The Smirk

I have always enjoyed the day of the Reaping. Getting to see everyone's nervous faces as they pray their name will not be called. In District 7, being called almost always means certain death. It is just not our way of life. We are not like the "Career" districts who can devote their lives to training. We need to work. Each and every day for hours. Its not that our tributes aren't physically capable of winning, they are just not trained. And that's what makes the Games so enjoyable to watch.

Each year I get to see two of my classmates squirm in the arena. Sometimes they are people I know, maybe even a friend. But usually they aren't, so I don't care. I just enjoy watching. The speed at which they run, the looks of horror on their faces, and their desperate pleas all bring a small smile to my face. No one would ever assume I liked it, but deep down the Games have always been a highlight of my year in this boring district.

Pulling my blouse on, I took a deep breathe. I hated getting dressed up. It was the only bad thing about the Reaping. Looking in the mirror, I saw my mother. She was doing it again. Staring at me with that sad look in her eyes. The look she always got on this day.

My mother knows the Games well, she had once been in them as a seventeen-year-old. Back then she was young and strong, beautiful and intelligent. She was able to evade everyone and hide until there were only a handful of tributes left. Then she began to make her move, slowly drawing tributes to one another and escaping as they fought. Finally, when she was one of the final two tributes, she won by catching the other tribute in a tree snare. Ultimately hanging him to death.

She hated having to cause so much pain and death, but she knew she had no choice. In the Games its kill or be killed. There's no third option. Now she refuses to talk about her experience. Instead she chooses to focus on my father and I. Making sure we're constantly happy and safe. I only know what I know because of my father.

"Stop" I tell her. "If its me, its me. There's nothing either one of us can do about it."

She smiles at me, but the look doesn't leave her eyes. It won't. Not until I am too old to be reaped. I'm her only daughter. Probably the only thing that keeps her and my father sane. So I smile back. I do love her, I just don't like showing my emotions. I feel it makes me appear weaker than I am. Which is something I really do not need with my physical appearance.

When we were both ready, we started out the door to meet my father. He was already in the Square waiting. The Reaping would be starting soon and we needed to hurry. Just before walking out, I turned and caught my reflection in the mirror. I didn't like the way I looked all dressed up, but it was only for a couple of hours. Turning to leave, my mouth formed its usual smirk. The nice, but confident smirk which I had constantly plastered across my face. The one that told people I was as approachable and nice as I looked.

Outside it was like any other day in District 7. Long, dark shadows covered most of the street and the scent of pine filled the air. For being one of the largest districts in all of Panem, the overwhelming majority of our district was made up of our forest. Our small village just sat on the outside of the giant trees. The people we saw in the streets had mixed emotions. Some were glad for the day off while others, mostly parents, were anxious and nervous.

After a few minutes we had reached the Square. It was towards the end of our district, near our house in the deserted Victors' Village. My father greeted us as we got there and gave me a hug before I headed to the Sixteen's section. The look in his eyes was the same my mother had. For some reason, it was harder seeing the look in his eyes.

Inside the Sixteen's section, I felt like an outsider. I looked completely different compared to all of the other girls. They looked like the typical girl from District 7: strong and physically fit from long hours working in the forest. With a pale skin tone, short brown hair, and shorter frame. I, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. With my tall, slender frame I looked like I had never worked a day in my life. On top of that I had a darker skin tone with long dark hair that fell beyond my shoulders.

At school I was often taunted for being different. Girls told me I was ugly and none of the boys would talk to me. They just stared whenever I was in the room. My parents told me I was beautiful even with my differences, and at first I didn't believe them. Then I started spending more time with my father. We would work in our yard, cutting lumber and planting seeds we would find in the forest for my mother. Even though I didn't look it, I began to feel stronger and more confident. I just wish the other girls would have noticed that.

As I went to sit down in one of the open seats, some of the girls from my grade came up to me and began snickering. "Hey, Twig!" they jeered. I had learned not to pay attention to them. I knew that words only affected those who let them. Luckily I didn't need to stall for long because walking towards the stage was our Mayor followed shortly by the Capitol escort.

This was always the most boring part of the Reaping. Beginning his speech with a list of District 7's previous winners, the Mayor optimistically spoke of the Games and prestige that came with winning. Deep down, he and everyone else in the Square knew that another District 7 winner wasn't likely.

Before our Mayor had even extended the microphone, the escort yelled "Good morning District 7! As you all know, my name is Ambrosia Figg and I could not be more excited for these Games to begin. I have a good feeling about this year!" Even with her golden hair and perky smile, I could tell that she did not enjoy her job. No amount of makeup or color could hide something like that.

Greeting everyone with her winning smile and regal wave, Ambrosia walked to the edge of the stage where two large glass balls were located. Everyone knew what was about to happen. She would reach in and condemn two children to their deaths as if she were doing them a favor.

"As always, ladies first." As she reached her long arm in, she made exaggerated motions attempting to play on everyone's anticipation. With a surprised expression on her face she slowly drew her hand out. Holding up the small folded paper with a smile on her face, she read "Johanna Mason!"

Snickers and jeers. Laughs and gasps. I was in total shock as I sat there. Never had I felt more different. Then someone shoved me from behind hard and I shifted forward. Standing, I began to walk towards the stage, through a crowd of people with indifferent looks on their faces. "Aw, there you are." Ambrosia greeted as I walked up to the stage. "Is there anything you would like to say?"

Forming my usual smirk, I said in confidence "I will miss you all, but hopefully we will all see each other shortly." Then I was pushed to the background to stand next to our Mayor. The entire time Ambrosia was choosing the lucky boy's name, I could feel the Mayor staring at me. I could not tell if he was doing so disapprovingly or out of sorrow, but I knew that he did not think I would be coming back. No one did, no matter how confident I tried to portray myself as.

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