Disclaimer: Yes, the characters are mine. Everything else is Suzanne Collin's, though.
Sigh. Today is the reaping.
I pull myself out of the bed. Instead of another day herding, we all get to go and see which of us dies this year. We all pray it's not me, or my sister. But, of course, with my luck, it's bound to be one of us this time around.
I brush out my hair, look at myself in the cracked and stained bathroom mirror. Only one word can describe how I look. Average. Plain, dark blond waves. Blue eyes that rarely sparkle out of excitement or joy. Thin, pale pink lips rarely stretched into a smile. Nearly nonexistent cheeks, coated with a light layer of freckles on my tan skin. I'm simply five feet two inches at the age of sixteen, as tall as some of the twelve year olds in the rest of District 10.
My name is as average as my looks. Preta Fry. Preta, by the way, is a type of cattle. My parents named me for a cattle. Although, a lot of people are named for cattle here. Like Kurgan. Jarmelista. Glan. All the names of someone I know. To be specific, my father, mother, and older sister.
Glan is eighteen as of right now, and this is her last year of the reapings. Her last year of an agonizing wait. Her last year of probably being slaughtered by Careers.
A light pink dress awaits me in my closet. Glan used to wear the same thing. Now she has a blue dress. I like my pink dress, though. My mother used to wear it. She says she got it from her mother. So it's from at least fifty-five years ago. Fifty-five years ago, there was no Hunger Games. No reaping. No dead, innocent children. This is, of course, only the forty-first Hunger Games.
I slip the dress over my head and pull my lengths of wavy hair back into a low ponytail. I exit my room, to see my father looking grave. He hates these things more than I do. Pointless, he calls them. Terrible, he calls them. Horrifying, he calls them.
He's no big fan of the Capitol, either. They were the ones who started the Hunger Games. You see, there was a huge war between the districts and the Capitol a long time ago, completely obliterating District 13. The Capitol decided to start the Huger Games, just to show who's the boss.
"Hi, Daddy," I say to him, as mother comes in and hands us both plates, with a slice of bread made from our terrasse grains, and some milk. It's not too much of a breakfast, but it's enough to sustain us.
Mother has a third plate ready, but there is no mouth to give it to just yet. "Where is your sister?" she muttered. "Glan! Glan, get down here! Your breakfast will be cold!" This wasn't saying too much, since breakfast usually wasn't warm anyway. "Glan! Do you want me to drag you out of bed?" she shouts down the narrow hallway. This causes both my father and I to chuckle slightly, since my mother is a stout woman, shorter than I am, and Glan takes after our father, tall and strong. She could probably win the Hunger Games. But there is no way I could.
I nibble on my breakfast, savoring the flavor on my tongue. It tastes nearly bland, except my mother seemed to have thrown something in. It made it taste worse, but it was alright because there usually was no flavor. Any kind of change was welcome.
Too soon, it was time to leave the safety of my house. We walked together as a family down to the square, then we all took our places. I was separated from my family, hurried off to where all the sixteen year old girls stood. Positioned in between Kerry Boot and Mirandesa Long, I waited for the ceremony to start. Destiny Wallace, a Capitol official, took her place, and in her odd Capitol accent, she began the ceremony.
I zoned out on what she said at the beginning. I had always heard that, always repeated. It was scripted by the Capitol, a long time ago. She was soon done with her little speech, and too soon she was reaching into the girl's reaping ball. Eighteen slips of paper had my name on them in there. There were forty-six with my sister's on there, though. She always insisted that I shouldn't have to sign up for terressae, and usually signed up for a lot. I had signed up for some, too, though.
Destiny Wallace pulled her hand out of the ball, and read off the name. Preta Fry. I looked around, waiting for Preta Fry to show herself, to come up and take her spot. The girl's name sounded familiar. Although, she didn't walk forward. And the reason why she didn't walk forward is because she was expecting someone else to come.
The name was repeated, and then it clicked into place. I am Preta Fry. Walking forward, I took my place on the stage. I looked down at my mother and father. My father's face was hard and impassive, he was never one to show emotion. My mother, however, was crying. Crying so much. I would miss her. I would see them once more, and then never again. I was positive I was going to die.
I look at the other girls. Glan stands there, dumbstruck, but not willing to take my place. I understand. I probably wouldn't stand up to take her place, either. We both knew that we would both die eventually. No point in delaying it by sacrificing our lives.
The boy tribute is called. Lourdais David, a thirteen year old boy with sandy blonde hair and dark, brown eyes. I haven't formally talked to him, but it's hard to not know someone here.
The ceremony is over soon, and we are whisked away to whatever we're supposed to do next.