_Heck!

I move away quickly from the burning stove where three eggs continue to fry. I bit my lip, holding back a moan. A red burn mark begins to appear on my forearm. I have never burned myself before. Not while cooking. I pass my arm under the thin stream of water that slowly flows from the tap. I gaspe with pleasure when the pain attenuates a bit.

_It's of ill omen, I mumbled.
_What is of ill omen ?
I jump when I hear my brother's voice sounded behind me.
_Nothing. I have just burn me, I answer while dragging the wriggling eggs from the pan to the plate.

Clael yawns, scratches his neck and sits down. My brother does this every morning. He does not even wait for the breakfast to cool and devours everything in less than ten seconds.
I take care of the house since my mother's accident that cost her the loss of her left arm and three fingers of her right hand. She was swept away by a machine to separate the grain. This kind of thing happens often in District Eleven. We are used to it. It is even a chance she had survived. Carrying out the maintenance of our small farm does not bother me. I like cooking and doing housework. This allows me to forget the world we live in.
My father and mother enter the kitchen. Their faces are contrite with anguish. My mother has trouble lifting her cup of tea, her two fingers do not stop shaking. Seeing them like that makes me feel uneasy and worries me even more.

_Do not worry, I say, my name is not registered many times. I have never taken any tesserae. This is Clael who took all the risks, he never went to the Arena and he is safe now.
It seems to relax them a little. My father even allow himself to smile.
_You are right. We are not the most to be pitied. I heard that some kids of thirteen or fourteen had their names written sixteen times.
My mother agrees. But the slight warming of atmosphere falls back when I rid the plates and begin to disentangle my too long hair with the old wooden comb. I tie them into a ponytail, as I always do, and put on a dress not too small yet.
_I am going to go, I say in little voice, I have to go find Perry and Tama. I see you on the spot.

I feel that my mother wants to hold me back but she does not do it. So I'm going. The atmosphere of the house was becoming unbearable. I needed fresh air.
The Reaping takes place, as every year, at the central square. I do not know how many times I saw weeping faces as they stood on the stage. Each time, I knew it was a face I would never see again and that the Capitol would broadcast again and again their death on television. I hate it. Or rather, I do not understand it. Sometimes, children of twelve years old are killed so horribly that I have nightmares for weeks.
Perry and Tama are waiting patiently in the shade of the big pine. They shake their hand lightly on my approach. Tama and Perry are my closest friends. We had known eachothers during my first Reaping. Tama saw her older sister sent to the Arena that year. I think she clung to the closest thing to her to avoid her from falling. It turned out that this thing was me. She cried while remaining attached to my shirt as I didn't dare moving. Perry, who was a neighbor of Tama, had fetch her parents. I really do not know how but from that day, we became inseparable.

_You are tense, my friend says.
_Yes. Who would not ?
She nodded in silence. Perry cracked his neck. He always does it when he is distressed.
_We're going ?
We walk in the dust watching the golden fields of wheat. The ears are swaying slowly in the morning wind gorging itselves with sun. My heart sinks suddenly. I do not want to think that I may never see these fields again. This perspective disgusts me.
The central square of the small village is empty. It is still a little early. But it will fill up. Soon, I know that tears, sniffles and cries will dismay all the space and prevent me from breathing. But I know I would feel reassured by that crowd who will share the same emotions as me, the same fears and the same worries.
Peacekeepers hustle us unceremoniously. They did not even give a look. We are worse than vermin for them. I hung on Perry's shirt to keep me from falling. My legs are unsteady.

_Elia, are you okay? He worries, helping me getting up.
_Yes, yes. They surprised me, I answer with a tight smile.
I look to them, busied installing the parks where we will be lined up like animals ready for slaughter. They connect a microphone. They grab and put three chairs in the center of the platform. The two huge glass balls containing our names shine under the sun. Their happy faces when everything is in place makes me want to vomit. I suddenly want to spit on them. But I will never have the courage. Or madness.
The onlookers begin to arrive. Families are separated from their children with anxious glances, affectionate gestures and loving words. They line up quietly in their designated area. Twelve years old children are horribly tense. This is normal, I was like their age but I think I have not really changed. Even if I try to look calm to relax the other, my throat is chocked with fear.

I see my brother and my parents who smile at me sadly. Only Clael is raising his two thumbs up, offering me the encouraging smile he has the secret of. I send them a a strong sign of hand while trying to look serene. I grab Tama's hand and we slip in a row of girls of sixteen. Perry looks at us with a determined look and disappears in the park of eighteen boys. I'm glad it is his last year. After today, everything would be okay for him. I envy him and the though of it make me feel ashamed.
Tama's palm becomes moist and she starts to shake when Fulia Maylord gets on the platform. She is the woman in charge of District Eleven for Hunger Games. She is only here for two years. Before it was a man whose name escapes me. I do not know what has happened to him but I preferred his playful tone to the dreary one of Fulia. The tired voice of the hostess makes me want to scream. I hate her streaked face with black tattoos and electric blue ones. Her blonde hair, almost white are reassembled into a sort of tower on the top of her head. I find her a stupid look though she wants to appear refined. I will never understand the Capitol's taste in clothes and beauty.
I tightens a little my friend's hand and smile to her.

_Everything will be alright. I promise you. Your name will not be chosen.
She gulps, trembling. Tama is traumatized since her sister was reaped. I will never forget her distress that day.
_Come on ! I whisper, it's going to be fine.
My friend slides a lock of her jet-black hair behind her ear with a feverish hand.
The mayor begins his interminable speech of repentance, as to justify the fact that two of us would die before the eyes of their parents. He states the list of winners of District Eleven on Hunger Games. It's simple, there is only one name. Seeder Redfern, the winner of the thirtieth Hunger Game at the age of fifteen. While she sits on one of the three chairs, next to the mayor, she looks at the crowd extending under her feet with her golden eyes. She knows the horror of the Games and yet her face still shows the same gentle and concerned expression.
Fulia Maylord advances on the front of the dais.

_Happy Fifty-fifth Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor.
She says those words in a spiritless voice. As if she did that every day. I can not help thinking that this would be a funny and strange routine to send teenagers get slaughtered. The hostess approached slowly the huge transparent ball containing the names of the district's girls.

_Ladies first, I guess.
The girl on my left begins to breathe loudly while trying to restrain her groans of panic. She is pale as a sheet. I would like to take her hand too but I'm afraid of frightening her more. I take it anyway. Her fingers clings to my palm so strongly that I feel like she will tear my arm apart. But I do not let go. She whispers something I do not understand. I smile and gently press her hand.
Fulia tries to generate a kind of silly suspense as her hand rounds and rounds without stopping as in slow motion among the thousands small white papers. The inhabitants of the Capitol must be very bored before that pitiful spectacle.
She finally chooses one and unfolds slowly.

Tama and the girl's hands shake mine simultaneously. All the girls are holding their breath. The smell of sweat makes me wince. I want to dry my brow but I'm too scared to let go of the hands of Tama and the girl. Also, I am not sure of being able to extricate from their firm and desperate grip.
_Elia Nettles? Called Fulia Maylord with her drawled voice.
I had not lied to Tama. Her name had not been picked.
It was mine.

Hello ! Thanks for reading my story. It's the first about Hunger Games.

My English is not very good so please tell me about my mistakes and if someone wants to be my beta-reader, I would be glad to accept his help !