What Are Hunger Games?
Yank. Ouch. Yank. Ouch. Yank. Ouch.
"Effie, dear. Your hair simply will not go straight," cried the distinct tones of my mother.
Yank. Ouch. Yank. Ouch. Yank. Ouch.
"I mean really, darling. Your hair needs to look proper. What will the neighbors think if they see you with messy hair?" the distress in her voice grew.
Yank. Ouch. Yank. Ouch. YANK. Ouch…Ouch…Ouch!
"Oh, Effie!" she cried out again. Her arms wrapped protectively around my stomach. My hair screamed for release after hours of flat-irons, mini-straighteners, shampoos, conditioners, and at one point, mayonnaise.
"Mommy, why are we off from school today?" I asked curiously.
"Because of the Games, stupid," answered my good-for-nothing brother, Alfie.
"Alfie, dear. Do not use the word stupid. It is not very becoming of you. In addition, it is rude. Manners are very, very, very important," crooned my mother.
"Mommy, can we play in the Games too?" I asked again.
"No, darling. They are purely for our entertainment. We watch, they play. How delightful!" her distress subsided in favor of enjoyment.
"Effie shouldn't get to watch the Games. She's too little," sneered my brother.
"Mommy, I'm six years old. I wanna watch too!" I cried in protest, spinning on my mother's lap to face her.
Her face. Years of the Capitol's power kept her young. Kept her sane. Her soft eyes gazed, lovingly. I could see the look of approval in her eyes. The look of pride.
"Yes, Effie. You may watch the Games. I'll wake you up from your nap in time to hear President Snow's announcement."
I jump to my feet and my mother takes my hand in hers. With perfect posture, she escorts me to my bedroom. My room reflects my personality. It's bubbly, bright, and safe. Perfect. I lay down to sleep and my mother offers a kiss. Yes, I think, perfect.
I dream of the Games. Bouncing balls, cheering people, and candy fill my mind. I smile in my sleep. The Games will be perfect. I can almost envision the winner, smiling and clean, running up the Capitol steps in the City Circle to accept the wonderful prize from the President. I decide I want to go one year, watch the Games live, maybe even marry a winner. My mother wakes me from my nap with a smile on her lips.
"Are you ready for the Games, Effie?" she asks, lifting me out of bed.
Minutes later, I'm settled in between my mother and father on our lavish couch, waiting for the Games to begin. The window outside our parlor seems more alive than the television. Cars, camera crews, and citizens flood the streets of the Capitol, all making their way to the City Circle to listen to the President's announcement.
"Oh, look!" squeals my mother as she grasps her hair to prevent it from falling off, "The President is here!"
I gaze intensely at the television, taking in the whole scene. President Snow, a young man with thin eyes, sits on a stage set in the middle of the City Circle. Suddenly, the anthem begins to play.
"Mommy, what's happening now?" I ask, not daring to move my eyes from the screen.
"Quiet, dear. President Snow is going to explain why the Games occur, and then explain the rules," she snaps quickly.
"This year is very special, kids," my father explains, "Every twenty-five years, they play a special game called a Quarter Quell. This marks the fiftieth Hunger Game and the second Quarter Quell."
"You said they. Who are they?" asks Alfie, enthralled by my father's words.
"They are the twelve districts of Panem," answers my father. "There are two players, or tributes, picked from each of the districts."
"Shh! It's starting!" shouts my mother, suddenly on her feet.
President Snow looks as if he should belong in the zoo. Odd, yet proud. My parents follow his ascent to the podium religiously. I feel proud watching him. Proud that I am grown up enough to watch the Games, to view the second Quarter Quell in history. I am proud to live in the Capitol.
"Good evening, citizens of Panem. We are gathered to celebrate the fiftieth Hunger Games, our second Quarter Quell. Lest we forget the Dark Days, the reason for the Games. It has been fifty years since the rebels incited a battle with the almighty Capitol. As a result, the Hunger Games sprang forth, reminding the rebels that their foolishness has cost them greatly. It is my honor to announce the condition for this special Game."
I struggled to understand the meaning behind the President's message. It sounded important-so important that I wanted to understand. I needed to understand. The President reached into a wooden box and pulled out an envelope with a 50 printed on the front. He opens the envelope and pulls out a square piece of paper.
"Here we go!" mother shouted again.
"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district is required to send twice as many tributes."