It is the day of the reaping once again so many years later. My beautiful teenage daughter help support my weight as I hobble down to the Square with her. She's carrying a basket of cheese and bread and jam and is going to visit the children at the community home after the Reaping. What a kind young lady she turned out to be. I was afraid I was somehow going to ruin her life, coming from my circumstances and all. But everything turned out just fine and she came out a lively and caring young woman.
I was always afraid; the nightmares would never stop coming. They first came after I won the Hunger Games and spent my nights in my new Victor house instead of the shabby little farmhouse I used to share with what's left of my family. They continue to haunt me after all these years.
I knew what was coming, though. I knew it from the day, the moment that I stepped up and shouted out the infamous words "I VOLUNTEER!" for a small girl in the thirteen year old section. Death might come, but compared to the others, death was a blessing. Suffering, agony, emotional damage beyond repair. Why did I endure it all when I didn't have to? And to top that, for a girl I had never spoken to before in my life?
But something snapped in me when her name was called. Marigold Genesis, a pretty and very unique name in my district. One I had heard of before. The few people that knew quiet little Marigold proclaimed her very nice and sweet girl, too innocent to be a part of this world. And her eyes, if you could've seen her eyes the way I did when that horrible Capitol woman shrieked her name. Before, they have been brave little orbs of green and blue blinking away the fear, but then they became two devestated little blobs unsure of their purpose anymore. They were dull beyond the dullest shade of ash when a moment ago they were as bright and as fearless as the sun itself. A flood of tears threatened to spill as that little girl forced her legs to carry her to the stage. And then I saw it. Me. Myself. In her. In a quick flashback, I saw me running after my own sister, calling her name as she forced herself onstage. I was barely a toddler at that time, but my parents passed away and the only woman who took care of us came furiously to yank me back from her. She wouldn't even look at me. She wouldn't even look at anyone, standing up there on that stage being declared a tribute. And that was the last I ever saw of her.
Somewhere, out there, this little girl could be a big sister. She could be a friend. She could maybe someday be a lover. She was just a child now, for sakes. And I felt that connection to my sister. I had lost my sister once, the only companion I had in my life. My only friend. I was not going to let somebody else's sister go through the same thing I did. Even if I risk my past, present, and future. So without further thinking I threw myself at the stage and screamed "I VOLUNTEER!" And that has completely changed my life.
The little girl came before I boarded the train. She thanked me and told her how much I was a hero to not only her but her family. So I did save somebody's daughter. And that felt good. But to pay the price, I had to go into the Hunger Games. That felt worse than knowing your own death date because you basically just have signed the deal for one. But somehow, somehow, I was able to back it back. I think I knew in the back of my mind that I did battle for what I had lost, and I did it again to prevent others from losing what I had lost. That kept me sane. That kept me motivated. But most of all it kept me alive.
Many years later and the little girl has grown into a beautiful young woman. She married a handsome young man and they had six daughters. I married another Victor and we only had one daughter. My beautiful little girl Charity Dusk.
And now, many years after later, it is time once again for the dreaded Reaping.
The Escort is a different woman this time, some woman named Natta. At least she has a brown wig. The Escort when I volunteered had a rainbow wig and big red lips that made her look like a clown. Oh, how I keep forgetting how old I am! Charity sits me down on a comfortable bench and then goes off into the seventeen year old section. I feel a pang of guilt. If I wasn't so old and didn't need so much caring, Charity could have made some friends. Sometimes I feel like I spoil the child too much. But how can I? She is a very sweet girl. Much like Marigold Genesis, the poor thing whose husband's attempted escape caused four of her daughters to be reaped. And none of them made it out alive. At least she still has two lovely girls at home. If I didn't have Charity, I would be alone in the world. I love Charity with all my heart and I want to see her grow up completely.
After the mayor's speech, which of course none of us bothers with, Natta doesn't waste a second. She immediately strides to the reaping ball and pulls out a girl's name. I am praying for poor Marigold that she isn't going to have to give up another one of her daughters this time. And she doesn't. Because the name that Natta reads out is Charity Dusk.
