Chapter 1: Birthday
Every year, on this day, the same fear washes over me, and I drown in it. There's a dam that I spend every year rebuilding to keep the fear at bay, yet, on this day, it collapses. It simply gives away, and there's not a thing I can do about it.
My eyes flutter open, and I receive a taste of the opulent, thin rays of warm light that shine at the crack of dawn, to tell one that a new day has come. The sun shouldn't be shining; it should be clouded by the stormy vapours that blow about in the sky, for today is not a happy day. But the heavens don't observe our tension and alter the skies accordingly. Today is a bright day; the vast blue land above bearing not a single cloud, when there should be a storm.
The bed creaks mournfully as I leave it; almost as if it were upset I would not be staying longer. It would be a pleasure to, but there are many tasks that must be done during the course of the day, commencing from sunrise. As I change into my simple clothing, I pause for a slight moment and wonder if maybe in the other Districts, the day is beginning for some families already, too. Not too many people rise from slumber at this hour of daybreak. It's much too early, and there's still about a full hour and a half before the sun will completely be in the sky. But although some people may have the privilege of resting for another hour, it is not a luxury for those of us who live in this part of District 11. Here is the portion of land that the most apple trees in the Orchard grow in. They are also the very trees that bear the most fruit in the entire District. But because there are only so many people assigned to tend to the apple trees of a certain part of the Orchard, our section is year-round by far the busiest.
Most of the other Districts are rather well off (and certainly richer than ours); there would be no reason for anyone there to wake so soon. But perhaps in District 12? I have heard stories about District 12, though not very detailed ones at that. They are the District that produces all the coal, no? The miners must have to work so many hours a day. But I really do wonder if there's anyone out there…anyone, who could understand and relate to me. I am certain that even in District 12, there are families much wealthier than mine, and also families in far worse condition. I wonder how many hours they must work in a day?
But even if on a regular day they work their fingers to the bone, that would not be the case today. I don't believe anyone really works today at all. Most people would rather spend this day with family, or friends. Part of this day, anyway.
I tiptoe down the creaky wooden staircase, careful not to disturb the sleep of my younger siblings. I will come back in twenty minutes to wake them up.
"Rue! Rue!" A little voice cries. I turn, and one of three little brothers crashes into me, and hugs onto me tight. I have to grip the staircase handle tightly so we don't fall down the stairs.
"What's wrong, Briyu? You're supposed to be asleep!"
His little lips tremble. "I…I couldn't! Today is—"
I hug him real tight, and try to stop his words before they come out. "Oh, I know, Briyu. But don't worry, nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. Everything will be fine, same as always!" I utter assuring words, but they are just as much for me as they are for my little brother.
He reluctantly pulls away. "If you say so, Rue." Briyu says tiredly.
"Oh, I do. Now go back and try to catch a little bit more sleep, okay?"
"Okay."
Briyu goes back to his bed, eager at the thought of a wink more of sleep, while I continue my quiet journey down the staircase. My mother is waiting for me in our shabby little kitchen. She is cutting a loaf of bread. It's not fancy or puffy, just the regular, brown, hard-ish loaves of stuff that we can make from what little grain we have.
"Rue, you're downstairs later than usual today."
"I'm sorry, mother."
"That's fine. Come have breakfast."
I sit down at our small table. It isn't big enough to seat our entire family at once, so we have to eat at separate times. I don't pay much attention to my mother cutting the bread, but when she slides the plate to me, I gape in surprise at the extra piece of bread that is given to me. Not only that, but butter—yes! Real, sweet, creamy butter—is carefully spread on each slice of bread. I am almost drooling, but I shake my head. No, this can't be butter; we can't afford delicacies like that. And this extra slice of bread…why? For me to have an extra slice someone else would have to give up one of theirs.
I look up at my mother with a puzzled expression. "Mother, what—"
"Happy birthday, Rue." Mother smiles. "I wanted to give you a treat for your birthday. Do you like it?"
Well I…" I blink in astonishment, "I…yeah. T-thanks, mother…but you really shouldn't have. We can't afford butter."
"Oh, just eat up already, won't you? I had a little money saved for something special. Besides, no one in this family has seen butter in months. I thought it'd be nice."
I pick up one slice of the bread and bite delicately into a corner. It's so delicious; I don't think I've never tasted anything so good. It's all I can do to keep myself from eating in slow bites, to refrain from stuffing the entire thing into my mouth. I finish eating my first slice slowly and then pick up my second, the extra slice. A bite, then another, and a third. Soon the last piece is almost gone, too, and all I have is a small bit left. I try to savour it, but it's gone too fast. I stare longingly at my plate—I want more.
If you were a victor, then you'd have all the bread and butter you want, a small, nagging voice inside me says.
I frown. No, I refuse to think like that. But no matter how I deny it, it's true. It's sad, but true. If you could win the Hunger Games, you'd be a victor, and you'd be showered with all kind of things. Things that the rest of the people can't have. Like sugar, for example, and butter. And money. Oh, if you were a victor, then the money would never sop flowing! You'd have bucketfuls of it.
You could be a victor, too. You just have to—
No. No, no, no! I shake my head fiercely. I can't think like that. I just can't. Reluctantly I get up from my chair, and bring the plate to the counter. Now I have to go wake up my younger siblings.
I try to make my trip up the stairs as long and as quiet as possible, because I want them to get as many extra seconds of sleep as possible. Even when I reach the top, I stand for ten seconds before taking another step. When I move, finally, my movements are still slow. I poke the door, trying to open it slowly. It takes me a full minute to open the door fully. I could have entered long before the minute ended, as the gap was wide enough for me to slip through a long time ago, but I am just stalling time.
There they are, huddled together on two beds. There are five of them—the three youngest on one bed, and the other two, who are just two years older, sleeping soundly on the second bed. I hesitate for a moment, and then walk over to the first bed, the one with the three littlest ones.
"Hey, guys, it's time to get up." I say gently. No one even stirs—they're all deep sleepers. "Wake up."
Still nothing. I stretch out my fingers and nudge Briyu on his shoulder, but he still doesn't respond. So instead, I shake his shoulder. He turns around, knocking into Jaana and Kile. Now all three of them are awake.
"Ouch, Briyu! That hurt!" Complains Jaana, who is otherwise known as Ms. Delicate, for she bruises ever so easily.
"It's time to get up." I say gently.
I wake Matseru and Idon from the other bed and help them get dressed. It's so strange how all of my siblings are so young. Jaana and Kile are both four (they're twins), Briyu is five, and Matseru and Idon are both six (also twins). I used to have an older brother, too, named Isaac, but he passed away five years ago from fever.
After everyone's dressed, I take them downstairs to breakfast, and I go outside to help my father in the orchard. He's been out in the orchard working since half an hour ago. Usually I'd join him sooner, but I was late going downstairs today, and thus late to help him out in the orchard. I find my way to my father.
"Good morning, Rue." He says.
"Good morning, father. Sorry I'm late today."
"That's alright," He wipes the sweat off him brow. "I'm almost done here anyway."
I stand there for a moment, confused. "What do you mean? The day's barely started! How could you be—"
"We're technically not supposed to work today. But I just wanted to water the trees a little. Besides, we have to go in the afternoon, right?"
The thought makes my stomach lurch. In the afternoon. This very afternoon could mean the end of me.
I spend the whole morning dreading the afternoon; while washing the dishes, while walking in the orchard. But hours fly by quickly, and soon it's twelve. We have to get to the Town Square at one. We have to leave soon, because it's a long walk from our part of the Orchard to the square. I wash up as fast as I can, and slip into my best clothes, which really aren't that pretty or fancy anyway.
The reaping. I've always feared it, but in different ways. In the years before, I feared it because it could take away my friends and people I cared about and knew. And because those people were taken away it made the people they know miserable. It's an entire chain. But this year—this year is different. I fear it so much more this year because today, I've turned twelve. Today, I am eligible to be entered in the draw for the Hunger Games.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!" Chirps the familiar, over-enthusiastic voice that we hear live every year. It's Keli Heron, the "reaper", as we speak of her in our district. She comes every year, scantily clad in colours I never thought existed, and things on her body that give her a slightly inhumane look.
I hardly listen during the whole speech they give about how Panem and the Hunger Games came to be. I'm too busy dreading what will happen next.
It comes too soon.
"Well, now, this is the most exciting part! Time to select this year's tributes!" Keli bounces over to the glass ball that holds the name of the boys. She takes her time, rummaging through the ball, a slow smile on her face. Finally, she pulls her arm out, pinching a folded sheet of paper. She unfolds the paper, and I feel the crowd hold their breath. "Thresh Pine."
I feel a twinge of sadness. I know Thresh; he is from our section of the Orchard. How many times he helped me up trees when I was little I do not know. He still comes around often, during harvest, to lend a hand. He's big, and looks kind of mean at first, but he's really kind. I remember once I fell from a tree when I was four, and I would have probably been badly bruised had he not caught me. He was ten at the time.
But before I can feel bad about Thresh, Keli has already crossed the stage and to the other glass ball containing the girls' names. Thresh is already standing on the stage, but I barely have time to register that, because I get a lurching feeling in my stomach as Keli digs her hand into the glass ball, feeling the slips of paper. I feel like I'm about to faint, and I know the blood has completely drained from my face. Her arm stops moving, and I know she's holding a piece of paper tightly between two fingers. I am gasping for air now, and I really do feel like throwing up, but I am still hoping, desperately hoping that the piece of paper she's holding doesn't say my name. But I don't want it to say anyone else's name, either—no one's family should have to suffer. But it has to say someone's name. I'm trying to decide who's name I'd rather have chosen when I hear—
"Rue Thornfield."