OLIVIA- The reaping.
I woke up crying, I felt as if everything in my body had stopped working. It was the reaping. It seemed like it had come so fast. The reaping. Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out. Don't let mom here you. I thought. I couldn't get picked. I couldn't. I wouldn't. My dad dies 16 years ago from the hunger games. He was just 17 when he died in the bloodbath. From district one. My district. It didn't count that he was a career. His partner viewed him as a weakling weighing her own so she took him down. And like that… my mom was a widow… and heavily pregnant to match. So we hate the hunger games. It a taboo in our house hold. No- one dares mention it. No one dares think it.
It makes me sick sometimes too see the bloodlust in my fellow friends. They love training… they love to kill… is second nature. Me? I'm just Olivia and I hope to god I never have to go into the games because when I do… I'm scared I won't survive. "Olivia? Is that you crying?" my mom's voice drifts through the thin sheet of wood we dare call a door. Wiping the tears furiously from my eyes I shout back "No… of course not…sorry got to get changed". We are poor. Of course we are. Because we hate the hunger games were shunned by our neighbours…our street…. Our district. Doesn't matter that we are district one.
After untangling my short jet black hair, I put on the little dress my mom laid out for me. Its plane black and looks deadly. A few years ago when my mom first laid it out for me I asked why and her reply was "looks are everything Olivia… everything... Now put it on!" As I feel the thin fabric slip over my head my mind wanders to the other reaping. The poor boys and girls that have to be picked. It's different now though… its not one boy or girl just two names. I remember the year when it was 22 girls and two boys. The boys didn't last long and well… neither did the girls. Won that year.
I slowly walk down stairs and each the apple and dried bread my mother laid out for me or breakfast. My stomach still rumbling I smiled at her and walked out of the door into the bright sunshine. I walk quickly and winced only a little bit as the needle dug into my hand for my blood sample. I walk over to the section for the sixteen year olds. I nod to some of my friends my expression suddenly grim. Then with a quick round of music the show was running. Griselda Storehouse, our escort, came up onto the stage in a flurry of feathers. "Welcome Welcome, I-" I wonder fi anyone actually cares about this. I zone out completely until she start talking about the first tribute. I snap to attention and keep my eyes level. As I hear "Harry Leighton…" A sudden round of applause comes from the crowd as fake as the feathers on Griselda's dress. After a quick interview Harry stands on the stage a cocky grin escaping his mouth. "Now the second tribute…mmmmmm ahhh. Yes this is the one.. I can feel it!" Gasping she hold a crisp white slip of paper. "Olivia Seea".
No. Nononononono! How? Why? I scream in the empty blackness of my head. I walk slowly and deliberately up to the stage keeping my face clear of all emotions until I hear a sniffle and then a full grown sob. Mom. How would she cope without me? What would she do now? I make it to the top of the podium shooting Harry a quick glance. Why Harry… He's the vilest creature I know. His family have already been victors- BOTH his parents. His mother killed my father and he wasn't any better. I've seen him take down 12 year olds and threaten the homeless and in need with a little knife work. I will kill him. For my father. For my mother. For me.
