Chapter 1 – Reaping Day
Today it will be eleven. Today my name will have been written onto eleven pieces of perfectly folded card. There will be eleven chances that my life is about to make a drastic and unwanted change.
Everyone else must be awake I think, looking around my small shared bedroom. Tainted wallpaper peeling from the walls, creaking floorboards and a crooked door that stands ruggedly on the other side; its not much, but we get by, we have to.
Quickly I get changed and pull on my jacket, carefully avoiding the holes in the right arm in case of trapping my hand.
I soon learn that my brother has already left for the fields; probably before sunrise again. Ever since my father fell ill he's been much more solitary, leaving early for work, hardly speaking in the evenings. No longer is he the boy who was funny and always happy, someone who I adored, someone to look up to. He's grown up I guess, taking responsibility for me and my mother despite him being only two years older than myself. I know it upsets him that I had to apply for tesserae this year, but he's got to understand that I am not a little child anymore. This family is as much my responsibility as his, and if getting extra grain and oil means my name is put in more times then so be it.
It's my third reaping. Last year a girl only a year older than I am now was chosen. I knew her, we sowed seeds together and even though we didn't talk much I couldn't help but feel the need to save her, help her in any way I could, she didn't return. She was gone just like the many before her, and the many that are unfortunately to come.
In the other room my mother is boiling water for my father, it's the only warmth we can offer him when the little blankets we have fail. Her bony hands tremble as she struggles to lift up the heavy kettle she is taking over to him. I look at them both, hollow eyes, tired faces, it pains me to think I can't help them as much as I would love to. When he fell ill last month a dark shadow was cast over our small house, days became shorter, colder and filled with my mother's grief. He's dying. My family falling apart with every moment that he gets worse. Medicine that is all he needs, yet that is something which we cannot afford to provide him with. How can this happen? Why is he suffering? Just like many others around here. Why do they have to endure pain when there is a cure?
Due to the lack of money that my father's illness has brought my mother has to work in the factories so we have enough to feed us, and even though me and my brother protest, she insists that we have majority of the little food we get in. Me and my brother work in the grain fields and even though we work the most hours we can around school, money is very tight.
That's what it's like in District 9, being one of the poorest districts many of us struggle to get enough food and money. Being the grain district jobs include harvesting, sowing seeds, working in the factories and occasionally a chance to work at the small stables looking after the few working horses that stay there. My mother, not being strong enough to push the harvesters, started to work in the factories when my father no longer could. I dislike the idea, given the depressing atmosphere and poor conditions that the factories hold, but it's not much different here at the moment.
I greet them with few words, knowing that it is as much as my mother can take. We all know of the day and find it unnecessary to mention it. I quickly help her with the rest of the lifting, then force on my boots and head out our small creaky front door. Outside the eerie atmosphere continues, the streets are almost deserted apart from the handful of peacekeepers, the people that form a gendarmerie controlled by the capitol, who are putting up banners in the market square. None of the stalls seem to be being managed and it appears that all of the shops are closed, despite them looking murky whether open or closed.
I think about what it must be like in the Capitol, the city of Panem, a place where the rich and powerful reside, a place in which district members can do nothing but loath. After the great war of the world Panem was all that was left of North America. The Capitol is where all power now lies and even though there has been a rebellion against it it still remains strong whilst the 12 districts that surround it suffer at its gain. I wonder if anyone there will even spare a thought for the families that will lose loved ones in what is inevitable to come, does anyone there care what happens to us? Think that what is happening is wrong?
But then why would they? A place full of riches, fine clothes foods, impressive housing; they will not be affected by what is to come, to them this is entertainment.
What can be said is that here it is very different. Many people stay at home on reaping days, treasuring the last moments they may have with their children. Dreading who will be the next victim of the Hunger Games.
That's what this is all about, the silence, the fear; it's because of The Hunger Games, where each year, one boy and one girl are chosen from each of the twelve districts at a reaping and are then made to fight to death in an unknown arena. I find it hard to see the elements of entertainment and community it claims to bring.
I follow the long, dusty, dirt track to the main fields, spotting only two people on the way. As I pick up the pace a cloud of dust forms around my feet and clings to my dark trousers. I go to brush it off but realise there is no point when I will only continue to get muddier. It is not until later, in the fields, that I spot my brother; forcing a metal harvester through the field with a look of anger over his face. I wish to speak to him but an approaching peacekeeper reminds me otherwise.
Today we do not have to work, but some of us still do. Not just for the extra money it brings, little as it is. But for the peace of mind and normality it offers us. It seems like the harvesters are stiffer than normal, but it might just be that the mood I'm in is making everything seem worse. Not many girls of my age do this work, but I'm stronger than many of them because of the lifting I've done for a while now, helping my brother in the fields and my cousin who got a job working at the stables.
At 1:00 PM we are told to leave and I wait for my brother by the old rusty gate that is the entrance, we start to walk home in silence.
I know that, given the opportunity he would volunteer for me if I was chosen, and I feel I would do that same, but we both know it can't be done. "Josh," I tell him, "why are you being like this? This is what they want, they want to intimidate us. But that's the thing, you can't let them." He opens his mouth to speak but closes it soon after with no sound being made. I sigh with frustration as we continue our dull journey home.
It's not until later he answers, "It's not that easy, I can't help it. You don't know what it's like". "Yes I do" I snap back, "don't you think I despise what they are doing, don't you think I lay awake a night hoping we won't get chosen, hoping no one will." "But they will, and it could be either of us, both of us even" "Don't…" I start, but I find it hard to find the right thing to say. The rest of trip remains silent and disobliging.
I hate it, I wish he would listen. My biggest fear is that he will get chosen and there will be no way of me helping him, the last proper memory of him being when he was anxious and angry.
We still have an hour to get ready but my mother advises me to start getting ready soon. I nod and go into the back room, I spot a light purple dress lying on my bed but I don't get changed yet. There's somewhere I need to go first, to clear my head. Quietly I go out the back door and run again down the dirt track towards the fields. Just before I get to the gate I change track and head into a small collection of trees towards the tattered stables.
It's one of the few places that isn't riddled with peacekeepers on reaping day. I shouldn't really be here, but right now I don't really care, why should the Capitol control our lives, ruin them?
I stumble over the gate and quietly run around the back where there is a hole in the wall I can just about fit through.
It is here that I can finally relax. I slide down the old wall and cup my hands over my face, breathing deeply as I do so. It will be okay, it has to be. I can't be scared, I won't be. There's no point in me being angry, there's nothing I can do. I won't be scared; they cannot take away everything I have, one day they will see. They will see what they have done.
I start to relax, even if it is only a little bit. I know I can't stay long so I force myself to get up, quickly I adjust my jacket and decide to leave through the main entrance instead, unaware of the danger I may face if caught.
Before leaving I lean over the small stable door on the right, hoping to see Merlin, pitch black and one of the smallest of the working horses he has been my favourite since I first came here, when I was 11.
I break a smile when I see him, happily eating a large mouthful of hay. He looks over at me but continues to eat, as I had expected. It is not until I extend my arm when he decides to come over, nudging it as he walks to the door. I go to stroke him but a large clatter stops me in my tracks. I silently duck behind a hay bale and wait to see if anyone emerges, but no one comes into sight. I decide that I must leave now, if I am to get back in time. I run past the stables from which the clatter came from and glance over to see if anyone is there, but all I can see are three frayed buckets sprawled across the floor. It must have been the wind; or one of the horses, so I start to relax again.
"Who's there?" A bellowing voice echos behind me. It feels as though my heart has fallen into my stomach and my mind is racing with the possible actions I could take. With no time to hide again I sprint over to the gate and climb it as fast as I can. The sound of footsteps increasing behind me forces me to accelerate and I run as fast as I can through the trees and back to the main path, pulling my hood over my head to hide my face and hair. If it is a peacekeeper they will be searching for anyone trying to hide from the reaping, a crime which faces most terrible punishments.
But I wasn't hiding, that would be gutless. Even if I want nothing more to escape into the woods, to know that the people of District 9 could be free and to feel as though I could properly live my life.
The sight of my house fills me with relief and again I use the back entrance. I am lucky that no one is in the back room and after a quick change and wash I go back into the main room where the rest of my family gathers. I have decided not to wear the dress my mother laid out for me and instead put on a pair of dark brown trousers and a forest green blouse, something much more comfortable. To my delight my mother doesn't question my choice of clothing, however my absence has not gone un-noticed as I had hoped.
"Where have you been?" My mother starts "Sorry Mum, I just went out. For some fresh air." I reply, hoping she will not ask and more questions. "But you've been out in the fields all morning." I open my mouth to answer but am thankfully interrupted. "Anyway, hurry up. We don't want to be late!" I nod and quickly put my hair into a ponytail with two braids running down the side.
We make our way to the town's marketplace where a small stage bearing three chairs takes centre, two screens hanging either side. Tables of peacekeepers lay before us and my family are forced to separate.
I feel a sharp prick as bright red liquid floods my finger. A peacekeeper forces it onto a crisp white piece of card, my name already engraved. I am next directed to a group of girls with identical or similar ages to my own. Most of them I recognise from school or the market, some of them I would even consider to be my friends, but we avoid eye contact and conversation. That's the worst part of today, what it does to everyone. How it strikes fear into every soul and crushes families.
After everyone has been sorted into the gender and age related groups three people walk onto the stage. Two of them take a seat each but the other steps forward towards the microphone centre stage. As the tall, pale, blue haired man adjusts the stand everyone falls silent. Finally he speaks, giving us his usual Capitol dictated speech.
"I Inigo Wilfred, Capitol representative of District 9 can honestly say that as I look outwards onto all of these young faces I can see a fighter; a winner" His words hit me like hail; I know he doesn't mean it, if he knew what it was like then he wouldn't treat the reaping like this. But then how could he know; how could anyone from the Capitol understand; they have never had their names on one of those pieces of paper, they have never felt the pain to watch someone they love as young as twelve walk to their death.
"How about boys first, this time" I hear Inigo say and immediately I return my attention to the stage. He places his Capitol perfected hand into the bowl and pulls out an impeccably folded piece of parchment. I plead it's not Josh, I dread to think about how many times his name is in it this year, I know he's claimed for tesserae as much as possible and it angers me that his life might be at stake merely for extra grain and oil.
I can't close my eyes, even though I want to, I need to make sure.
"William Dennison".
A huge sense of relief fills my body and I almost feel the need to smile. But I can't, how can I, knowing that this boy has a 1 in 24 chance of returning alive, less if you count the training of the careers. I see someone from the other side of the crowd slowly walking up to the stage, his light brown hair reflecting the sunlight. I recognised him from school even though his name didn't trigger a memory, his face is pale and the silence is filled by grieving sobs from what I assume to be his mother.
I swallow and realise that the girls are next, as once again Inigo places his hand between a different collection of parchment my thoughts turn to my own welfare. I want to look at Josh but I stop myself. I can't let him think I am scared, I can't make him worry more than he already is.
A piece of parchment is raised to the air and is carefully opened, I await the worst. "Evanna Ambers".
It is.