A/N Hey, readers! This is my first fanfic, so please read and review! All comments are welcome!
*DISCLAIMER* The Hunger Games does not belong to me (duh). It belongs to the talented Suzanne Collins.
The 167th Hunger Games
Chapter 1
POV-Sandra Hall
"Wake up, Sandra! The reaping is today! We have to get ready!" yells my sister, Adrienne.
"Okay! Okay! I'm not deaf, you know…" I grumble, unwillingly rolling myself off of my bed. I brush my light brown hair; it is slightly wavy and just reaches my shoulders. I put on my reaping clothes, a fitted red blouse and a grey pencil skirt. When I get to the kitchen, I see my dad at the stove, while my siblings eat toast.
"Hey, Dad," I say, hugging my dad.
"Morning, honey" he responds, handing me a plate with some toast and a bit of sausage. "Don't eat too slowly. We don't want to be late for the reaping. That means you too, Adrienne"
"Sure, Dad," Adrienne and I chorus. I savor the sausage and feel grateful that I live in a middle-class merchant family. Here, in district 12, not many can afford the price of eating everyday, let alone eating meat. Another good thing about being from a merchant family is that I don't have to take out tesserae, so my name is only in the reaping balls the required number of times.
"Come on, girls!" calls my dad. "We have to go now!" Adrienne and I wolf down the rest of our breakfast and walk out the door. We jog the rest of the way to the square and check in. Adrienne hugs me and goes to the 13-year-old section. I head to the 17-year-old section. I glance around me and catch my best friend, Lucy's eye. I mouth "good luck" to her and she responds "you too".
"Hello, District 12!" chirps our Capitol escort. "Sasha Bauble, here! I have a delightful video for you all! It's from the Capitol!" As the video plays, I take a look at Sasha's clothing. With her bright green hair, brilliant blue dress, magenta and orange argyle leggings and seven-inch metallic stilettos, she looks absolutely ridiculous. If somebody told me that her four-year-old daughter dressed her, it wouldn't seem too ridiculous.
While watching the video, I think back to my first reaping. I was scared stiff and had been crying for 10 hours straight. My mother had held me and rocked me through the night. Both of our eyes were red, and we had dark circles under our eyes. She had given me a pretty pin to put in my hair. After the reaping I had jumped into her arms, and she had kissed me over and over again. That was before she died. I still remembered that horrible day, as if it were only yesterday. We had been in the shop selling fabric and ribbons, when, across the street, an argument broke out. A drunken Peacekeeper had been trying to get a little girl to give him blueberries for free. When she refused, he twisted her arm behind her back; hard enough to make her eyes tear up. My mother had been furious. She marched right up to the Peacekeeper and slapped him as hard as she could. Then he shot her. With a subtle movement of his finger, he had shattered my world. Just like that. I had changed that day; I didn't smile or laugh for more than a year. It was like my body had forgotten how to be happy. Slowly, I had gotten over it, bit by bit. One day, I was even able to eat a blueberry, without crying. My father helped, teaching me how to tie knots in the beautiful ribbons. He eventually taught me to use rope and wire to make snares, which I put in the woods.
When the video finishes, Sasha claps so hard that one of the many pins in her hair falls out.
"Now, to choose a very lucky young woman!" she says. She teeters over to the glass ball on her left of the stage. "Shawna Morris!" she calls. "Where is Ms. Shawna Morris? Yoo hoo!" We watch as a crippled twelve-year-old girl hobbles up to the stage, tightly gripping a roughly hewn cane. Everybody stands somberly, as a Peacekeeper helps her up the stairs. Running through my head is the thought that it should be against all laws to send such a young child and a crippled one, at that.
Before I fully process what is happening, I feel my legs step forward and my voice call out, "I volunteer!" The crowd silently parts as I walk up to the stage.
"Ooh, ladies and gentlemen, we have a volunteer!" trills Sasha. "What is your name, my dear?"
"Sandra Hall," I state clearly.
"Well then, let's give our female tribute for the 167th Hunger Games a round of applause!" she says, enthusiastically. The only people that clap are she, herself and the mayor. The rest of the population stands silently, their faces somber, eyes full of hatred for the Capitol.
Did I just volunteer to be a tribute? Am I trying to get myself killed? I think to myself. Well, I couldn't just let poor little Shawna go! She wouldn't stand a chance at making it through training let alone the Games themselves.
In my internal conflict, I hardly notice as Jackson Mace, a boy in the grade above me, is reaped. I barely realize that we shake hands and I stumble into the Justice Building to say goodbye to my friends and family. I awake from my stupor to find Adrienne hugging my tightly and my dad sitting next to me on a plush couch.
"No! Don't go, Sandra!" sobs Adrienne. She squeezes me even tighter. "You can't die!"
"Hey, now! Who said anything about dying?" I ask, trying desperately to console my little sister. She brightens up at the idea that I might be able to come home. She turns and faces me, her forehead tense with determination.
"You will come home. You will train very hard and learn all of the survival skills you can. But most of all, you will win!" Adrienne says. Slapping my hand with each syllable. "Okay? Promise me, now. Swear that you will do everything in your power to survive and come home!" I sigh. I hate breaking promises.
"Okay. I promise I will win these games." I say. My father taps my shoulder.
"Listen, Sandra. The Games will change you. You will be tempted to do things that, normally, you would never even consider. Don't. Stay true to yourself. Stay true to your morals. And remember, we will be rooting for you," says my father in a low urgent voice. He pulls me into a hug. Adrienne joins in. We sit like this for a few minutes, until two burly Peacekeepers tell us that time is up. On the way out of the door, my sister blows me a kiss and my father puts both hands over his heart, our way of saying 'I love you'.
I say goodbye to a few girls from school, but I don't really hear what they say. All I register is a group of sobbing girls who all hug me multiple times. When they are finally escorted out, I steel myself and follow the Peacekeepers to the train station. I've got a promise to keep.