Days are precious and our time here is all we get. That's what I have to keep saying to myself. Make each moment count or else we'll never get it back. As much as I want to ignore today, ignore the reaping later, I can't. It's a day of my life - ignore it and it slips away, never to come back. I want to make every day of my life count, make it mean something, you know? Never living with the regret of letting something as precious as time slip away, that's how I want to be.
I wear what my mother calls my 'fine attire' and I go for a pre-reaping walk, just to see nature. I pass the little patch of bluebells in which I would usually sit, not sitting there today so I don't dirty my dress with the brown earth. Instead, I just keep walking, walking until I reach the water that glistens so brightly on a sunny day like today. I smile. It's a shame that so many people lock themseleves away on a morning like this one, where there's a blue sky and just a couple of fluffy clouds.
There's a light breeze hitting the back of my neck and I giggle, it tickles! I stand there for a while, just looking at the water, and then I make my way back home. I mustn't be late for the reaping - I wouldn't like to become acquaintanced with the results of that offence! I've never seen it in my lifetime, we're all too obedient these days, but there's a rumour that a girl was once whipped until she died, her back bloody, because she failed to turn up to the reaping. I don't know how much truth is in that, but I, for one, do not wish to discover.
My mother embraces me and then tells me to make haste so I'm not late. Heaven forbid if I am late. She grabs my palm in one of her hands and my brother's in her other, and she marches us to the square.
"Mother, where is Father?" I ask as we walk.
"Already there, poppet," she responds. I nod, though nobody notices my action.
We reach the square and the man at the desk pricks my finger for my blood. It doesn't seem the most humane way to sign people in. Then again, in what way is the Hunger Games humane? A bloody finger is the least of my worries.
I am led to my section and I stand there amongst the other children. It's a horrible feeling. Now, now, I needn't worry, I have next to no tesserae, there are people with far worse odds than me.
I gulp. It's not impossible that I could be reaped. I may have better odds than some, but others only have one entry, so they've got much better odds than I do.
Ariadne Garnett takes her place centre stage, her blue hair vibrant as ever. Her orange suit is awful, but slightly less hideous than last year's pink one. I allow myself to giggle at the memory. That was a dreadful choice of outfit.
Our district's mayor starts on and on about the origins of the games and, to be quite frank, it's boring me. So I pay no attention. Why should I? Everything we're told on this day is always a lie. I mean, I hardly believe that Ariadne feels honoured to be here, though she claims that she does each year. Every escort wants to be in the top two districts, and in comparison being here is laughable. I don't see why they try to lie and say they love it when they quite clearly don't.
Onstage sit the victors, all of them trying to look upbeat even though we all know that they're not, that they're as miserable as the rest of us. They've probably already figured out that the odds are against another victor this year. Mentoring must be horrible, each year helping someone, trying to give them hope of their survival when you know that chances are they'll die.
I don't think I could do it. It seems so cruel to think that the tributes are given hope of living, only to end up dying. Twenty-three do die every year. It's a horrible world that I wish I didn't live in. But I do, and that's life, and I'm going to make the most of it. We only get one life and it's precious, no matter how dreadful it may seem at times.
Ariadne says, "Ladies first!" and I hold my breath, it's a stressful moment as she walks to the bowl, picks one slip from thousands and returns to her place on the stage, behind the microphone. That could be me. Sheer terror kicks in. Oh, gosh, it could be my name!
She taps the microphone as though to get our attention, even though she is fully aware that we are all listening. I say a silent prayer that it is nobody who I know, that it isn't anybody who I care about. That it, most of all, isn't me.
"Johanna Mason." It's me.
All of the girls around me, all of the other seventeens, just stare at me as I begin to cry. Why me?
One girl pushes me and I stumble a few steps closer to the stage. As I walk, I feel everybody's eyes on me and the tears start to fall from my eyes even faster. One boy in the eighteen section sniggers as I pass. Usually I would think of possibly confronting him, but that's the least of my worries right now.
I tremble as I try to climb the stairs but I can't do it, I physically can't. Two peacekeepers arrive and carry me up the stairs as I sob, placing me to the right of Ariadne. I look at the audience, at the other eligible girls, none of them in any danger for another year as volunteers are requested. It's stupid protocol, we're in Seven - that means nobody wants to sacrifice themselves for others in the same situation. They just don't see the point. I'm not exactly sure I see the point myself, though as I stand here I wish someone- anyone, even, felt sorry for me and wanted to take my place.
It's just a futile wish, but it seems more possible when you stand there than it ever does while you're in safety. Of course, it isn't, it's just the way the desperate think. Right now, I am desperate. I need an escape from the Hunger Games.
There isn't one.
Now it's the boys. Araidne walks over to the bowl and selects a slip from right at the bottom. When back beside me, she clears her throat before proceeding to read.
"Gideon Harber."
A boy walks up from the thirteens. I'm unable to decide whether this is good or bad - good because he's less of a threat, bad because nobody that young deserves to die. I guess I'll go with bad.
Gideon and I are made to shake hands, and he's shaking as much as I am. There is no use trying to not show it - I'm petrified. Yes, I'm adept with an axe, but there isn't always an axe and there will be bigger, stronger tributes who are properly trained.
Ariadne makes some sort of announcement, I think it was our names again, but I don't really pay attention. After all, if I don't want to die then I need a plan. I can see my brother in the crowd, and I can only think one thing.
I have to survive.