I wake with a start. The room is still dark, but the birds have begun to sing. Today will be the biggest day of my year. Today is the day of the Reaping.
I have been eligible for the Hunger Games for a few years, but somehow I have never been picked. I guess I was just lucky. But this year, my luck might just run out.
My family have never been rich, and I have been taking out tesserae for years. I was sure it would come back to haunt me one of these days, when my name was drawn from the bowl. But this year, they are doing something different. This is the year of the 25th Hunger Games.
At the start of the Games, it had been decided to do something different every 25 years. We won't know what until the Reaping itself, but it can't possibly be good. Every boy and girl in Panem fears for their lives, and here in District 3 we know we have no chance at all of winning. We have had only one victor in the entire history of the Games, and only because she was the most cunning young woman who ever lived. No, it will be one of the so-called Career Districts that wins this year.
My father comes into my room to see if I am awake. We hug, and when my mother finds us she joins in. There we are, the three of us, hugging each other so tightly we may never let go. But we have to, as the whistle blows, calling everyone to the Square for the Reaping ceremony. The screens are there, large and menacing. At 15, I have seen this enough times to know roughly what will happen. But the new rule will be a surprise.
The Capitol official pricks my finger and lets my blood fall on the page of her book. She scans it, and there is my name. Davis Cattermole, shining bright and clear on the screen. I move on, and go to stand with the other 15-year-old boys. I glance over to my left, and see Charity standing there, looking pale and ashen-faced. My heart stops as I see her, and I pray to any god that will listen for her not to be chosen.
The screens come to life. President Fleeman is standing in front of a column bearing the Capitol seal. He holds a yellow envelope in his hand, which he now begins to open with some degree of purpose and severity. He reads its contents out loud, live to the entire nation. It says:
"The Tributes for this year's Quarter Quell Hunger Games will be chosen, not by random selection, but by a vote conducted by the people of the Districts."
A collective gasp goes up around the Square. This is beyond the cruelty of the Capitol, and they cannot hope to avoid at least a small riot somewhere. The outlying districts will be the first to rebel. And maybe they will end up like District 13, simply wiped from the map of Panem. We, however, know that no matter what happens, we must follow the Capitol's rules, or risk being sentenced to death. And so, the entire Square is handed a sheet of paper with the name of every eligible boy and girl inscribed on them. I hurriedly find the names of two people I really don't like, and tick them. It seems a little brutal, but the Capitol is famous for being exceedingly harsh on those who do not do as they are told. I hand my slip to the Peacekeeper who is collecting from our section, and pray that neither my name nor Charity's comes up.
The slips are handed back to the Mayor, who looks over them with Finni Everheart, our district's escort to the Capitol. After what seems like hours, they step up to the microphone to announce the tributes from District 3. Finni, in her usual airy-fairy way, leans over the microphone and almost whispers: "The votes are in. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour." She stands back and speaks quietly to the Mayor for a few seconds, before returning to the microphone. "This year's tributes, representing District 3 at the 25th Annual Hunger Games, are:"
She leaves a dramatic pause, before reading out the name of the female tribute. "Greeti Finch." A small blonde girl steps nervously out of the 12-year-old section. 12 years old. How could the people of District 3 choose a 12-year-old as one of their tributes?
Greeti steps up onto the stage, and looks for all the world like she is going to be sick. I glance across at Charity, and smile. She smiles back, but her face turns solemn again in an instant as Finni begins to speak again. "This year's male tribute is: Davis Cattermole."
The world stops. I feel my knees tremble. Clearly I have done something to upset people, or else why would they choose me? I'm certainly not the strongest, or best with a sword. It must be because they hate me.
I make my way slowly up to the stage. I stand there, staring out towards the factory where my father works. I know, deep in my heart, that this will be the last time I will see that factory.
Through the haze of shock and fear, I think I can hear Finni asking if there are any volunteers. Nobody speaks. "Well, in that case," she begins.
"I volunteer!" a voice yells out from the crowd. A female voice. So this latecomer isn't saving my skin, but Greeti's. Finni invites her up to the stage. I watch in shock and despair as Charity makes her way through the crowd. She looks at me and mouths "I'm not losing you. Not now." I give her a weak smile, and Finni leads us off to the back room, where our families will be waiting.