As I walk home from the Hob, small piece of bread in my hand, I think to myself, "Why am I not good at anything?"
I ask myself that a lot. It's probably because I can't hunt, am not charismatic, can't bake, and am literally skin and bones. If I was any better than that, well, wouldn't I actually be able to feed my family?
I swing open the door to my family's small house and place the bread on the table. When someone comes home, maybe my father from the mines or my sister from the Hob, (it's embarrassing, but most of the food we eat comes from her) then they'll be able to eat a little bit.
After slumping down in a hard wooden chair, I wish there was something to do for the next few hours. But I was going to have to let my thoughts entertain me, like I did day after day.
Automatically I think of the Reaping. They're going to choose a boy and a girl to compete in the 74th Hunger Games tomorrow. It's a fight to the death, and whoever manages to live the longest wins. It's horrible. But all the districts go through this every year. On my birthday.
Yeah, the Reaping day is my birthday. I have never celebrated once in my life because always some people are hauled off to the Capitol and are going to die.
Obviously they're not going to win. Starved and weak, no one from District 12 ever survives the Hunger Games.
I think about that for the next half-hour, making myself miserable but at least giving me something to do. Then the door opens and in comes my little sister, holding a small bag. Maybe a rabbit or a squirrel.
Dessi's twelve, a year younger than me, (technically two years since my birthday is tomorrow) and she always comes back with something slung over her shoulder. She seriously can hunt. Every day she climbs through that electric fence and comes back with something.
She picks up the bread I put on the table and immediately shoves the entire thing in her mouth.
"I did not previously know that that was humanly possible," I say sarcastically, but she ignores me and continues chewing.
"Get a life, Ethan. At least I do things all day."
"Well… I… uh…" I try to figure out a good reply but fail. "I do stuff too!"
"Like what?" she says. I don't answer.
"Ugh," she sighs. "I know, I know, you try. I'm just in a bad mood. Tomorrow's my first day, you know?"
Why is turning twelve such a pain? Twelve is the age where you're first entered in the Reaping. My sister has a chance of being in the Hunger Games now. Well, a small one, but almost everyone has a very small one. Yet someone's always chosen.
"Your birthday's tomorrow. Where's the cake?" she asks in a fake Capitol accent. "Because, you know, tomorrow is a time to celebrate, because the odds will be ever in your favor!"
"You just ate the cake," I grumble. "Effie's going to go nuts if I'm chosen."
"Oh, don't worry about that, dahling," she says, and skips up the creaky stairs to her bedroom.
I'm alone again, so I decide to see what Dessi brought with her. As I get closer, I realize that lying on the table are sugar cookies. Sugar cookies. Nobody ever has cookies in District Twelve.
I see she came back to draw with her powdery old crayons that she insists are in perfect condition, although they're almost nonexistent. She stomps down the stairs, and I stop her.
"Hey," I call, "where did you get the cookies?"
"Got them at the…. Place."
Place? Wha- ohhhh, that "Place". The old bakery. She calls it the "Place".
I start to daydream about bread, and cake, and realize how hungry I am. I take a few bites of a cookie and fall asleep in my chair.
While I'm asleep, I start to dream I'm in the Games. There are eels all over me, but I'm in the desert. A cactus wails for his mommy. Green eyes float around. I run into blue fire, and disrupt a cricket wedding. A pink star cries for vengeance. A career runs over. Holds up a bow. And shoots me.
I wake up with a jolt. I shake my head to work off the strange dream. A cricket wedding? A pink star? What is wrong with me? But the real part I hate is when the career kills me. I look at the sun in the east, then at myself, still in the chair. Today is Reaping day.
I change into fresh clothes and comb my hair. I sit in the same chair I spent last night in, just to see my home for what might be the last time. The games. The games. Stepping into the arena, the bloodbath, helpless. Like me. And die. I do NOT want to be picked as a tribute. I hate the Hunger Games. I hate the Capitol.
My father got the day off from the mines, and Dessi's not going hunting. "Dessi!" I call. "Today is Reaping day!"
When she comes downstairs the first thing I notice is that there are tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. "Uh, I got… I got… something in my eye," she says, her voice cracking.
"Yeah, right, Dessi," I sigh. "Just, just… come to my room."
She follows me to my small room and sits down on my bed, the sheets pulled tight.
"Ethan…"
"Dessi, you're going to be fine, okay? I'm the one signed up for tesserae. You only have your name entered one time. They are not going to choose you. They're going to choose some other girl."
"Yeah, but," my sister bites her lip, "why another girl? Why anyone? Why do we all have to take part in these stupid Games?"
Dessi's been asking me that since she turned seven. I've never had a good answer. She knows it.
"Look, I mean, the Capitol chooses these things, and we can't really stop them. Just be happy when it's not you."
A tear falls out of Dessi's eye and lands on my bed. She gets up and walks out of the room.
"You just don't know what it's like."
Dessi, I do.