A/N: This is officially a solo story! My co-writer is too stressed with work to help me write it! So hopefully I'll be okay on my own.
The sun was shining through the open window in my room; calling to me, telling me it was time to wake up. I didn't want to wake up. I didn't want to go to the Reaping. The worn sheets of my bed huddled around me, holding me close, and I was content on staying in this position for the rest of the day.
I guess, the odds weren't in my favor.
"Addie, get up!" My dad's grizzly face appeared in the crack between my door and the wall.
"Thomas and Riley are here," he clapped his hands together, a grin pinching at his golden stubble, "They're waiting on you."
I knew they weren't just waiting on me—they were waiting on DeLuca too. Thomas and Riley, the twin boys who lived across the way from us, have been my best friends for as long as anyone can remember. DeLuca, on the other hand, came along from the Capitol (no one knows why) when she was just a baby, and didn't try to befriend us until we were fourteen and about to experience another dreadful Reaping.
I grumbled, wishing I could pull the covers over my face, but got up anyway. I knew I couldn't prolong fate. No one could…except the President.
President Snow Jr., the grandson of Panem's previous president—President Snow—took over the reign almost five years ago. Both Snows' were devious men, existing only to bring tragedy to the 13 Districts they controlled.
"Time's ticking," Dad said, shutting my door. I could hear him tauntingly making ticking noises as he walked back into the only other room in our shack besides his room—the dining room.
I pulled open my dresser; I wore the same thing every year, the only clothes I owned that were at least a little bit presentable for a 'big occasion' such as the Reaping. A black, knee-length dress was tucked inside the drawer, patterns of roses strewn on the trim. I picked it up and laid it out on my bed, but even the sight of the only piece of clothing my mother left behind besides her leather jacket didn't make me smile. And why should it? I hated that woman.
And woman foolish enough to leave my father—and at such a terrible time—doesn't deserve my time.
A small tub of heated water was waiting for me in the corner of my room, and I spent five minutes scrubbing the filth off of my skin. The water turned from a clear color to dirty brown, and by the time I stepped out, it was more a tub of dirt than it was water.
My hair fell to my mid-back in soft brown ringlets, and I pulled it over my right shoulder; braiding it in an elegant fishtail. Shrugging on the tan leather jacket that was worn with wear, I rushed out of my room and out the door of our small shack. Thomas and Riley were waiting like Dad said, but DeLuca was with them now too.
"By the love of freedom, you take ages to get ready," said DeLuca, tucking a stray wisp of blonde hair behind her ear.
Thomas snorted. "Oh, don't act like you didn't just get here a minute ago."
"As interesting as it is listening to you two argue, I think we better get going." Riley ushered the fumbling pair ahead of us, sharing a knowing glance with me. I hesitated slightly, but then smiled. The four of us were great friends, but Riley was my closest—we were inseparable at times.
On our way to the District 12 plaza—which wasn't too impressive—small, deserted stores, a candy shop almost no one could afford, newspaper stands—we witnessed the usual situation that was the Reaping. Little kids crying; fearing for their older siblings. Twelve-year-old children, frozen in terror at their new chances of being chosen for slaughter. Parents, relatives, and pets weeping at the thought of never seeing their loved ones again.
The only people who weren't emotional wrecks were the Peacekeepers, who were in-charge of keeping the District in line. Not many people were fond of the Peacekeepers, but there were a few of the in-clad-white authorities that knew how to be friendly. One of them—Harold Kingman—frequently put in bids for whatever meat I chose to sell after hunting.
When we reached the plaza, the four of us were aware that soon we'd be separated. I was sixteen—and sent to the line of my respected age and gender group, while DeLuca was to make her way to the seventeen-year-old group of girls.
Thomas and Riley were eighteen-years-old now, and had the happiness of no more Reapings to look forward to after today. This would be their last one.
We stood in line momentarily, listening to the soft sobbing of a little girl in front of us whose finger was just pricked for a bloody fingerprint. She stood there weeping, cries bubbling out of her throat. "You can go," said the Peacekeeper behind the table.
I kneeled down next to the little girl, and tucked a fiery red strand of hair behind her ear. "It'll be okay, Marley."
We were all familiar with Marley—she was the mayor's daughter, and this was her first Reaping. She was also one of the little girls who followed me around while I rebuilt equipment and machinery for whomever asked. I was exceptionally talented when it came to technology, and while District 12 was limited, we did have second-hand things such as overheads for the classrooms, automobiles for the richer citizens of the district, and other small contraptions. Because they were only second-hand, they fell apart a lot or stopped working.
That would be their signal to call on me—for a small price such as a piece of bread, candy, or other small necessities. I never ate whatever I was given however, instead I found people on the streets who looked like they could use something to eat.
"B-b-but—"
I put a finger to the little girl's quivering lips. "I said it'll be okay. Listen to me, the cut on your finger will go away in a few days—you'll barely notice it." Her tears stopped pouring, but she was still sniffling. "You won't be chosen. This is only your first year."
By the time I coaxed Marley to stand with her respective age and gender group, the Peacekeeper behind the desk looked extremely annoyed. His beady, dark eyes were hard, and when he took my finger to get a blood sample, he pricked it harder than necessary.
"Hey!" Riley stepped out from behind me, but I gave him a rough push back. He knew the trouble he could get in if he picked a fight with a Peacekeeper.
"Is there a problem?" The Peacekeeper's smile was sinister.
"Not at all, sir." I gave him a forced smile, and then made my way to my own age and gender group. A few of the girls standing around me gave small smiles or half-hearted greetings, but no one looked lively. Who would? At the Reapings, no one with a heart was ever lively.
The crowd of citizens and possible-tributes stirred restlessly. At last, our Capitol escort—Hilly Trench—approached the microphone in the center of the stage. Her bright pink high-heels made a clacking sound with every step she took, and her matching ensemble of a pink, hour-glass dress could burn holes through someone's eyes if they stared long enough. Her skin was a light blue, with pink swirls tattooed all around her legs and arms and neck.
"Welcome, welcome! May I welcome each and every one of you to the 100th annual Hunger Games! I am pleased to be here, at the very famous District 12, to choose two possible victors of the 100th games! Before we begin however, there will be a marvelous showing of a special video sent to you all the way from the Capitol!"
Hilly ran a hand through her faded blue pixie-cut, and smiled a toothy smile as the screen overlooking the plaza changed from the crowds of District 12 to the buzzing of a video shown every year. I caught DeLuca sharing a weak grin with me from the corner of my eye, and responded with a nail sliding across my throat. She smiled in feeble amusement, and I gave her a wink.
The Capitol's video gave a bland explanation of the Dark Days, an exaggerated description of the ruins of District 13 and the rebellion 25 years ago, along with a short clip of Katniss Everdeen being killed in a bombing by the Capitol. The former President Snow's voice narrated the terrible video, but I didn't listen to any of the words. I never did. What was the point?
Instead, I eyed Peeta Mellark—the boy who was in love with Katniss Everdeen—and felt a pang of sympathy at the struggle he was trying to hide. A tear escaped his left eye, and instead of facing the crowds of people, he bent his head in his hands and shielded his expression from District 12 and probably the rest of Panem.
I searched out a specific face in the groups of the seventeen-year-old boys, and found who I was looking for. The blonde head of Peeta's son—Hunter Mellark—could be spotted easily in the small group of boys. His eyes were focused on his father, and a look of pain was pressed on his features. I looked away.
The sudden sound of Hilly Trench clapping awoke the people of District 12 who were brave enough—or bored enough—to not pay attention to the video. "How marvelous! How simply marvelous!"
Hilly cleared her throat before continuing, "The escorts of the 13 Districts were asked not to announce the Quarter Quell until the day of the choosing-ceremony."
The intake of breath in the crowds of people showed how nervous and frightened they were—what would be the terrible addition to the 100th games?
"This Quarter Quell will provide two tributes from each district not hand-chosen, but instead by the two…most-suited tributes after a test that will be given to every person eligible for the 100th Hunger Games. A 'survival of the fittest' of sorts, if you would."