Hi guys. So, this is my first story. Sort of. Please read and review, and PLEASE, PLEASE, give me criticism! I seriously need it!
I shift so that the leather is in my right hand, the knife in my left. I'm one of the few left-handers in Panem; Though I wish I'd gotten the rare blue eyes instead. I have to tense one shoulder above my ear to properly tan the strip of cloth, running my knife over the rough edges- My concentration completely focused on the task in front of me.
"What'd that sow ever do to you?" A voice behind me teases. I glance behind me and have to look down to see whoever's spoken- A girl with dark skin, hair and eyes, and an infectious smile. "My papa says cows think too, y'know. You shouldn' be treatin' him so poorly."
It takes me a moment to realize she means the hide I'm using. "He doesn't have feelings," I mutter, clenching the piece until my knuckles go white. Tanning takes a lot more work than people give our District credit for; We're the ones that supply all the food, not them. Then again, its the Capitol hogging it.
The girl's still standing there- And then suddenly she's right up on her toes, standing on the little box in front of the stand I'm tanning on. "Y'know the reaping's today," She informs me, her brown eyes wide. They're flecked with gold, and so big and round and innocent that I have to look away first.
"You shouldn't be worrying about reapings. You're barely eight."
"I'm seven and three quarters!" She growled.
"Be lucky, then. You've got five more years." I say it so softly, I don't think she hears me.
I hear a whistle- No, a bell. A sharp ringing that pounds inside my skull, echoing throughout the entire clearing. The people freeze, their faces turning towards the sky, because we all know what the bell means.
The reaping is about to begin.
The Peacekeepers in our District are strict, so no one argues when we're sorted into lines- Twelve to eighteen. I shift behind a girl with unusually red hair and big, brown eyes. She glances over her shoulder at me, wrinkles her nose, and returns her attention to the stage.
All around us men in crisp white suits and helmets stand, rifles in hand. Their helmets are the scariest- Blank and cold, just like the Capitol. My stomach churns and I glance away, my gaze slitted.
Children bustle and talk- At least the youngest ones do. My line, and the older teens, know better than to talk. Each one of us has at least ten tesserae; Eleven times our name will be in that bowl. The thought throbs at my brain, and I press my lips together, my skin tingling.
It's a cloudy day, but with everyone in one place, the clearing is hot, and charged with electricity; Hundreds of people, adults and kids alike, waiting for our escort to step onto the stage. When she does, she looks ridiculous- Don't they all?- with orange and green hair, a too-big orange skirt, and green stockings and shoes. Her eyelashes are purple.
"Welcome one, welcome all! Aren't we excited for the 99th Hunger Games! She twirls, showing off her hideous neon skirt and flashing teeth that are tattooed with stars and swirls.
"Oh my, aren't you all a bundle of joy," She teases to the silent crowd. Everyone stares at her with a mix of disgust and boredom. She blushes, then flips a lock of bright green hair from her face. "Well, it is the 99th Hunger Games...And we all know what that means, don't we? QUARTER QUELL!" She claps her hands together like a little girl, her eyes bright.
No one makes a sound.
She clears her throat, having the decency to look embarrassed. "Ah, yes...As I was saying." She scoots over to the table with the bowl and plucks an envelope between two inch-long fingernails. "For this Quarter Quell, in reminder that war is full of difficult choices..." She trails off, her glossed lips pulling into a little o. My heart plummets between my toes.
"In remembrance that war is full of difficult choices, and that the districts led to their own downfall," She continues, her voice strangled, "Not only will each District enter double the tributes.."
"But this year's tributes will be handpicked by the district's last Victor."
The girl in front of me- The one with the flaming hair- faints.
A few others go pale, but no one else is quite as dramatic. Our escort- Jangerine Tinkers, I think- Blinks rapidly, then slips the paper back into the yellowed envelope and sets it down carefully, as if she's afraid it'll detonate.
She clears her throat. "Jonah Fife? Erika Peters? If you'd please carry out these...Wonderful change of events." She gives a tight smile, then steps back.
A girl with reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes steps up to the stage. From behind her slides a slim, fit boy with dark brown hair and hooded green eyes. Both of them look like they want to drop dead- Which would suck, seeing as they'd worked so hard to win in their own arena.
The girl, Erika, tilts her chin up, her eyes gleaming. She's much leaner and meaner than the male tribute, and I can see muscles rippling beneath her dark gray shirt as she studies us as if we're science experiments. I can see the hurt in her eyes, too, though- The betrayal. Could the Capitol really be so cruel?
"You." She's not pointing to me, thank Panem- No, her finger has landed on a boy, maybe seventeen, with brownish-blonde hair and russet eyes. I realize her logic- Pick an older tribute, and maybe they'll have a better chance of survival.
"Kyle!" A girl, off to the sideline, pipes. I glance over and meet the eyes of the mirror image of the tribute, only she's smaller. "That's not fair! Pick again!"
Erika's eyes slide to the child, and her lips curl in a sneer. "The Games aren't fair, girlie." Her voice is deep and cold. She flicks her finger, beckoning her chosen. "We don't have all day."
The boy hesitates, and I can see his eyes glittering with unshed tears. He glances at his sister, and his face tightens- But instead of refusing, he bows stiffly, and marches up the steps.
The little girl's protests rise to wails. "You can't do that! Pick someone else! Pick someone else!" A Peacekeeper hustles forward and curls his fingers around the girl's arm. She's dragged off kicking and screaming- "Pick someone else!"
Silence falls over the crowd. It was quiet before, but now, everyone is still as death- Faces grim and fingers clenched into fists. Erika breaks the silence first, jerking her chin towards the boy chosen. "Your name?"
She has to say it twice before he answers, the empty, stoic look leaving his gaze. "Kyle. Kyle Smith."
Erika tilted her chin upward, a dangerous, calculating look in her eyes. "Congratulations, Kyle." Her voice is dry, like it's an old joke.
The next boy picked goes much quieter- I doubt he has any relatives. He slides up to the stage, his shoulders hunched- He has dark hair and eyes, and skin so pale its almost blue. He mutters his name, and Erika has to repeat it in that booming voice of hers- "Karter Nyles!"
Jonah steps up to the stage, his lips curled in a little frown. He sweeps one hand towards a girl, about twelve, with stringy brown hair and blue eyes. Before he can even say, 'you!', An older girl who looks exactly like her shoves her way to the front of the sixteen-year-old-line. She nearly knocks me over, but I'm too stunned to care.
"I volunteer as tribute!" Her voice is practically a shriek, and it cracks in the middle. Jonah's face twists in surprise, but she's already scuttling up the stage, swiping tears from her eyes and muttering curses under her breath. She clears her throat and stammers, "Wylie Hansen!" The girl whirls on her heel and stands stock-still besides Kyle, and I know it takes every ounce of her willpower to ignore her little sister, who is shouting, "No! I volunteer! I volunteer!" A Peacekeeper doesn't take her away, though. Maybe because he predicts what will happen- That she'll crumple to her knees, sobbing into her hands and shaking her head as if it's all just a bad dream. The other twelve-year olds give her a wide birth, casting her looks that range from sympathy to hesitance to disgust.
It's Jonah's turn again. He scans the crowd quickly, like looking too long at one person will cause him physical pain, and then his gaze lands on the person behind me, and the breath whooshes from my lungs. I'm safe.
Except heads are turning. One, two, now five people are staring at me- And then more, until it feels like all of District 10 has their eyes on mine. I glance behind me, waiting for the girl to head up to stage. But she's still not getting at it- She's staring at me too, and then her brow creases, like someone's just said a joke and I didn't get it.
Because that's what this all must be. A joke. I realize someone's been talking, and then I realize that it's not just someone, it's Jonah. Jonah is talking.
"Vale Flemming," He repeats, his voice tight. "Is Vale Flemming here?"
Poor girl, I think. I wonder if she has any siblings like Kyle.
People are still staring. And then, boom- It hits me. My name is Vale Flemming. I'm the one Jonah's talking to. And I have no family.
Vale Flemming. Is Vale Flemming here? The words bounce around in my head. Is Vale Flemming here?
My knees wobble. My blood runs cold. And when I lift my gaze from the girl's to Jonah's, I know. Oh Panem, I finally know what's happening.
I've been reaped.
Hi, guys! You're welcome to submit tributes- I really need some. I've got Kyle and Vale, of course, but I still need a whole lot more, don't I? I'll post a list on my profile too, in case the ones on my chapters aren't as updated. Please review, and if you do, feel free to give me some criticism!