The day of the Reaping brings an early wake-up. It's supposed to be a holiday, where we're allowed to sleep in, but I am cursed with an early wake-up every year. Since I'm not in a hurry, I usually decide to lay in bed and wait. No one else in the house is awake, which both surprises and offends me. I have 4 older siblings, all 18 or above. Back when we were all younger, it used to be that we'd all wake up early in the morning and have breakfast together on the day of the Reaping. When my oldest siblings, a small girl by the name of Aspen was 15, she put her foot down. I remember the day vividly.
"If I'm going to be picked to be murdered, I think I should spend my last day as a free man sleeping in!" she'd screamed at my parents. At the time, I was 11, and I'd wanted to cry.
"Don't say that!" I'd pleaded. "You won't be picked. And you're always saying how you'd never die if you get picked because you're such a fighter."
Aspen had laughed in my tear-filled face. "You think being a fighter means anything in these games? I'm a poor person from 7! Sponsors will ignore me, and I'll be lucky to survive the first day! Have you seen the Careers from 2?"
We were lucky. That year, as I clutched my mother's arm, I could only think one thought: That none of my 4 siblings get picked. That was the year I was the only child in my family not in the Reaping pool, so I had all of the older ones to worry about.
The girl they picked was an 18 year old named Charmaine Ramsey. The boy they picked was 14. His name was Hickory Dodge. Watching the television, seeing Caesar Flickerman talk about how District 7 produced someone named Dodge and someone named Ramsey, I felt myself change. They thought it was funny. They were entertained. I was angry. How could they make fun of those poor people, sentenced to death? I remember looking at my siblings and wondering if the next year, it would be any of us.
Only it hadn't been. Each year, we somehow escaped. But ever since that year, the year where I stopped babying myself and realized what the Hunger Games were really about, I sought out the families of all the tributes and gave them a flower. It wasn't a lot, but it was the only thing I knew I could do. Hopefully they knew how much I felt for them.
Now, I am 17, and only two of us are in the Reaping pool. That meant three of my siblings had outgrown the Hunger Games. I missed those early breakfasts, and was a little offended that my siblings could all peacefully sleep in when the two youngest children in the family were signing themselves up for death today.
I peered over at Aspen, comfortably asleep next to me. Our house is little more than a shack. All five of us kids have to sleep in one room, while my parents sleep in the foyer/kitchen. I know that they are awake, because I can hear the murmuring. They are nervous for me and for Birch.
Speaking of Birch…I glance over at the other bed, where two of the boys are curled asleep. The third sleeps on the floor. It used to be Birch sleeping on the floor, but ever since Chester outgrew the bed, he has. Chestnut is the oldest boy, followed by Olive, and then Birch. And then me.
All of my siblings are stubborn, and for some reason, always angry. Aspen is the oldest of us, but the shortest. She hates being treated like a "woman" in District 7. Everyone in the district is supposed to be treated the same, but for some reason, small women are viewed as pathetic. For that reason, she started going by male pronouns, cut her hair down really short, and even uses the nickname Hemlock, which is more masculine. Although I want to help her in this endeavor, I try to keep her from the spotlight. I do call her Hemlock and use male pronouns on special occasions.
Chester and Olive are both very athletic, and work out in the woods. Chester helps cut down the trees, and Olive helps carry the lumber back. Aspen and Birch work in the paper factory. I work there with them for now, but I'm hoping to be a schoolteacher.
Birch is 18. This is his last year in the Reaping pool. You wouldn't know looking at him, fast asleep on the bed across the room. I know that Birch will be nervous, but for now, he takes that out in his sleep. I wonder if he has bad dreams.
I decide to get up this morning. My shoulder hurts and my heart aches to do something. Maybe if I get a decent breakfast, I'll feel better about the whole thing. I put on the only nice thing I have: A long blue and green patterned dress. It's a little loose; it was once my mothers. But I love the way it looks on me.
I go into the kitchen where my parents are already up. "Good morning," father says tersely. I can tell that he is in one of those moods, where you simply go with him. He usually gets this way on the day of the Reaping.
"Morning," I answer politely and take a seat at the table. For breakfast I get bread with cheese. This is a standard. Usually, we skip breakfast in my house, but my mother always makes sure us putting our name into the Reaping pool gets a nice breakfast the day of the Reaping.
It just reminds me of the breakfasts we used to have before Aspen put her foot down. "Thanks mom," I say, trying not to sound morose.
My mom squeezes my shoulder before walking away. My family is not rich. In fact, we are barely making ends meet. The fact is, life in District 7 is just too expensive to justify having 5 children. My parents told me once that they didn't mind the extra stress, as they were just happy to have all 5 of us. I couldn't say why. After all, each year they had to watch us one at a time sign up for the death games. Why would they want to have that panic 5 times over?
It is noon when the others start getting up, which is late even by their standards. Olive and Chester come out first, and get a slice of bread with cheese spread first, followed by Birch. He looks ridiculous in his suit that is clearly two sizes too small for him, but no one tells him that. Aspen is always late to come out. This year, she looks more relaxed than I've ever seen her at the Reapings. Of course. She's not putting her name in. I wonder if she's worried about us two or if she thinks our luck strike will continue.
There's a bit of a rush out the door. We have to be there in enough time to sign in. My parents have never allowed us to sign up for a tesserae, which is an option in our district. That is to say, if a family is poor, but you volunteer your name an additional time, you will receive enough grain to feed one person for a year. In a family like mine, tesserae could mean the difference between starvation and survival.
Only my parents would never allow it. My dad sometimes pulled in long extra hours to make enough money to feed us all, a fact he was quick to remind us of if we ever got too much attitude. Life is hard, he'd say. That's why I work all day every day.
Even my mother, who has injuries to both legs, works long hours to help us out. And each of us kids works too, but that's the rules of district.
Since I am 17, my name will be entered 6 times. Birch's name will be entered 7. I know of people who have entered their name 30 times for the tesserae grain to feed large families, larger than ours. One of them is a girl I go to school with by the name of Salena. She is a good person. But on the day of the Reaping, I have no room to worry for her.
Since Birch and I have to be there early, our mom takes us separate from the rest. We quickly hug our siblings and father and rush out the door. Being 17 and 18, Birch and I really don't need an escort to walk around town, but we appreciate the gesture all the same. This could very well be the last walk we ever take with our mother.
Mom hugs us each maybe a little longer than she normally would before peeling away to join the already gathering crowd. Birch doesn't look at me as they prick his finger and take a drop of blood. Then he signs his name and joins the crowd of the other 18 year olds. Before he is completely gone, though, he whirls around gives me a nervous thumbs up and a deep, "Good luck."
"And you," I say back as my line moves forward. Birch just nods, and then he is gone, vanished into the crowd. I am alone now.
I am next in line. When the official, a grumpy lady dressed in a white uniform gives a monotone, "Next!" I step forward. At this point, she is about to take my blood and prints and I am telling myself that I am not nervous.
The prick doesn't hurt. Much less like a splinter that one often gets living in District 7. It is signing my name on the paper that makes my stomach churn very uncomfortably. I hate this part, as it is openly an acknowledgement that I could very well be dead in a week. Since my family has so far avoided being Reaped, I try to tell myself that the chances of me being picked are slim to none and I have nothing to worry about. I can't quite convince myself and so I enter the roped off area with a stomachache.
By now a full crowd is emerging from the shadows of the buildings. A man with dark hair and eyes sits up on stage next. His name is Coeus. He is our Capitol attendant and district escort. It will be his deep, almost reassuring voice that will be announcing who goes to their death this year.
Then there are the previous victors of the games. There are no female victors from 7, but a few males. There's Dedalus Orange, a bald man with a small beard, who won his games when he was 15, but is now in his 30's. He is chatting quietly with Emerson Coll. Emerson is our second youngest victor at 29, who won his games 12 years ago by surviving a forest fire. He still has scars down his side where they couldn't quite erase the flames from his body. The youngest, Blight Tannem isn't here. Or at least I can't see him from where I am. Even though he is required to come, Blight hardly goes out of his way, and the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to him. There are others, some much older, who don't look very pleased to be there and are looking out into the crowd. I wonder what goes through their minds as they see the District 7 children line up to die.
Our mayor steps out. His name is Ambrose and he is actually Emerson's older brother by about 4 years. Ambrose is strict as can be, and works closely with our Head Peacekeeper to assure adherence to the rules. I wonder if he actually enjoys the games or not. It is strange, knowing a victor's relative uses his power to enforce the rules of the very game that could've killed his sibling off.
Ambrose gives the old speech, starting at the very beginning, how our nation rose as a different one fell, how the Capitol and 13 districts maintained life in peace until a rebellion was sparked. He went on talking about the Dark Days and the rebellion, how 13 was destroyed and the Hunger Games started.
Then Coeus steps up and takes the microphone while Ambrose sits back down. "And now, we will draw the names. Lady's first!" his voice is deep. He doesn't sound excited, the way some of the district escorts do, but sort of ready, as if he had been waiting for this for a long time. He steps up to the glass ball that has my name in it 6 times and reaches in. I don't think I am breathing as his hand clasps a piece of paper and pulls it out. He walks carefully back to the microphone and reads the name out loud.
"Maple Griffin."
It is my name.