To show that many lives were lost needlessly by the uprising, each district will be required to send double the number of tributes.
Lives lost needlessly. That's one way to describe the Hunger Games, but no one says that aloud. I do not say it aloud either, for fear that my mother, elder brother and younger sister will suffer for it. I protect them from everything that I can, despite my mother and brother being adults.
I used to scare my family to death by saying things the Peacekeepers would consider rebellious aloud. It was only when my father sat me down and explained that if we said such things aloud, no matter how truthful they were, someone might hear and we would be punished. My sister and mother could get hurt, he said. I loved them both more than anything, and I respected my father enough to listen when he ordered me to do something, no matter my stubbornness that had been untamed even then.
This year is another Quarter Quell, the 50th anniversary of the Hunger Games. There will be four tributes taken from each district rather than the usual two, and my family's risk of having their children in the Hunger Games has just increased exponentially.
My father is the sole provider in our home and has continually refused to allow any of his children to apply for tesserae, no matter the circumstances, so I have only 5 slips in the Reaping bowl. This is a lot less than others have. My father works in the mines. On Sundays, he, my brother, and I hunt in the woods outside District 12. Joseph and I hunt on other days as well, after school and in the morning. Starting after this Hunger Games, he will join our father in the mines. That is, if he makes it through this Hunger Games. In this way, we make sure that our family has food, and we use the money our father makes from the mines on other essentials. Our lives are quite a bit better than some of the other families in District 12.
Sometimes, we will have extra game or greens that we trade in the Hob, the black market. Not that it is really illegal, as the Peacekeepers trade there as well. The only thing "black" about that market is the coal dust that covers it, brought in by the miners. We make sure to keep on good terms with the traders.
I don't hunt today. Joe and I hunted last night, because today the risk would be enormous. It is even worse than other Reapings because it is a Quarter Quell. Instead, I sleep in for the first time in a long time and spend the rest of the time before the Reaping being fussed over by my parents. We bathe vigorously one at a time, scrubbing the dirt and sweat from our bodies. I even wash my hair, which is not something that I do all the time because we need to save the soap for other things. I am the last to bathe, and I find an old dress of my mother's on my bed when I get out. It is a faded blue with matching shoes and I recognize it easily. It was a gift from her parents when she married my father and I know she treasures it greatly. I slip it on and head into the other room. My father is wearing his best clothes and my mother is wearing a more worn dress than the one she laid out for me. My brother wears a well mended but worn shirt and pants and my sister wears one of my old sundresses. I move forward to slide the strap up her shoulder, where it has fallen down. I smile down at her warmly before turning to my parents. They watch us all sadly. We could all be picked today. It is a very slight chance, all things considered, but there is a chance nonetheless. And it scares them to death.
At one o' clock, we have to head down to the square. Seven thousand people are here, a third of them children the right age for Reaping. Four of those will never return to the District after today.
Not that there has never been a District 12 Victor. It has happened once, and only once, in the last 50 years. I do not know what they did in regards to the District 12 tributes before Callow Rabat won the 20th Hunger Games when she was 15. My father says that Rabat struggled with surviving but used a combination of wit, sneakiness, and strength to win. On the replays of the games, Rabat got a low training score and a high body count. She stalked the careers from a safe distance, killing one when he or she separated from the group and then bolting before the others could find her. The Cornucopia killed 11 that year, the Careers killed 3 on the hunt and Rabat killed 9, including all 5 careers.
Once we reached the square, we separated. My parents went to the viewing area while my brother, sister and I signed in and headed for our age groups. I stand beside other 16-year-old Seam girls. We exchange nervous, silent nods and turn our attention inward. In front of the Justice Building, the normal temporary stage is set up, with three chairs, a podium and two large, glass balls. The first chair is for the Mayor, a cold man whom no one likes. The second is for the District escort, a woman by the name of Fifi Summer. The third chair seats Callow Rabat. She looks pale and weak, so unlike she was when she won her Games.
When the clock strikes two, the Mayor steps up and begins to recite, from memory, the history of Panem, the Dark Days, and the Treaty of Treason.
"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," he says firmly, a noticeable warning in his voice. No one dares to speak. He goes on after a moment, introducing the only District 12 victor. Rabat nods slightly at the mention of his name. Then, the mayor sits and Fifi gets up and heads for the podium.
"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She says cheerfully, disdain concealed in her voice. She hates working as the escort for 12 and desperately desires a better district. Unfortunately, for her and for us, unless another district escort retires or dies, she's stuck. She doesn't waste any time and gets right to the drawing. "Ladies first!" She calls, reaching into the bowl. She digs down deep and when she pulls out her hand, a slip of paper comes with it. And one of my biggest fears are realized when she calls out the name.
"Katniss Everdeen!"