This chapter is shorter, yes. The chapter lengths will vary.


Yesterday, I made a list of all the things I'm going to pick up at the market after the reaping. Ham, rice, corn, and potatoes to make a hearty stew in celebration. Maybe a little wine for my parents. If I'm lucky I'll get a deal on soda pop for my brothers and me. I call it the "Tomorrow List." I started making it the day before the reaping the year I was eight; something to look forward to as I struggled to cope with the possibility of losing someone I loved. I hold that list in my clutched hand now as the mayor finishes speaking.

Shrill Sweden makes her way to the podium. I can't help but make fun of her silly cotton candy dress, complete with fluffy tufts of the stuff glued on in odd places. She speaks for at least fifteen minutes before the mayor cuts her off and asks her to move things along.

"Oh, yes. Very well, then! On with the rrrreaping!" she says, rolling the "r." Shrill always does the male first, to, and I quote, "Spice things up a little." But when you've been "spicing" things up for ten years, it gets old.

"And this year's lucky male tribute is..." she pauses for effect, like every year. "Yacht Broeling!" There's a murmur in the crowd, and an eighteen year old boy emerges. He smiles, waves, and winks at his silent peers.

"Any volunteers?" Shrill asks. At this point, boys would usually be tripping over each other, trying to get into the Games. But no one wants to replace Yacht. He's an egoistic ass who we've all wanted to get rid of for years. Now's our chance.

"Well, that sure is... different. Give it up for Yacht Broeling, everybody!" Shrill chirps cheerfully. The people in the square applaud.

I clap because I'm glad he's dying, not for the sake of the Games and what they stand for. I'm sure that goes for mostly everyone.

"Now, for the courageous young lady!" Shrill takes her time walking to the crystal ball. Please, don't let it be Shine, I plea. I love her most in the world; her and my father. And since he's safe, she's the only person I feel the need to protect.

And it's not Shine. Because then the words are leaving her mouth, her lips forming the syllables I've never heard her speak. She's saying a name, but my ears have tuned her out. All I can think is that it's not Shine; we're both safe. But hands are pushing, pulling me, and my hearing comes back. Shrill's voice is pounding in my ears as she repeats my name.

"Orchid Caraway? Where are you, dear?" I swallow and move. Out of the crowd. Up the steps. Next to Shrill Sweden. Hoping with all my might that someone volunteers for me, and that it's not Shine who steps forward.

Shine doesn't step forward. No one does. I try to hide my bewilderment; the person reaped almost never is actually sent to the arena in this district. Unless they hate that person, or they're a trouble maker. I know the latter isn't true; I've never caused trouble for my fellow citizens. And I hardly speak to anyone, so I don't see how people can hate me.

No, it's me who hates them. Their eagerness to fight, to kill. It repulses me to the point of vomitting. I hate them, and they know that. So no one is willing to take my place.

"Let's hear it for our tributes, Yacht Broeling and Orchid Caraway!" Shrill says, and the cheers from the crowd are enormous. My vision blurs and I feel faint.

They're cheering for me, for my death. They want me dead.

Yesterday, I made a list of all the things I'm going to pick up at the market after the reaping. I call it the "Tomorrow List." Today, that list is shredded in my hand as I'm ushered into the Justice Building, surrounded by Peacekeepers. It's thrown to the ground, still damp from last night's downpour. Crushed under boots. Never to be read. Its purpose disintegrated like whisps of smoke into the air. Gone.

I can hear the excitement of the crowd through the walls. They can't wait to see two of their least favorite people die a horrible, painful death. They're no better than the Capitol.

They've begun the betting now, and my mother will be among them. Betting against me.

It seems District One will not have a victor this year. Not if the people have what they want. Not if the odds are in their favor.

Of course, in this game of odds, no one is very lucky.