A/N: Hello, reader! After writing my Foxface one-shot, I decided to begin on this piece: the Hunger Games from Rue's perspective. I have a lot of great ideas for this story so please follow/fave if you like it! I also love reviews, and constructive feedback is welcome :)
I won't let you down!
I smile as my mother fits the white dress over my body. Reaping clothes. Never in my life have I ever worn anything as beautiful as this. She carefully runs a brown hand through my hair and gives me a pat on the shoulder.
I am not worried of getting chosen as tribute. This is my first year entered into the reaping ball, and if anything, I am excited. Tomorrow, my family and I will be able to bring home sacks of tesserae grain because of my entries. And helping my family is my top priority.
Mother had been tense when she heard I was entering my name nine times. Once for the law, and eight more times of tesserae for each member of our family. We will be able to live without under the threat of starvation, even when thriving crops flourish by our backyards.
I feel Father's hand on my back as he gently leads me to the door of our little hut. It isn't much of a place, for there are only two rooms. One room is the family room- it consists of a small stove and a modest wooden table, along with a woven mat and four wooden stools. The other room is the sleeping room, where more woven mats line the floor. We sleep every night on top of and under these mats, huddling together.
At the exit, each of my five siblings line up along the wall from youngest to oldest. The first to give me a hug is little five-year-old Rye. He wraps his thin arms around my legs, which are about as high as he can reach, and I bend down so he can give me a kiss on the cheek. Next is Rose, one year older than Rye and extremely sweet. She hugs me tight and whimpers a little bit.
"I'll be fine," I tell her. She only nods, then I bend down and she kisses me.
Willow, at seven years old, steps forward and snuggles her head in my shoulder. She reaches up and touches her lips to my cheek. I keep moving in silent, single procession, my nine-year-old Belle, and ten-year-old Thorn both hugging me respectively. Finally, I reach my mother at the end of the line, who is brushing a tear away from her face. She takes my hand and I wave goodbye to my family as we walk out onto the grass.
The air is very warm, but even the silence of the usually chatty birds brings a foreboding feeling in the air. I clear my throat and sing my little tune, a four-note hum. My friends, the mockingjays, pick it up and chirp it back to me. Mother smiles.
As we reach the square, the shadow of the looming Justice Building drapes over us. I let go of Mother's hand and silently file in with the other children. I sign in and stand among the other twelve-year-old harvesters.
"Rue!" I turn around and see Bran beside me. He is my best friend, and we always climb the orchards together.
I wave. "Hi, Bran."
A gust of wind echoes around, bouncing on the exterior walls of the surrounding brick buildings, and I shiver. I am glad I don't work in the fields, because with my small, thin frame, I can barely stand any wind. It is usually very sunny here in District 11, but occasionally there are days like today that are cold and dreary.
Sensing I am cold, Bran puts an arm around me and I smile at him gratefully. He always seems to be able to read my mind without asking what is the matter, and that is only part of the reason why he is such an amazing friend.
Two rings of the town bell and we all know it's two o'clock. The square falls silent as Mayor Aaronsohn steps up to the podium and begins to read the story of the history of Panem. I don't bother to listen because I've heard it thousands of times in school before. Instead, I listen to the wailing of the wind as it struggles to make its way around the square. It's a hollow and dreary sound, but it's much better than the dull voice of the mayor as he describes each event, his voice an even monotone.
I tune back in when Mayor Aaronsohn begins to list the victors of District 11. Out of the total eight victors, six are still alive. He reads their names, but it doesn't seem like anyone at all is listening. Even the mayor himself seems bored. We all know what we are waiting for. We are all tensely waiting for the moment when Daphne Riccile will reach her hand into the large glass bowls filled with tiny slips of paper and announce this year's tributes.
Speaking of the devil, Daphne Riccile bounces onto the stage and says something about herself but I am not interested. Nobody is. I allow myself to hear the low groans of the wind and silently laugh about the fact that even it sounds like it is distressed about the boredom happening on stage at the moment.
"...the odds be ever in your favor!" Daphne Riccile ends in her high-pitched squeaky voice. "Now as always, ladies first." She smiles a very creepy Daphne Riccile style smile, showing every single one of her teeth, then hops to the side of the stage and stops in front of the girls' reaping ball.
Bran shifts beside me and whispers, "How many times are you entered?"
"Oh, don't worry," I whisper back, "There's no chance I'm going to get picked."
Daphne Riccile dips her hand into the reaping ball, and teasingly stirs her hand around in it. Finally, after five hours of swirling, she plucks two slips out at the same time. She glances at both of them as if wondering which one she should take. I notice with annoyance how she seems to be enjoying this, torturing us, dragging time longer so she can be under attention for a longer period of time.
She finally flicks off one of the slips and smiles again at the paper left in the middle of her fingers. Then, she struts happily to the podium and unfolds the slip carefully.
Even the wind stops its moaning for the moment as every single soul in the square holds his breath. I feel Bran's grip around me tighten, and it's kind of silly of him worrying for me because I'm obviously not going to get picked, but it doesn't matter. I know every single person in my family is holding their breath, praying for it not to be me, the first daughter of the family to enter in the reaping, carrying the heavy responsibility of keeping her family out of the line of starvation. Heck, even I'm getting a little uneasy myself.
Daphne Riccile opens her mouth and begins to recite the name of the girl tribute for District Eleven. The wind is silent, and I am just about to wonder what caused it to stop when she reads the two words on the slip of paper out loud in a clear voice.
"Rue Eldred!"
Panic jerks up in my chest, but I quickly shake my head. Why is my brain playing tricks on me? I look around for the real girl that was reaped, sure I didn't actually hear the name correctly. But when I glance up at Bran, his face is drained of color and I know that isn't the case.
"Rue Eldred?" Daphne Riccile says again, "Is Rue Eldred present?"
The realization sinks in and I almost choke on my breath. This was my first year in the ball! So what, maybe I had nine entries, but that is nothing compared to the tens of thousands of other slips belonging to the other teenage girls in District 11. Horror hits me as I glance at the narrow path the other people have already made for me, leading to the stage. Bran's arm drops from my shoulder as I take it all in.
Tentatively, I take a step in the direction toward the stage. My skin burns at the feeling of everyone's eyes on me as I make my way through the square. Since I am twelve years old, I am at the very back of the crowd, and trust me, it is not a good feeling to be walking through a path made for you that splits the whole square from back to front. Especially when you are literally walking toward your death. Everyone is muttering, and I wonder for a brief moment what they are talking about when I think, of course, it must be me.
I wonder if the other children from the orchards recognize me, if they recognize the girl who always sings the four-note tune signaling the end of the work shift every evening, the girl whose voice travels all around the orchards with the help of her friends the mockingjays.
Each step brings more terror. Daphne Riccile is smiling at me, as if already picturing how I will die. Rue Eldred, drowning in a flood. Stabbed by a sword. Killed off in the first hour. I shudder.
But then, I'm not thinking of myself, but of my family. What will happen to Thorn and Belle and Willow and Rose and tiny Rye? Now that they won't have the small bits of my rations that I give them, will their forms become even skinnier and will their ribs become more visible? How about Mother and Father? What are they thinking now? Are they crying already, or are they already planning how to prevent their next child from having this fate? Oh, how Thorn must be shaking and terrified of getting chosen himself when he comes of age!
I stumble up the steps, not wanting to see Daphne Riccile's huge smile, not wanting to see all her teeth as her face scrunches up in a grin no matter how amusing it used to be. I keep my eyes down and take my place beside her. She asks for volunteers, but of course no one stands.
It doesn't help that the wind is now racing again, echoing in this closed area, as if it is the only one who is aware of this raging storm thrashing in my head. The wind. It whines in sorrow, but it's mocking me, taunting me.
Quiet applause follows, and I grit my teeth in frustration as Daphne Riccile hops happily to the other side of the stage.
A/N: Next chapter is going up in the next 48 hours!