Chapter One
As I sit in my room on the train ride to the Capitol I start to cry again as I let myself think about the events of the day.
Everything was calm when I woke up this morning. Well, as calm as a district can be on reaping day. I got up, ate breakfast and picked one of the dresses my uncle left for me. They are my aunt's old reaping dresses. I know this because there is no way we could afford all these dresses even with both of us working and also because I know my uncle kept all my aunt's things after she died. I pick the smallest, most plain one. This is normal for me; I try not to stick out to much. It's easier that way here in district 8.
I bathe and put my hair up in a bun. Most girls have complicated, beautiful hair styles on reaping day because their mothers do their hair for them. My mother used to do my hair too until she and my aunt died in a factory accident three years ago when I was 12. My father killed himself a year later when I was 14. I live with my uncle now because he is my only remaining relative. He is a kind man but he is clueless when it comes to taking care of children because he has never had any of his own.
When I am ready to go I find him waiting outside of our house for me. We walk to the square together where I am put in a roped of area with all the other fifteen year old girls. My uncle wouldn't let me sign up for tesserae even though we could really use the grain and oil we would get from it. My name is hardly even in the giant glass bowl full of the paper slips containing many girls' names that sits on the stage. The odds are in my favor, I won't be picked. There is no way.
That is why reaping day has never scared me. I feel bad for the two people, one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18, who get picked every year and I wonder what they feel like walking up onto that stage, knowing that in a week or so, they are going to die. Most tributes from this district die within the first few days of being in the arena. All arenas are outdoors and district eight is pretty much all factories and there is not a single plant around. This gives us absolutely no advantage over kids who grow up around nature and know how to survive in it. An even lower chance of survival over the career tributes that are specially trained to fight in these games when they turn eighteen and volunteer as tributes. Not that district eight has never had a victor before, we have, but usually it is the kids from district 1 and 2 that win.
I watch as a weird looking lady with blue hair and light red skin walk out onto stage, she must be knew because I have never seen her at a reaping for this district before. I don't know about other districts because I stopped watching the hunger games when I was 12, after one of my friends, Clarissa Lipe, got reaped. I watched someone I knew get brutally murdered on the first day of the hunger games and I swore I would never watch them again and so I don't. It's illegal not to watch the games but I just leave the television on and sneak out of the house. No one notices, or if they do they don't tell because they would rather not be watching either.
The lady on stage introduces herself as Kayla Gill, which is a very normal name considering she is from the capitol. She shows us a video from the capitol. When the video is over she goes on to say "The hunger games are a very important part of our history. We have peace now because of them." I can't help but think how she wouldn't be saying that if the capitol children got reaped too.
There are two bowls full of name on either side of the stage, one for the boys and one for the girls. She crosses over to the side of the stage with the girl's bowl. "As always, girls go first." She says as she reaches her hand in and dramatically digs around. She finally picks a slip of paper and walks back to the center of the stage. She reads the name on the paper, "Sophia Thread".
It takes a minute for my brain to register that she just said my name.
I walk out of the roped off area and towards the stage. Peace keepers follow me but the get distracted by my uncle who seems to be screaming hysterically and trying to run towards me. The peacekeepers hold him back as I climb on stage. I walk over and stand with Kayla. "Would anyone like to volunteer to take this girl's place?" she asks. I stand there hoping someone will take my place. I'm only fifteen and I'm pretty small too. Smaller than most of the girls my age. I'm about 5 feet 2 inches tall and I weigh about 100 pounds. You would expect one of the older girls to take pity on me and take my place. I stare at them, pleading with my eyes.
All of the girls try to not to make eye contact. Not one girl raises her hand.
"Alright then," Kayla says and she crosses over to the bowl containing the boy's names. It finally sinks in that I am going to die. I look around and realize everyone has their eyes on Kayla as she reaches into the other bowl.
I make a run for it.