Ch. 1- The Reaping
I wake up on one of the academy's stiff cots. As always, my back is cramped from the hard bedframe, but a few minutes of stretching relaxes it quickly. I glance at the clock. The time reads 6:45. That's half an hour until the other girls wake up. I glance at my fellow fifteen year olds, making sure none of them are awake, and tiptoe out of the room.
I open the door to the training room and slip inside. The room is empty. Perfect. Of course, nobody would care if I was in there anyway. Even the trainers know not to mess with me. At fifteen, I'm deadly at hand-to-hand combat. My sword skills are quite good to. Anyway, I don't like training in front of everyone. That's why I come in early. That way, when the training room is open, I spend my time on survival skills, not fighting techniques. Not that I don't fight in public or anything. Fights in the academy are as common as dirt. Whatever. I roll the grip of a spear in my hands, and turn on the robotic stimulator. Immediately, the dummies come alive, and begin to rush me. I slash and slash at them. If they were real tributes, they'd all be dead, but the dummies are indestructible. So I fight for a while, then turn off the stimulator. I go to the wrestling station, and go one on one with a dummy. The dummy taps out as I apply pressure to its larynx. The dummies don't tap out often, but they always do with me. The time reads 7:05. Ten minutes! I run back into my cot and pretend I've been asleep the whole time.
As always, when the alarm sounds, I am the first one out of bed. All the girls in my bunk room assemble, as usual, in the forefront of the bunk, but the atmosphere of the place is different. More stressed. But of course it is. I'd forgotten. Today is Reaping Day.
We all change into our Reaping dresses. Mine goes down past my knees and is a deep wine color. Every kid in District Two in between the ages of twelve and eighteen is somewhere in this building, which we call the academy. It's like a boarding school, except its mandatory. And along with math and science, we learn knives and swords. After my L.A. class is my edible plants class. Some in the district say its overkill to have an entire boarding school to train for the games, since so few kids get picked, but the capitol doesn't mind, since fifty percent of us will end up in the Peacekeepers force. I'm fifteen, so I've been here for three years.
It is a calm sound, the sound of nine hundred pairs of feet all pounding in the same rhythm. Every single kid in the academy who is of age walks together to the square were the Reaping takes place. It's supposed to signify unity of our district. Eventually, we split up by gender, then again by age. I end up in the middle of everyone, next to some other fifteen year olds, including a really obnoxious girl named Finke. She takes tesserae even though she doesn't have to. She can't wait to take her place in the games. She has told every single girl here that this year is her year. I really hope she is wrong.
Our escort, a capitol lady named Lisk dressed in a slinky, shiny green gown, mounts the stage along with our seven living victors. "Happy Hunger Games!" she says, continuing with a signature "Ladies first!" In some odd way, I'm hoping the tribute is me. "And our brave, courageous female tribute is….. Finke Weatherworth!"
Finke saunters up to the stage with a triumphant look on her face. Well, being the only one in the entire district who takes tesserae does really put the odds in her favor. "Any volunteers?" Lisk asks, grinning, "going once, going twice,-" and before I know what I'm doing, my legs are propelling me forward at a crazy speed.
"I volunteer!" I scream, sounding as dangerous and confident as I've always dreamed I would, "I volunteer as tribute!"
The first thing I process is Finke glaring at me like I just crushed her hopes and dreams. Well, maybe I had. Not that I minded really. Finke always acts so tough, but really, I know twelve year olds who can take her down with all sorts of weapons. Except a club. She is deadly with a club.
"Wonderful!" says Lisk, "I believe we have a volunteer! What is your name?" she addresses me.
"Spera Okenwitz." I say.
"Marvelous." Lisk continues, "But more excitement to come! Now we must pick a brave, selfless male to represent District Two! And our male tribute is... Ficere Marshal!"
A small, sandy-haired twelve year old mounts the stage. Before Lisk can even ask for volunteers, a burly eighteen year old with jet black hair ambles forward. "I volunteer as tribute!" He screams. When Lisk asks his name, he answers "Pesik Woodenspile."
I know Pesik. His best weapon is a machete, but he is good with small swords as well. His big issue is that, no matter who his opponent is, he can't catch them. He's extremely out of shape, and everyone knows that's because of his stash of junk food that could keep all of District Twelve fed for a month. Okay, slight exaggeration there. But no matter what diet the trainers put him on, he binges on his stash anyway. He hides it so well though, nobody can confiscate it.
I bet ten to one he dies in the bloodbath.