I stood near the sides of the stage. I saw crowds of people staring at where we (I mean the Tributes) stood. "I hate this," I murmured to my friend Kuku. Kuku was also 'Reaped.' I mean, we only got sent a letter.
"Yeah," he whispered back, "I wonder what District I'd be representing. If I'm picked, I mean."
I smiled, "Bet I'd be District 1!" Better a Career District than a common one.
Kuku didn't reply, instead he just gazed troubled ahead and ran a hand through his slick black hair. He's a bit of a giant in height, surprisingly enough not getting any height reductions during his teen years, these appearance altering operations were common place in the capitol, and most Capitolians get at least three in their lifetime. Usually Kuku's hair is spiked up in a question mark at the tip of his head, however today, the slick of black hair hangs limp and unstyled, making a twinge of uncomfortableness arising within me. What could be happening to worry everyone to the extent that they forget their make-up or hairstyle? Which is a big thing in the capitol, so any disturbance to that is surely a major one. Once again, the importance of the situation, and the districts complexity in their revenge dawns on me.
Exhale. Inhale. Exhale Breathe.
Please go alright.
Before I could indulge in any more pleasurable or distracting thoughts, a huge thundering crack of static echoed through the stadium, where a thousand tiny lights blazed into place, and really accentuated the small, space on stage. A moment of silence passed, before a huge, gigantic array of moving clothing trailed on stage. My heart beat. Was that meant to be us? Soon it turned out, the array of clothing, hats, socks, gloves, big pompous bowties and ribbons all glazed in a thick balloon-like structure of bright pink fabric had arms and legs, and a face too - so intensely decorated you could barely make it out until the lips started moving in the swathe of pink. Disgust swirled inside my stomach, drawing the sensation of pins dancing in my gut, and a thousand tiny prickles crawling up and down my back and my hands started sweating at the monstrosity on stage. It separated an arm from its clothing, reached out for the microphone, and grasped it in its crinkly, pink filled fingers, before saying in an artificially sweet voice, "Welcome, welcome. To the mock Reaping of the seventy sixth Hunger - oops," what appeared to be lips crinkled up as fake laughter filled the stadium, penetrating the ears and permanently entangling itself in the backs of my brain, ahahahha, "Capitol Games! The first tribute for District One is..."
Could this be mocking us? I thought, looking closely at the announcer. Suddenly a thousand thoughts started flowing to the surface, and attacking my mind like the way knitting needles could attack a lumpy piece of gum to shreds; a piece of gum that's sick of being chewed on and don't know how much more it could take. The questions never seem to stop pounding.
Is she a representation of us?
How did they do her make-up and clothes like that?
Are we really that horrible in the eyes of the districts?
Is this another form of revenge?
How much worse could it get?
"Kanashii Yoru!" The woman on the stage screeches, causing many people to cringe and cover their ears at the terrible imitation of our accent. I glance sympathetically as a thirteen year old girl makes her way up onto the stage. Although she appears confident, I can see panic sparking in her eyes even from where I'm standing. I'd seen Kanashii a few times at many of my grandfather's extravagant dinner parties and to tell the truth, I don't think that I'll be missing her too much.
A big, fake grin is plastered across the mock-Capitol woman as her gaze rakes across the audience, "Any volunteers for Miss Yoru?" She asks, her voice a sickly sweet tone. No one dares to step up and take her place. I can tell that everyone's secretly glad that they're now slightly less likely to be picked and I hate myself for feeling relieved.
Only eleven more places left for the girls. I find myself thinking; Now there's a smaller chance of me being picked.
The mock-Capitol woman skips over to the second bowl, "Now for the boy representing District One!" She shouts gleefully, "How exciting!" Her enthusiasm makes me want to be sick as she plunges her hand into the bowl and pulls out a name from deep inside. She unfolds it, stares down at it and a smirk crosses her face, distorting her makeup as she leaves us hanging in the tension. At last, she reads it out loud. "Mars Antony!"
That idiot? Again, no one volunteers. Another child that no one will miss.
I stand patiently. More names are called, but none are mine.
A couple of them stand out in my head, like 'Athena Von Trapp' – wasn't Athena the name of a Greek wisdom goddess? Hugh Blight stands out too, and then comes Estralian Mailen, and as the freaky lady raises her lips, the sound 'Kuku Phoreva' greets my ears, the name drawn out in her hideous voice. Kuku gasps beside me, his slick black needle shaped string of hair at the top of his head doing a little jump as the owner of the head gasped, before flopping back down over his eyes. He reached up to swat it away, and headed on stage mouth wide open in shock. I try to clutch onto him, but the 'capitol' officials pull him away. 'Franchescia Noob' gets called out several names later, then comes Byron Matryoshka for District 12, and just as the prickle of worry starts to crawl off my shoulders, and leaves me in peace, I hear my name being called.
The two words, "Rose Snow" echo around the Capitol Square as all eyes turn to me. Just when I thought that I was as safe as possible in this place, I have been called to compete. Maybe that's what they want, to crush my hope just when I get a glimmer of it.
Slowly, I stumble toward the stage. The children of the Capitol move aside to create a path for me as I trip on the stars as I climb up onto the raised platform. I can barely think of anything and I forget that this is all being recorded and on live television, broadcasted to every corner of the nation. All I can think of now is that I'm going to die in front of my people like a lowly, rebellious District person.
I glance over at Kuku, but he doesn't meet my eyes. I hope that we won't end up killing each other, but I don't want to kill anyone. I'm better than that.
It's unsure, even to me, how or why it happened, but somewhere, on the way to stage, the 'capitol' (district rebels pretending to be us) officials decided to get more entertainment out of me, and one of them sharply thumped the butt of their gun on me, spreading instant pain and humiliation as several feet found my back, and practically kicked me on stage. The last thought that entered my head as I stood up was; I'm Rose Snow. The capitol used to be my kingdom, and I used to be its princess. Now I'm stripped of dignity, humiliated and sentenced to death.
AN: For future reference in case you get confused:
District 1-
Boy: Mars Antony
Girl: Kanashii Yoru
District 2-
Boy: William (Bill) Lawson
Girl: Frostia Tinaton
District 3-
Boy: Richard (Dick) Head
Girl: Madeline (Mad) Crosidbiatch
District 4-
Girl: Mint Leaf
District 5-
Boy: John Stevens
Girl: Diana Lawson
District 6-
Boy: Prometheus Swain
Girl: Proppy Swain
District 7-
Boy: Moranfro Sedva
Girl: Athena Von Trapp
District 8-
Boy: Hugh Blight
Girl: Estralian Mailen
District 9-
Boy: Kuku Phoreva
Girl: Esia Pritchard
District 10-
Boy: Sifton Lyree
Girl: Franchescia Noob
District 11-
Boy: Douglass Ackroyld
Girl: Felix Delephanty
District 12-
Boy: Byron Matryoshka
Girl: Rose Snow
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