Authors Note: (Gem/ her relatives are ancestors of Glimmer.) I do not own HG ***disclaimer***
Feel free to give constructive criticism, but if you don't like, don't read. And excuse me please for not being so good at the young people's because I don't really know how to do like young people like 5 or 6 or maybe even 7 years old ppl :/
as we go along, tell me which tributes you like best! I don't know the Victor yet. You may affect these characters whole lives if you tell me! :DDD :OOOO :PPPP :)
The 1000th Hunger games. I couldn't believe it lasted this long. Uh, disgusting. No one had the nerve to rebel yet! Well than :/
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In the 74th Hunger Games Katniss and Peeta both won, sparking a rebellion. But, for the 75th Hunger Games, they did 24 Victors and 24 relatives of the Victors. So, Peeta died saving Katniss by taking a knife sent by Brutus for her. And, Katniss died to save Prim. Then, with Prim in the last two with Brutus, Brutus killed her, and he was a Victor for the second time. The Capitol soon put a stop to the rebellion. Thus the games went on.
District 1 Terry Luare:
The catch for this Quarter Quell was announced by the president on T.V. last night. The reaping contestants are going to be out of the youngest family members of the families in the districts, but not over 19 years old.
The Reaping Terry Luare:
The reaping. I stand in a roped off section with all the other ten-year old's. There are lots of ten-year old's. But, there are less of the 18 year old's, lets say. Cherry Tess bounces up to the stage after the mayor makes his boring speech about the Dark Days. Cherry, with her cherry color dyed hair, magenta lipstick, magenta eye shadow, magenta blush, magenta skin color, magenta etc., brightly smiles at the occupants of District 1. She reaches for the microphone and goes, "Weeelcome to the oneee thooouusands Hunger Games, a Quarter Quell! So happy to be here, at Dissstricctt 1!"
She jumps over to the girl's reaping bowl, 'majestically' swishes her hand about, and picks a random paper slip. Her eyes light up and her dimples show extravagantly. "And, the District 1 girl tribute is… Drum roll please!" She chuckles at her joke, but then it dissolves as she just sees people are mad at her creating suspension. "Ma-"
"I volunteer! I VOLUNTEER!" I hear a 19 years old girl named Gem Beam shriek. Not because she feels bad for the Ma- girl, but because she is a career, and never could get in because other girls out volunteered her, so this is her last chance, as she is the youngest child in her family, and is 19. As the Careers are not usually the youngest in the family, she automatically becomes the District 1 girl tribute, since there are no other careers to volunteer. All her career friends from training applaud her. I recognize some of them from training.
"Well, well, a volunteer! What is your name young lady?"
"Gem Beam, Miss! Happy to be here! Thank you!" Gem obediently takes her place on the back of the stage and bounces on the balls of her feet to see her fellow, and possibly Career, partner.
"Well, lets see the boy tribute!" Cherry strides over to the glass ball containing the boy's names.
"Terry Luare!"
I stand shocked. I pull myself up and hold my head straight, and try to look confident. I take the steps to the stage, those steps that most fear above all, besides the real Hunger Games arena. I've been reaped.
"District 1, and the Capitol watching, I present your District 1 tributes for the 1000th annual Hunger Games, and Quarter Quuueellll!" Everyone claps, and some wolf-whistle at Susan, 'the hottie'. That's what she's called at school. That's her, shining golden hair, green sapphire eyes, and a seductive gleam in her eyes, already trying to win sponsors. She really fits her name, Gem. Well, she is in District 1. I see my mother crying. My father has trained me because he wants me to become a Career. But I just don't get it. Train to murder innocent people? So he's clapping because he knows I would've never volunteered but now I've been reaped. And, he forced my mother into marriage. I love her, and I'm their only child. So, shocker, I'm reaped.
District 2 Roar Boese:
The catch for this Quarter Quell was announced on T.V. last night. The reaping contestants are going to be out of the youngest family members of the families in the districts. So glad, I am the youngest in my family, plus it'll be so easy to win this year against a bunch of weenie little kids, though I'll miss the challenge. I've already told all the other careers I'm volunteering, and they agreed to let me. I bet all my millions of friends will miss me.
The Reaping Roar Boese:
The reaping'! If I don't get picked, I am so volunteering, plus no one better question my chances and volunteer for me. I'm the strongest in District 2, in all the Districts, in the Capitol too! In the whole of Panem! And don't even try to say 'what about girls,' girls are weak! They should just follow their places. I can't believe that some years' girls even won, let alone people from other Districts, let alone girls from other Districts! Only in District 2 can you get a real Career training, as we specialize in weapons here, and masonry, as I obviously show with my six-pack, brute strength, and great weapon skills, such as the way I use the sword, the way I can manipulate a spear, the way I can swing a bludgeon, the weights I can lift, the knives I can stab, etc. etc! I have my finger impatiently pricked and my blood wiped. Time to get in my 16 roped off area. It's roped off with golden fine sturdy rope. "They probably won't have half as good rope in the arena. Not that I'll need rope. I'll get along great with a balanced sword, knives are okay, spears are check, bludgeon would work fine with me, and would be easier to use to kill the older contestants." I see a girl staring at me as if I'm crazy. She has to be admiring how good looking' I am! I flash her a cocky grin filled with my sparkling white teeth.
"You're talking to yourself. Plus you've got something' green stuck in-between your teeth." I hear an incomprehensible added murmur from her which sounds like loser, but it couldn't be so!?
I look away embarrassed. How dare she embarrass me like that? Who does she think she is?! I get the lettuce out of my teeth with my tongue and face her again.
"Hey, you'll be able to look me over closer once I get back. Very closer." I say with a wink.
"I'm fine, no one wants to see any of that," she points at me. "Plus, you will not be coming back. And if you do, I don't date Careers. Simple as that," she states with a mocking sneer and a death-like wink.
"We don't have to date, just get down to business."
"No thanks, I'd rather not throw up." With that she turns around and starts talking to her friend. I recognize the friend. It's that wimpy poor girl I see at school. She's skinnier than a stick and her stomach is rumbling 24/7. It's very annoying. But, she is inseparable from her hottie friend. The Wimp has stringy black hair, dull brown eyes, and is as flat as a board, plus she's pretty short, like a midget. I bet she took out thousands of tesserae and is still starving. Well, her problem, I don't have the time to deal with people like her. She should not be so selfish with her food, I mean she gets enough, she lives in one of the wealthiest districts! The hottie has jet-black hair, electric blue eyes, and is curvy in all the right places, plus she's about my height. She won't be able to resist me once I win, no matter what she says. Well, Setiegar Tayto, the Capitol person, comes up with his jet-black (dyed) hair, purple eyes (dyed) and fake muscles (implanted). He welcomes us, blah, blah, and blah.
"Just get on with the reaping!" I mutter to myself. Seems it wasn't too quiet. Several people around me stare at me.
"Well, the girl tribute…" he reaches in, takes out a crumpled name, and smooths it out.
"I volunteer!" I yell before he can yell the name out. I start striding toward the stage, ignoring people's expressions. People stare at me, shocked. What? I think. District 2 is full of Careers. Then I realize my mistake. Set starts cracking up and others give weak laughs. The Hottie is laughing in my face. She's stupid! I'm the soon to be Victor!
"Are you a girl?" asks Set. I storm back to my spot. The Hottie is still cracking up.
"Alannah Lafe!" I see Alannah's arms shaking. Her stick skinny body trembles a bit. I notice her ugly hair even more. Plus the brown blob birth mark on her ear. Easy competition. She's the wimp. She straightens her back and starts walking towards the stage, while fat tears mark her path. The hottie has definitely stopped laughing now, and abruptly. She clutches the wimp's arm.
"Alannah! Stop! Stop! I volunteer! I volunteer!" The hottie walks up to the stage with an air of obviously fake confidence and Set asks her for her name.
"Aileen Ari." So that's her name...
"Wonderful! Please have a seat behind me!" Hottie sits obediently behind him in the girl-tribute seat, head held high. Wimpy is crying, bawling actually. Such a wimp.
Well, boys turn.
Set reaches in. He hasn't even taken it out when I yell, "I volunteer!" I stride proudly to the stage, over my past embarrassment.
"Well, got it now, didn't you! What is your name?"
I first seethe, then say proudly, "Roar Boese!"
"Well, tributes, you may shake hands!" We shake hands, and the hottie digs her nails into my skin, wishing she could be closer to me. I send her a wink.
District 3 Dee Sparks:
The catch for this Quarter Quell was announced on T.V. last night. The reaping contestants are going to be out of the youngest family members of the families in the districts. I'm not surprised, as I came up with different possible Quarter Quell catches last month, and this was one of them, the tenth I came up with. Though I am heartbroken, as my twin brother and I are the youngest in the family. We were born at exactly the same time, exactly, not even a second's difference. Lucky that we are in District 3 and have good technology here to help with the birth. Plus, when father was alive he had a high-paying direct to Capitol job, that was dangerous, and got us good technology and doctors for the birth. But, people who aren't the youngest in a family can't volunteer, only the youngest in the family may volunteer.
The Reaping Dee Sparks:
"Dee! Wake up!" my mother knocks on my door and shouts. I hear her run down the hall and does the same to my brother's room.
I hear a shout of, "Deon! Wake up!"
We solemnly eat breakfast. My mother can't handle it anymore. She starts crying and hugs us both.
"You're just so young!" cries mother.
"Mom, mom, listen, there are thousands of other children, they can get chosen, we have about a 0.0000 repeating 1% each chance of getting picked!" I had actually figured that out also last month.
We get nods, and my brother awkwardly pats her back, he isn't one that is too smooth with emotion. I'm the same, but I use my smarts to cover that up. And you can't blame him, he's only 9, well…I guess I'm 9 too though so…oh well.
"Well, Dee, can you go get dressed? Deon already got ready, and can you go to my room, I laid out an outfit, and you can wear that, then I'll help you with your hair if you want, ya, and then maybe…" she rambles on. I jump up with my sudden burst of energy, and walk to my mom's shabby room. It is a bit colorful, though, which is good, but not my taste. My mom's room has fluffy blue covers, green and white striped walls with peeling paint, and a mahogany dresser, our finest piece of furniture, set with a grand wavy carved oak wood framed mirror. The floor is just cold, white, big slabs of tile, that send chills up and down my body, particularly my spine, as the front of my feet make contact with it, then my heels. My room has navy blue walls, and one mud-green accent wall where my bed leans against, and electric blue and black fluffy covers, and a chipped old wood desk piled high with stacks of books. I also have about ten worn out mustard yellow pots filled with growing plants, vines winding up the wall from them, or a nice mini apple tree from another, or a cluster of bright blue, red, pink, purple, and many other colored flowers, in another pot. My mother got me the seeds for my birthday last year. The plants last very long. The flowers last 5 years and the and the vines and tree hundreds of years. They were very expensive, and my mother got them specially from the Capitol. That was the best birthday. Me and mother, with a little help from Deon, because he isn't the best at machinery, made a very advanced invention that paid for the plants, some books, food, and Deon's pet female Rabbit named Rabbit. See, Deon is that creative. I see a pair of black tights, a baby blue satin gathered bubble dress with a small navy blue bow on the front in my mother's room laid on her bed. On the floor is a pair of navy blue sandals. This outfit is from when mother was my age, exactly 43 years and 29 days ago. Well, that was her birthday when she turned my age, but the date she first wore this dress, or outfit, or last wore it, is unknown to my brain. I slip on the dress and pull it this way and that until I am satisfied with the look. Then I view my hair in the ornate mirror. I like to keep my brown locks tidy, well, I like to keep all things tidy, but because of my habit, my hair is all sorted, no knots, completely straight, in its natural form. Perfect. I look at my face in my chocolate-brown eyes in the mirror. Then I frown at my too pale skin that is pretty common in the District. I slip my hands into the sandal straps and, carrying them, skitter back to the living room where the eating table is in front of the couch, and then run to the front door. I love running, because running helps me think clearer. And more. But not overcrowding, like sometimes, where I end up not being able to think about anything because I'm thinking about everything. It also helps me stay in shape, a good plus.
"Mother!" I yell after quickly, and with practice from my whole life, slipping my shoes on in a mere 0.75 seconds.
"Yes, dear?" comes a shout from our tiny bathroom.
"Are we leaving soon, we have 5 minutes to get over there, because it's 9:00 A.M and it starts at 9:20 A.M so me and Deon have to get pricked by 9:10 A.M and that'll give us 5 minutes to be in line, to be pricked, and in case of an accident we'll need the extra ten minutes!" I call back. She steps out of the bathroom in a navy blue blouse and a black floor length skirt.
"Yes, my brilliant angel. And can I say, you look beautiful today. Let me just call Deon." I blush like the reddest apple in my apple tree, and trust me, those apples are pure red, red, red! More red even on my pale skin. "Deon! Time to go, sweetie!"
"Coming, ma!" Deon runs into the living room and runs up to mother, and grabs her hand. "Ma, you look pretty!" he chirps. He is one to give compliments, though, but when someone gets emotional, he has no idea what to do.
"Aw, well thank you, Deon, you're looking handsome yourself, aren't you, honey."
"Well, thank ya, ma! Are we going now? Ma, huh?"
"Yes, Deon, here, here's your coat." She slips a brown coat on him, rests on her knees, and buttons his buttons for him. While they were talking I had slipped my own brown coat on and buttoned my own buttons by myself, something I'm sure Deon is very well capable of. Oh, well, it is reaping day. Maybe his hands are frozen from fear. Though, he doesn't seem worried, like he's sure he won't get reaped. I'm not exactly sure if he fully understands the games, which is strange since I usually am exactly sure.
I bound out the door. My mother follows out with Deon. I wait for them on the porch, and grab my mother's free left hand. We walk quietly to the main square, and you can't hear anything, not a pin dropping. We soon arrive at 9:05 A.M., which it says on the Districts squares tower clock, a big brick building with a huge clock on it. I hug my mother and walk over to the long line. After 7 minutes and 49 seconds, which I've tracked in my head, it's my turn to get pricked. It's my first time at the reaping, and it's weird because I'll be at the reaping this year but not next or the year after that. But the year after that will be my second reaping. Same with many others. I wonder what age someone will get picked, that will be the tribute. There is less of a chance of an older tribute, even if they do have more slips. That is because most families have several children so they'll have young children and old children, so the older children won't be the youngest in the family. And District 3 isn't necessarily known for Careers. I think all this as I've been pricked, which feels like a feather brushing my finger, and walk over to the 9-year-old roped off section. I see Deon is still waiting in line.
A few minutes later, the mayor gives a speech, which I listen attentively to. Same one they've given at school a million times, most likely.
Art Gaterlin, the Capitol escort, goes up to the microphone after the mayor finishes. "Thank you, Mayor Tamati! Thank you, very much! Now, I shall pick the girl tribute!" she walks to the pink glass ball filled with thousands of slips of paper, written on with names, and one of them says Dee Sparks. Just one. One in a million. Impossible.
"Dee Sparks!"
I guess probability isn't as reliable as my math teacher taught.
I hear crying. Like the crying I heard this morning, but worse. My mom. I realize Art picked me. I realized it, but it finally settles in. I think. Well, the fact does. But, not the emotion. Because I stride all the way from almost the back of the crowd and walk onto the stage with a blank expression. I see myself on the screen. No emotion is showing. Good, I guess.
"Wonderful, Dee!" says Art. "Now, the boy tribute is...!" she reaches into the blue glass ball filled with millions of names. Equal chance Deon is picked as I was. Now. Because probability has been erased from my vocabulary.
"Deon Sparks!" No. No. This is my anxiety taking over my hearing. No. No.
His round chocolate-brown eyes meet my equal eyes, I see his eyelashes move up and down in several blinks, and fear is written clearly all over his face. More crying, more sobbing. Tears stream down his cheeks.
I'm worried, because this is the first time I haven't been able to think.
District 4 Ocean Shell:
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Quarter Quell. Stupid Capitol, stupid Hunger Games, stupid Panem. And that is my thoughts.
The Reaping Ocean Shell:
My eyes flick open as sweat pours down my face. I'm panting, but I soon regain my composure. Just a dream, just a dream, I think. A stupid horrible dream, at that. I had another dream of the Hunger Games. In this one, me, my older brother Wave, my older sister Lauren, my older sister Sandy, my older sister Shelly, my older brother Crab, my older brother Whale, my father, and my mother had all been reaped. That's impossible, I think quickly. 9 people from one district can't happen. Well, it could happen on a Quarter Quell, but that's not this years catch. Besides, some of my siblings and my parents are too old. Well, unless they made it a catch that the oldest could be reaped in a Quell. Wave is 25, Lauren is 21, Sandy is 19, Shelly is 19, Crab is 18, and Whale is 14. So next year the only people who can get reaped in my family is me and Whale. But I'm the only one in my family this year. Because I'm the youngest, at 12 years old. I look around my room. A icy-blue dresser, chipping, with a mirror framed by old,chipping, wood. Wood and dirt floor. A medium-large bed with smooth navy blue covers and a fish pattern. I take a whiff of the air and the salty smell satisfies me. I get my own room because all my sisters have moved out. I used to share my room with Lauren, Sandy, and Shelly, and we would all sleep in this bed. Crab and Whale share a room but soon it will be just Whale's. Crab has a girlfriend, named Star, and is wanting to propose and build a house very soon. Father built this house after he proposed to mother. Wave is married to Pearl, who is now Pearl Shell. Lauren is in a small hut she built and is dating, she is a bit of a player, as Wave calls it. Sandy is married to Conch Waters so she is now Sandy Waters. Shelly is married to Benjamin Ride, so she is now Shelly Ride. Whale is dating a girl named Patricia Sanders. But he is way to young to get married, let alone move out. And me, you ask? I have never dated anyone.
"Crab! Whale! Ocean!" I hear my mother call. I quickly get up and wipe my forehead with my pajama sleeve. It is very cold out this time of year, even though it is usually warm in District 4, so I get to wear Shelly's old flannel warm pajamas. I go out of my room and down the hallway passing the boy's room, my parent's room, the bathroom, and finally enter the living room/dining room/kitchen. On the table is 5 plates that each have slices of the district bread with pieces of smoked salmon fish on each. I smile. At least on reaping day we eat a little more extravagantly. I take my seat as does everyone else, and we are solemnly quiet as we munch on breakfast. When we are done mother sends us to get ready. As I leave I can sense everyone's eyes on me.
I take my reaping dress I have saved for my first reaping, which would've been today, anyways, out. It used to be Lauren's, then Shelly's. Sandy preferred pants and a shirt, so it went to Shelly. They both wore it on their first reaping. None of them got reaped. Now I will wear it, and hope for the same luck. It's a silky light blue dress that matches my eyes, and mothers eyes. It's knee-length and very pretty. It has sleeves which is good because of the weather. Everyone in the family besides me and my mother has navy blue eyes, taken after my father and my father's parents. After I slip it on and say goodbye to my room for now, I head to the front door. On a shelf is my favorite shell, a full snail-shell. I give it a glance, and put on some worn out black flats that used to be Shelly's, as I brush my golden blonde curly hair. I'm the only one that got my grandfather's hair. Shelly and Sandy got mother's brown straight hair, and Wave, Lauren, Crab, and Whale got father's dirty blonde curly hair. Everyone comes toward me and gives me a hug. I see mother bite her lip, trying to not cry. As we leave the house, I catch mother taking the snail-shell of the shelf and putting it into her jacket pocket. In case I get reaped, I think sadly. Hopefully, the shell will be returned tonight.
I get my finger pricked and go towards the roped off 12-year-old section. There are many kids from ages 5-15, but not that many from ages 16 up, only about 100 in each of those, which is little for our District. The escort, Bonus Ogilby, bounces towards the microphone after a slide show is shown about the Dark Days and the Mayor talks about it.
"Hiiiiii! So District 4! Great to be here, now let us get on with the reaping!" she shrieks as she skips over to the girl's pink glass ball. She reaches in with a huge smile plastered on her face. Please not Ocean Shell, don't be Ocean Shell, not Ocean Shell.
"Layla Lender!" I breathe out a sigh of relief, but I do fear for whoever was chosen. I hear a scream from where parents are and sobs. The cameras swivel to the 5 year old's section. The second youngest a tribute can be. I stare, wide-eyed, as a path is made for a tiny girl. She still has chubby cheeks, a round face, and is missing her two front teeth. She has really orange-red long wavy hair, sparkling blue eyes, pink lips, and freckles sprinkled across her face. I can tell she doesn't know what is going on. She starts crying as some peace-keepers pick her up and carry her to the stage.
"Any volunteers for miss Layla Lender?" asks Bonus, who seems a little sad that someone so young is going in the games.
There is silence, as I think quickly in my mind.
"Please! She's only five! Please!" shrieks a woman's voice from the parents section who then succumbs to sobs. Not even a cricket, as people look away, guilty.
"I volunteer!" I yell. The camera swivels to me, and I imagine the mother looking up hopefully as I walk to the stage with all the confidence I can muster. Now there are even more sobs as I hear my family and my sibling's wife's and husband's in the audience. As I go on the stage and stand next to Bonus, peacekeepers drag Layla back into the audience and to her parents who I see hug and hold her, wipe her tears, and send me a grateful look.
"And your name would be...?" asks Bonus.
"Ocean Shell."
"Well, good luck, brave Ocean! And now the male tribute!" Bonus picks out a slip and reads, "Tobias Hanger!" I look over to the 12-year-old male section even before the camera swivels there. I know him from school, he was in my class 2 years ago. I had to work on a project with him where we tracked the tide. He was quite... annoying and snobby. I remembered him talking about how he would volunteer when he was older for the games, about his training, about his career family, and about his uncle being a victor, who lived in Victor Village, and who mentored tributes 6, now 8, years ago. He had said he was one of the best at the training center, and was the best at sword fighting. I found that hard to believe as he was only ten, and not particularly muscly. I see a path made for him as he swaggesr to the stage with an air of arrogance, and stands next to me.
"Any volunteers for Mister Hanger?" asks Bonus. There's silence as Tobias sends the cameras a grin.
"Well, tributes, shake hands!" says Bonus excitedly. Tobias finally notices me as we shake hands. He tilts his head at me, as if trying to remember something, and then smiles. He's trying to get on my good side, I think. His dark brown hair is messy in front of his eyes, which you can see are green-blue if you look closely. He's about my height, maybe a bit shorter. Let's see if all that about training was just talk.
"Panem, I give you your District 4 tributes of the 1000th Hunger Games!"
And now, the games start.
District 5 Tracie Muster:
Oh, gawd. This is worse than when I called Jenny at school a wild chicken after she splashed the rare paint on my dress. The catch was announced, and now, I can be reaped early, because I'm ten. Chicken! I scream at the T.V.
Reaping Tracie Muster:
Some people find me kind of strange. Just because I say random things doesn't make me strange! Just because when I'm mad I scream chicken!, or I say things like, 'well that's as good as a cherry-chicken-lobster-pie!' to people when I'm happy, doesn't make me crazy.
I live in a one-roomed house. I sleep on the couch, Mother Hen sleeps on the floor, Father Sun sleeps on the floor, and brother Seamus, the little duck, at 3 years old, sleeps at the edge of the couch. I laugh at my comparisons in my head. I love to make myself laugh, I love being loud, and I love to be pushy and aggressive. I also love wearing either dresses or business clothes, which some people in the Capitol wear, like women suits, even though there are none in my District. That's because I love being me! I wipe my drool off my cheek, and I get up quietly and go around to the other side of the couch, and lean down, so that my mouth brushes Seamus's ear.
"Hey, little Seamus. Waken, waken, little chicken-duck!" I whisper. I then tiptoe on my way to the feasting table, but still manage to make noise, as I clatter around boxes containing our things. I see mother and father stir and smile wickedly to myself. Today, is my day, as I can get reaped. Mother and father get up and greet me, which I reply to with a "chicken sandwich!" Mother brings food to the table and gets Seamus to come. We all start eating and mother asks me if I had any nice dreams.
"Ohhhh, yawwwwdddd! There was this chicken and he was eating a chicken sandwich!" I say in a high-pitched Capitol accent. They chuckle, but I know it's fake. I think they think that I'm a little insane, but I don't get it. I could not say what I say, but I choose to because I want to. Insane people don't choose. They just do. I tried explaining this to the local doctor, but he is just so close-minded. Mother and father excuse themselves and go into our only other room, the bathroom.
"Seamus, give me a bite of your eggs!" I demand him.
"Why, Trawcie? Ah want me oggs!" he babbles in his strange baby-talk. I bump him off his chair with my side, and chuckle as he sprawls across the floor. I reach over with my fork and pick up a big scoop of eggs.
"Mmmmm, yummy like chicken!" I exclaim as he gets up and sits back on his chair with a huff. My parents walk back into the room while I see mother carefully tucking something brown into her pocket.
"Mmm! Maaaaa! What's that? New notebook, new paintbrush!" I exclaim. Besides loving being loud, being funny, and being aggressive and sporty, I love to write and I love to create art. I think I'm the best in the class. I know I'm the best. Now that I've mentioned it, even if I don't get reaped, which I know it's for, I'll get the present.
"You'll see later, honey," she says in a sad voice. "Now, go to the bathroom and get changed. I put your reaping outfit on top of your clothes box." I hop up and go to the box next to the couch, labeled, 'Tracie's Clothes.' I grab the outfit on it and run to the bathroom, and when I get in I slam the door shut, making the house vibrate, and I smile at what I did.
"Hmm, lets see what this wild boar will have to wear to the reaping!" I exclaim. It's a light-pink silk floor length dress that I know from the past fits me perfectly, with a lavender silk belt that wraps around where my waist would be. It's my most beautiful piece of clothing, and one of mother's fancy dresses from her childhood that she loves.
But, I just don't like it. I hate the color pink, are my parents trying to change me!? I swing open the door and yell,"Mommmmm! You know I hate pink!"
"What!? But last week you said pink was one of your favorite colors!?"
"Yes, but all the colors are my favorite colors in order. And pink is last in my favorite colors, so I like pink the least out of all colors, so I hate pink!"
"Tracie! Just go get something freaking else then!" she yells.
I go 'hurrumph' and frown as make my way to my box, and push the flaps open. I grab my dark purple dress, and drop the pink dress on the ground, then storm back to the bathroom, and slam the door again, so that the house vibrates even more than last time. That doesn't even satisfy me. Life is so annoying. I put the dress on and grin at the mirror. It's tight and knee-length dark purple with light-pink cap sleeves. I brush my knotted long brown hair, but give up. I don't really care about how my hair looks. I take the scissors from the cabinet and try to cut out a knot, but I give up. I cut my hair a bit shorter though by about 1in., and then put the chopped hair in the toilet and leave it there. Then I take the jar on the sink and dip my hand in, and then smear the last of the oil on my lips. I need it because my lips are always dry and cracking. I have to have that, and no one else does, but they all complain about how I use all the oil. It doesn't make any sense. I skip out the bathroom door, and pass my box, which I see the dress is now on top of. That's annoying. I go to the front door, and slip on my only pair of shoes, a pair of old, dirty, messed up, green sneakers. I've begged and complaining to my parents for new shoes, but they won't give me any. They're so mean! I don't like dress shoes, though, only sneakers, so I refuse to wear mother's sparkly purple flats from when she was younger. She wanted to sell them, for she could get them for a good price, but not enough to get my new sneaker I want, because her flats are old. And, she would just use the money for more food. So, I made her keep them, just in case. Mother and father come towards me, towing Seamus. Mother gives my sleeves a funny look, but doesn't say anything. I smile wickedly in my head. It's not like I'm going against anything I said about pink, I just like pink in a minimum, like a tiny detail such as cap-sleeves, not a maximum, like most of the dress. Plus, I love the look my mother gets, like she just got. It's fun! And, purple is very different from pink, especially dark purple, which is my very first favorite color. We walk out the door, and mother is carrying Seamus. That's so annoying! Why is their attention on him, all of it should be on me! I'm the most important today, I'm the one in danger! Seamus can walk fine! Maybe he'll stumble a bit, or fall a couple of times, but so what? Attention should be all on me. I fume as we enter the District square. I murmur, goodbye chickens, to my family as I make my way to get pricked, and as they make their way to the place where families are worried out of their minds. Their stupid. Worrying for nothing. Only two children are getting reaped, and so their children have the smallest chance. I see mother send me a worried glance. She's so stupid, I won't get reaped! Gawd, these people. They're all stupid. If I was President, or even Mayor, I would make sure that my citizens weren't so mindless and stupid. I get pricked,and stick my jaw out. These stupid peacekeepers, pricking me and hurting me when I'm in danger. When I'm behind them, going towards my spot for the reaping, I stick my tongue out at the one who pricked me. Some other kids laugh, and some stare wide-eyed and scared. I'm not scared, what are they gonna do, kill me for sticking my tongue out? They're not that strict, I think as I jog into my place. A slide show is shown, the mayor talks, yada yada, boring chicken chiz. Finally Anna Marie, the District Escort, comes to the microphone. Let's get this over with, I think, bored.
"District 5! How are you doing!" she yells and is answered by silence, to which I roll my eyes. I mouth, "chicken," to which I get many stares. The people around me now me from school, so they're just jealous.
"Well, come on, 5! No ones got anything to say?" she yells hopefully. Silence again, to which I mouth "chicken," again. More stupid stares from the jealous chickens. But I like attention, so it's good.
"Well. Let's get on with the reaping then, shall we?" she asks as she dips her hand into the female glass bowl filled with slips of paper. An ugly pink bowl. I'm not even worried as she reads the name.
"Tracie Muster!" Huh. Who's that idiot? Was it one of the children of the parents who were crying? I look around confused, as people step away from me. Oh, the tribute must be near us, and they're making a path, I think as I step towards them. I wonder if I know the stupid chosen chicken. Then I look up at the screen next to the stage, and on it is...me. And the peacekeepers are coming towards..me. Then I realize whats going on. And I run for it. I run and run, but other children block my way. Why? I think. Probably because if I get away, they'll have to choose someone else, and it could be them. Those insensitive chicken-brats. Or, it's that they don't know whats going on, or what this District meeting is for, so they don't know that they should make way for me and feel for me. They're stupid chickens. I'm hoisted up in the air, and I scream and kick the peacekeeper as they bring me to the stage and plop me behind Anna. They walk away, and I walk down the stage steps. They come towards me again, but I turn around and walk up the stage again and to my spot, for which they give me quizzical looks. If I'm going to be a tribute, I want to at least be able to walk up the steps to the stage, proud and alone. As I stand next to Anna, I try to look as proud and confident as I can. At least I haven't cried ye- and tears start streaming down my eyes as I scream loudly and as high-pitched as I can. The peacekeepers start coming towards me, and I quickly swallow my sobs and screams. I reassure myself with thoughts of sponsors for my beauty, confidence, and soon to be shown skills. I know I look confident, because people who don't cry are fake, and at least I could swallow my tears, unlike some super-baby chicken tributes I'm sure to meet.
"Any volunteers for Miss Tracie?" asks Anna. No one volunteers, which I expected from those insufferable chickens who don't volunteer for ten-year old's, so she moves to the male bowl. Why do the male's get a blue bowl?! I think madly. That's better than pink. Why is life so unfair?! I swallow the lump forming in my throat, trying not to think bad thoughts. Rainbows and ponies and cherry-chicken-lobster pie, cherry-chicken-lobster pie, cherry-chicken-lobster pie.
Anna reads, "Greyson Romoli!" The cameras swivel to the 4-year-old section. Chicken. That's the youngest a tribute, this year, can be. Why does my partner have to be so weak?! Well, I work better alone, anyways. And, this four-year old will probably be easy to kill. The peacekeepers drag a little wussy boy that's practically bawling his eyes out towards the stage. He's a huge coward and a baby! He has messy black hair, which his parents should make him brush, and teary brown eyes. His eyes look like my eyes, and most of everyone elses eyes in the district. Brown eyes are the norm here, but some of the snotty rich people who get everything they want, like new sneakers, have blue eyes or other colors. I scratch my nose, so the cameras won't see the snot I feel under it, and while scratching I wipe my nose with my sleeve. This makes me look at my partners nose. There's snot coming out of it! Gawd, he's so not clean! He just leaves it there! Suddenly tesserae comes into my mind. Why couldn't more people take tesserae! Then maybe they would be reaped. I didn't even take any. This year if you were from ages 4-19, you could take tesserae. But, I made my parents not make me take any, because I didn't want to get reaped. This is so annoying! At least I can eat Capitol food, though, like a chicken sandwich or a cherry-chicken-lobster pie! And, I'll be rich when I get back. I can buy all the sneakers I want. And dark purple women business suits. And write for the Capitol main newspaper, Capitol Quotidian. And play professional sports in the Capitol. And boss Seamus, my parents, and everyone who gave me stares in the reaping around.
"Any volunteers for Mr. Greyson?" asks Anna, who seems a little distraught that someone so young would be reaped. Oh, so she's sad for him, but not me?! I'm young too! Is this how it'll be? I'm tempted to stick my tongue out at her, but resist. No one volunteers, so I have to shake Greysons finger, refusing to touch his sweaty, snot covered, pudgy palm.
"Panem! Your District 5 1000th Hunger Games tributes!" yells Anna. District 5 will be winning.
District 6 Devon Bochner:
I wake up in my Mama and Papa's bed. They wanted me to sleep with them tonight. They seem pretty scared. I'm scared. Because they're scared. The big bad thing everyone fears is happening. I don't know exactly what it is, but they say it could happen to me. So I'm scared. They're going to explain more to me, though. And I'm smarter than they think. I think.
Reaping Devon Bochner:
Mama told me that I could be famous in Panem. But, this way wouldn't be good, because I could get very hurt, all though I'm only six. She said if I get chosen to be one of the people to be famous, that I'll have to pay attention to people called,"mentors and district escorts." And, I'd have to try to win over the Capitol. I know more about what she was talking about than what I led on. I have to see this famous-making thing on the screen, like everyone else. I know people die in the famous-making, because they stopped moving when there was the sickly red stuff on them. I don't like it, like everyone else in the District. But, before the sickly red stuff, there are pretty costumes. I like that, but what made me not like it is the look on the faces of the people in the costumes. They look scared and sad. I don't like that. And I don't like how they were being set up. Because after the pretty was the bad. After the costumes are the sickly red stuff. And I know that this is called, "The Hunger Games," because the teachers teach it. But they're sad when they teach it.
Mama shakes me and I open my eyes. She brushes a strand of long wavy blonde hair behind my ear, and then motions for me to get up. I sit up and follow her and Papa out of the bedroom and towards the dining room. Mama quickly makes breakfast, which is a slice of district bread with blueberries from our blueberry bush on top. But she gives me a slice and a half of a slice. Because of what day it is.
"Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Papa," I say. They just smile at me. We munch our breakfast, and when we're done, Mama gets me dressed. She puts a light blue dress with red flowers on me, and a white head-band with a white bow on my head. She then carefully brushes my hair.
"It's time to go," Papa says in a sad voice.
"Papa, to the square?" I ask.
"Yes, my darling girl." Mama picks me up and hugs me, and Papa joins, putting his arms around us both. I hug them super tight, and hope, for their sake, I'm not chosen. We walk to the square, me in the middle, holding their hands, and all of us swinging our arms.
"Darling, get in this line," Papa says bringing me to a line of children. "And let the peacekeeper do what he wants," he adds. I walk over to the line and see children wince as they get closer.
And I do the same as they stick a long pointy thing into my finger. I wince.
Then I walk over to a group of crowded kids my age, and they're all crying, so I try to comfort them the best I can. The mayor makes a speech and I'm starting to tear up from the blood and horrible gore and war they show on a screen. There's even pictures of a little girl like me getting shot.
"Hello, District 6!" yells a lady, a very short lady with bright neon clothes that flash colored lights and hurt my eyes.
"Well, I'd like to wish all luck, and get on with the reaping! Well, the District 6 female tribute is..." she picks out a slip. "Devon Bochner!"
No! No,no,no,no,no, she couldn't have said my name! I can't leave my family. I can't leave my home. There must be another Devon Bochner?
But, no. And I start crying. Weeping. And I walk to the stage, a ball of tears, horrible. I'll... I'lll-I don't want to admit it, but I'll meet a worse fate than the girl my age on the slide show. The same one.. but in a worse way.
"Any volunteers?" asks the women, who seems a little sad that I was reaped, and is probably hoping for an exciting volunteer.
"No? Alright then! And the male tribute is..." she picks out a handful of slips, and lets all but one fall to the ground. Carefully reading it, she says, "Jerry Tubman!"
I don't know a Jerry Tubman. But he comes up. A shaking mess, even though I probably look worse than him, I feel instantly bad for him. He doesn't deserve this. He comes out of the 11-year-old section. He should be safe for another year! His innocent freckles and wide teary brown eyes and ruffled curly blonde hair. And his family, how do they feel that their oh so young son was reaped? His family...my family. Oh, my mommy, my daddy, how can I leave them?
And I somehow find them in the crowd. And they're crying. Crying and crying and crying, and I match their crying. All three of us all crying. Even as the lady asks for volunteers, doesn't receive any, announces us being the tributes, and leads us into the building, we're crying together. We'll always be together. Even if I will..die.