The Ninth Hunger Games: District 1
Today, it was damp in District 1. Florence said it would rain, but it didn't. It just stayed really really wet.
When I had hauled my tripod onto the stage, the square was already filled with people. They all look weary, and a baby kept crying somewhere in the crowd.
When the 5 minute call was given, Gazelle Yip staggered on stage in ridiculously high heels. "Good Morning gentlemen, are we ready?" That kindergarten-teacher voice gets to me every time.
The Reapings began at about 2:00. Children in the age limit stood in rows on the right, while people out of the age limit gathered together in a big group towards the left.
"Panem has come a long way..." The fat mayor of District 1 goes through all the standard speeches hurriedly, as if he can't wait to get inside and out of the dampness.
-Snap-
I take a photo of the mayor leaving the stage. Then Gazelle Yip scurries on, a big smile plastered across her face.
"The girl tribute of District 1 shall be..."
-Snap-
I catch a photo of Gazelle's long fingernails pinching out a strip of paper.
"Fuchsia Hale."
Camera's start clicking away frantically, all trying to get that first look of sheer horror cross the new tributes face.
-Snap-
I see her walking numbly through the crowd. Her silvery blonde hair is in a tight bun, and the sunlight is bouncing off all those small diamonds on her dress. If it weren't for the situation, she would have seemed like a princess.
-Snap-
"This one's pretty, surely gonna start a buzz in the Capitol." Other photographers are whispering among themselves. I don't waste my time gossiping.
-Snap-
An old woman is clinging onto the girls shoulders and weeping. I make sure to get a clear photo of those tears on the old woman's face, mirrored on the new tribute. That one was not a Career, I was sure of it.
After all the commotion on the girl tribute was over, Gazelle reacher her hand in again. "And the boy tribute is..."
The gossiping photographers get themselves ready again for the next tribute.
"Yves Grandeur."
-Click-Click-Click-
I get a good photo of the boy tribute punching his fist in the air. He's a Career, ofcourse.
Crowds of big sturdy boys come over and pat him on the back, or punch his fist. Seems like the Career community will all be rooting for him.
-Snap-
His mother is sobbing hysterically and pulling his elbow. He looks annoyed as he jerks away, and his mother sinks to the ground.
-Snap-
This is probably the last time either of the tributes will get to see their parents.
By the time the Reapings are done, all of the camera crews clothes are damp from the wetness. I lug my tripod back onto the train, and head for my room.
On my way there I passed several people on waiting chairs. They must be waiting to say their final goodbyes to the tributes. One little blonde girl is looking at me with pleading eyes, I imagine her saying "Please, please don't let my sister die!".
In my mind, I say -Click-.
