District One Girl:
The stadium was full of people, young and old. The children were sorted into their age groups: a section for twelve-year-olds, thirteen-year-olds, and so on up to the age eighteen. Everyone squirmed in their seats, looking nervous, anxious, hoping they would be safe, back in their homes by dinner, and most of all, watching the horror of the Games taking place somewhere else far, far away.
The camera zoomed in on one face in the "eighteen" section, a pretty girl that looked like a typical District One blonde. She looked uncomfortable, and watched the center of the stage, glancing occasionally at the spectator seats. There, a husband and wife nodded encouragingly at her, although they didn't look that excited, like they knew they'd be disappointed...
This is it...the reaping. My family loves the Games, but ever since my brother died in them, I've hated them. It's so stupid, watching children get slaughtered while people cheer on their killers. My parents have wanted me to volunteer ever since I was twelve, but I don't want to. Every time a girl gets reaped, they look to me, but every single time, I look away, and don't volunteer, and my parents sit there frowning, like all their time spent training me was wasted.
This year I'll have made it, though. It's my last year, my last chance to get reaped. My name is never going to get picked; there are too many other people. No way...I'm safe.
The lady who's going to pick the names climbs onto the stage. She's this ridiculously bubbly, ditzy little airhead with a name like a jewelry store. Glitter Glamour. This time she's dressed in a sparkly gold, skintight dress. Even her eyebrows are golden. At least it's better than the time she came in plastered in diamonds.
"Testing, testing!" Glitter trills into the microphone. "Can everybody hear me? Good!" She beams at the audience, and pulls the bowl that has all the names closer to her. "Welcome to the hundred and first Hunger Games! I'm so happy to be here and hosting another Games!"
Glitter smiles again. "I'm sure you're all so excited to know who's the lucky tribute, so I'll get right to it!" Without further ado, she announces, "Ladies first!" and rummages in the bowl. I find that I'm instinctively holding my breath, even though there's less than one chance in a hundred that I'll get picked.
Finally Glitter pulls her hand out of the bowl. "And the lucky winner is...
"Belinda Emeraldine!"
That's me.
It's me.
I'm eighteen. How could this happen? One year away from freedom. I look around desperately, hoping for volunteers, but everyone probably thinks this beautiful, trained Career can handle the Games. I desperately compose myself, and put on the vain, confident face I was taught years ago. I say, in my fake, pretty-girl voice, "That's me," and plaster on an artificial smirk. I walk onto the stage, and take my place next to Glitter.
"Give a big hand to Belinda!"
Do not fail me now, training.
I'm so scared. Then I realize how many people are staring at me. Stay strong, I tell myself.
District One Boy:
I watch a blond girlie walk onto the stage. She is smirking. She must be looking forward to the Hunger Games. I know that I am, too. The girl looks like she would be a good enemy, but not good enough to beat me. She is really pretty. She must be popular at school. I know I intimidate the other kids at school because they think I look dangerous. But that is okay since I don't really like anybody.
The other blondie onstage, the older one, sticks her hand inside the bowl to pull out the other name. I shove the boy in front of me to the side, so I can hear her better. The boy falls down. I step on his hand as I move into the place where he was. I like to push other people around. My dad has been telling me to be a bully ever since I was a little kid, because he always wanted me to be in the Hunger Games. I would like to be in them too.
The glittery girl onstage picks a paper and holds it up.
"Argent Pat!"
Me! I am going to be in the Hunger Games. I push my way over to the stage and stand next to the younger girl. I am going to win these Games. I know it.
District Two Girl:
A girl was sitting in the seventeen section, nervously twining a lock of her long, dark hair around her finger. Her attention was caught by the person walking onstage, a tall man in dark clothing.
I really don't want to be here. This is valuable time that I could be spending reading one of my favorite novels, Love in the Air. I'm at a really climactic scene, the part where the guy and the girl are locked up in a cell together. I'm a sucker for romantic books. They can be so sweet.
I blush and look around, just in case anyone read my mind. I'm actually slightly ashamed of my romantic side.
The escort walks onto the stage, and I turn to look at him. Like every year, I study his face, taking in the sharp angles of his chin and nose, and blush again and deliberately direct my gaze to stare unfocusedly at the center of the stage. Shane reaches for the microphone and grumbles into it, "Welcome to the 101st Hunger Games. Here's the girl tribute."
I wonder who it will be this year. I hope these Games will have romance in them. It's so nice to see some love in the middle of all the brutality.
"Katie Andrea Winters."
Oh-
God.
Why me? I walk onstage with shaking legs, hoping and praying that someone will volunteer. My heart leaps as a girl shifts in place, starting forward-but then plummets as I see she's just straining forward to see better.
I take my place next to Shane, and can't help noticing, even through my fear, that this is the closest I've ever been to him. He's scowling, but that's his normal expression.
"I'm Katie," I say, and try to stop my voice from shaking. He nods gruffly.
Oh god, I really hope I make it. I run a quick mental check of all my strengths: I'm in shape, I'm kind of smart, I can lie well...
That has to be enough. It has to.
District Two Boy:
The girl onstage looks like she's about to faint. All the worse for her. I'm gonna run her right over if she shows any sign of weakness. Anybody who doesn't want to be in the Games should just kill themselves at the start, cause they'll never make it far enough if they have a problem with killing.
I myself love killing. I've never killed before, but whenever I watch the Hunger Games, I always slow down the TV at the part where the tributes die. I watch their bleeding wounds with contempt. If they had planned on winning, they never would have let themselves die. If I get into the Hunger Games, I'm going to weed out the weak ones and make them realize that they should have taken their weapons and driven them into their hearts rather than live out the first day. Then I'll pick off the people left, slowly and bloodily.
Nobody's going to win with me in the arena.
The escort, Shane, picks out a paper from the bowl. Now Shane's a guy I can appreciate. He never showed any weakness in his Games, only unmerciful killing.
Shane reads the name on the paper. It's mine. "Cameron Derell."
Hah! Watch out, tributes...here comes your worst nightmare.
District Three Girl:
The crowd quieted down when someone walked onto the stage. It was a tall, skinny man with a shock of red hair. He kept clearing his throat, seeming kind of nervous. The camera panned around the audience, and came to rest on a young woman with dark hair and red highlights, making her look like someone you wouldn't want to run into on a dark night...
I wonder what it would be like in the Games. I like to take risks, and I'm not that afraid of what the Games might throw at me. I'm not asking to get picked, though. I'm not that stupid. I'm perfectly fine here in District Three, though it can get a little boring sometimes.
The guy onstage looks nervous, even though he must have done this lots of times. He clears his throat again and pulls the microphone up to his mouth. "Welcome to the hundred and first Hunger Games. I'm sure everyone here is very excited to participate in the Hunger Games, so I'll start right away."
He quickly picks a slip of paper from the bowl, as if he's eager to get this over with. He licks his lips nervously as he reads the piece of paper in his head, and then says it out loud:
"Jessa Haven."
He reads it so quickly I almost don't understand him, but once I do, I'm in shock. I stare up at the stage, paralyzed.
"Jessa Haven?"
"I-that's me," I say, once I can speak again. I walk onto the stage, my steps strong now that I've gotten over the initial surprise. I've got to look on the bright side of this-apart from the killing, the Games might even be fun. The survival part, at least.
District Three Boy:
As usual, I'm standing in the middle of an empty space. No one seems to want to come very close to me. I think I make people uneasy with my silence and suppressed feelings. I don't really care, though. I wouldn't interact with people much, even if they wanted to.
The guy onstage looks like he should be pushing paper behind a desk somewhere instead of mentoring a Hunger Games. He looks like such a crybaby. I can't believe he won his Games.
He picks another paper out of the bowl in a sharp, jerky movement. He holds it up and reads it silently before announcing the name:
"Thorn Arrowart."
Me. I walk silently up to the stage and give a short nod to the guy. He nods quickly back, and turns back to the microphone. I turn my thoughts to the Games, and how I plan on surviving. I know I can do this.