the market, so I return home quickly, new sword in hand. Opening the door, which was carelessly left unlocked by myself, I say hello to my parents and head up to my room to place the sword in the cabinet where I keep my others. Then I go back downstairs to find my father very worried, though he does worry a lot about my welfare, even of silly things. And my mother, she is practically unbearable at times like these. It is all about making sure my outfit is perfect and that my wild red curls are tame for the day. But I know she is worried out of her mind.
"It is time to put on your dress, dear Jane," says my mother.
I groan. "But mother, I do not want to wear a dress to the reaping. I shall wear my tunic."
She shakes her head. "There will be no talk of wearing your tunic, Jane. The reaping is an event with many people and you are expected to dress up. Now go put on your dress, it is getting late."
I resign from the argument and go to retrieve the dress, for I know there is no way out of wearing a dress this time. I find the royal blue garment and am relieved to find that it is simple and that my mother did not go all out. I quickly put it on and return downstairs. "Cannot I leave my hair the way it is?"
My mother shakes her head. I hear my father sigh from the other room. He is dreadfully worried about the reaping. I wish I could assure him that I'll be fine, but that would be a lie. I sit down and let my mother put my unruly scarlet curls in an elegant bun. My mother then leaves to bring a mirror and admires her handiwork. "You look beautiful, dear," she says. Looking in the mirror, I see that she is right. The dress frames my skinny, athletic body well, and my hair looks relatively under control. But I do not care about looking beautiful. I want to look like a warrior.
"It is time for you to leave now, my dear daughter," my father says. I am going to the reaping alone. I knew they would not be able to bear it, and I am old enough to deal with the event myself. I reach out to hug my father and then my mother and then proceed back to my room to retrieve my longsword. I sling the rope connected to the sheath around my back and then head downstairs and through the front door without another glance to my parents. Taking a sword with me is not necessary, for no one will attack me on the way, but it simply makes me feel better to be armed, and more defiant at the Capital. I stick my tongue out, hoping one of their stupid cameras is filming the thousands of people coming to the reaping. I only walk about a mile until I reach the huge stadium where the reaping takes place. Before I enter the stadium, I make sure to hide my sword in a field where no one will find it, as I am quite sure they will not let me come to the reaping armed. The sword will be fine until I come back for it, providing I do come back of course. This is my fourth reaping so I know where to go now, and entering the stadium, I find my place among all the people and search the crowd. I recognize a few people and after a minute of looking around I find where Gunther is standing. I wave, hoping he sees me, but I am sure he does not, because at this moment everyone's attention turns to the center of the stage where the mayor has begun speaking.
"Welcome to this year's reaping, everyone!" he cheerily greets the audience. I want to jeer but restrain from doing so. "Before we start the actual reaping itself, I will remind you all of why we are here in the first place." The mayor begins his stupid rant about how the Capital controls everyone and we do not want to rebel like District 13 and that the Hunger Games remind us that the Capital is in control. After his speech is over, Alaia Forrester takes center stage. Every year, she starts out sounding as bored and disinterested as ever and gets progressively happier as the event goes on. It is almost entertaining.
"Hello, citizens of Distict 7. You probably all know me already so let's just cut to the chase. It is time to pick our District's tributes for the Hunger Games. I'll start with the ladies." Alaia Forrester reaches her hand into the container filled with slips of paper with the names of everyone in our District who is from age 12 to 18. My stomach turns to a knot. She holds out the piece of paper and smiles. "Jane Turnkey!"
I feel as though I will die on the spot. In frenzy, I look for Gunther. I mouth to him, "What do I do?" He does not say anything in return, for he is petrified with fear for me. The mayor and Alaia Forrester are waving for me to come up on the stage and so I do so. I force determination into my stride and pretend I am leading an army into battle. As I get up on stage Alaia asks me if there is anything I would like to say. I scan the audience with hopelessness. In desperation, I say with extreme sarcasm, "Thank you, probability, for landing me the spot in the Games. I am so happy to be put forth to almost certain death!" The audience laughs and I give them a meek smile of futility.
"Now it is time to pick a boy tribute," says Alaia, a bit more excited. She reaches her hand into the reaping ball and picks of a slip of paper. "Livius Di Stefano!"
A 17-year-old boy dressed in a ridiculous blue suit of puzzle pieces and a jester hat leaves the audience. I know him from around the market. He is a singer, lute player, and entertainer who goes by the name of Jester, and he often busks in the market and tells humorous jokes. As he strolls on stage with a certain beat in his step, I can see in his eyes that he is terrified out of his mind. Alaia hands him the microphone to quickly introduce himself to the crowd.
"You can all call me Jester," he says, playfully knocking the bells on his hat and giving the audience a clever, handsome smile, very much pleasing them. "I cannot wait for the 74th annual Hungry Games, I mean Hunger Games. I am very much famished." He turned to Alaia. "Do you have any idea of when we get our food? Anything could bring this jester out of his very blue mood. I must admit I think I've gone crazy. 'Tis the ringing in my ears hath made my judgment hazy." The audience again laughed, but was cut short when the Peacekeepers dragged the boy in blue and I off the stage to get on our way to the Capital. I could not shake the fear from my eyes and I noticed Jester was shaking uncontrollably. He noticed my looking at him and he quickly gave me wink before turning around to follow the Peacekeepers.
Author's note: Thank you for reading this first installment of this story! I love JatD and I love The Hunger Games so I put them together. Please review the story so I know what you think about it. :)
