Chapter 3
'Un/Lucky'
When you wake-up in the morning, sometimes it will feel like just another day. This is how I feel today. The rain is still pouring, like it has been for so long. The winds are blowing, causing our house to creek even more so. And even with the rain, everything still has the weird soot-smell. Just like any other day really. I am even juggling the consideration of just sleeping in. There is no point getting up early, it feels like.
"Dae, wake-up!"
Frent shouts straight into my ear, causing me to shoot straight up in alarm. He chuckles as I rub my ear to stop the ringing. This is one of the problems sharing a room with my family. They are always there. No sleeping peacefully. There is the snoring, sleep talking, and not to mention unwarranted wake-up calls that seem to keep anyone awake.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Have you forgotten what today is? Really?" Frent responds, arching his eyebrow as he looks at me.
"Today…"
I had forgotten, strangely enough. You think that today, today of all days, would be one everybody would remember. When we would send children to the Capitol; the first day of many to start off the Hunger Games. Today was the reaping.
"Shoot," I mutter under my breath.
Frent shrugs his shoulders and leaves without saying another word. He liked to do that, leave without any concern, but today I completely understand him for doing so. Everyone separated themselves from the rest. We don't like show the weakness that today brings. The fear in our hearts terrifies us to no extent, and the last thing we want to do is broadcast that to the world. So we split off from everybody else, including our family. Frent does this every year, as does my parents, and as do I.
My parents are already gone. They probably left as soon as they woke up. There is no working today as everybody has to be present for the reaping. My mom can still probably see a few guys however today, so she's probably at some other man's house. My dad however, due to the mines being closed, is probably with hiding somewhere, trying to drown his sorrows. I'm not entirely sure, but this is how many dads deal with the reaping.
"I'm going to go do some stuff," Frent calls from the other side of the door. "You can walk to the reaping yourself, right?"
Frent is being unusually kind today; actually showing concern. I am put off by it at first, but I quickly realize he is trying at least.
"Yes," I simply say back.
I can hear Frent's footsteps leaving, fading, until there are no more. I go to the drawers and find my reaping dress. It is the same dress I have been wearing for some years now. I haven't grown much, if not at all, since I was twelve. This dress is the same one I have worn since then. When I first got it, it was a dark navy blue dress that went down past my knees. It had an egg-shell white – whatever that is, my mom described it as that – sash and matching trim around the neckline. The sleeves were long and were what can be called a "bell-sleeve". Now that colour has pretty much faded. Instead of that strong navy blue, it was a faded-cobalt. The sash and trim had developed a cream tone to them. And the hem had begun to fray. The dress had probably cost a bit back when my mom got it for me. I don't particularly know how she got the money for it nor do I particularly want to know. But over the years it has become worn and used. I'm sixteen now, so it would be pointless to get me a new dress. I only have three more reapings to deal with. Besides, the dress still fits.
I put on the dress and tie the sash. I remember my matching cream stockings. My mom used to do my hair when I was younger, but not anymore. It doesn't matter. I have managed to become skilled, well skilled enough, to do it myself. I begin two braids, one on either side of my head, allowing them to trail down the sides of my head as they finally meet at the bottom of the back of my head. I then twist them together and pin them down to make a bun. It takes some time to do this, but it feels wrong just to have my hair down or in some basic braid for the reaping. It seems too casual for such a morbid setting.
I had woken up at about six o'clock, but by the time I'm ready it is already nine. The reapings started at noon, but all the way in the main square. My neighborhood was a bit of a walk to the main square, as was many other peoples. To be able to walk there, it would take about two hours. With the rain, it would probably take three.
"I need to get going," I say to myself as I grab my slicker off the hook in the main room.
Normally I would wear my nice khaki loafers, but not with this rain. I pull on my boots instead. Throwing up my hood, I open the door and begin my trek.
Over the first few minutes, I am joined by a few other people. Mostly they are kids my age. I recognize most from school. Some are adults, parents, joining their kids for moral support. We group together to help with the walk. The more of us together, the easier it seems to continue on. Even still, we do not talk to each other. I look around every so often and notice that there are many of these small groups walking towards the center of the district. It feels like we are animals being herded.
Hours pass and it is eleven-thirty. We finally made it to the town square. The rain is just as bad here as it was back home. Thankfully the town square has bricks in the main area, to make it seem fancier. It is shown every year on the television for the rest of the world to see, so they opted to make it look nicer. All those being reaped will be standing on the bricks, so I at least don't have to deal with any more mud until I walk back home. The adults and younger children not being reaped will have to deal with it however, as there is not enough space on the brick for everyone in the district.
I split from my group and go to the tents containing the check-in tables. There Peacekeepers would take our blood, just a drop from the finger, to confirm our identity. I have to admit I am jealous they get to sit under tents in this rain. I would love to be able to remain dry.
The prick when you get your blood drawn the first time is very painful. I don't think that pain comes from the actual prick, but from the emotions swelling up inside of you when it happens. You are very emotional during your first reaping and when your blood is drawn, it is like all your fears are becoming reality. You don't know what is truly going on or what to do next. I held my breath my first reaping. All through the wait in line, up until my finger was pricked, I held my breath. When I finally had my blood drawn, I almost fainted. Now the prick feels nothing more than a small sting.
"Take off your hood," the Peacekeeper says to me before drawing blood.
Because they cannot tell who I am without seeing my face; the blood test won't tell them. But I do not argue and do as I am told. The man nods and holds up a little device used to determine who we are.
"Name?" he asks.
"Dae Coop," I answer.
I hold up my hand and he takes my pointer finger. He pressed the tip of the device against the tip of my finger. Small sting followed by a simple, single beep. I cannot see the screen of the device, but I know my identity has been confirmed. The Peacekeeper lets go of my finger and checks something off on a check board.
"Continue," he instructs.
I take my leave of the tent, replacing my hood on top of my head before I step into the heavy rain. There are already a lot of children waiting in the assigned spots on the brick. All of them either have on a hood or some other type of head covering to protect them from the rain.
My spot is with the rest of the sixteen year old girls near the middle of the group. We are split during the reapings. The girls stand on the right of the town square, while the boys on the left. We are then split up due to our age. The younger ones, starting at twelve, stand in the back, while the older ones, eighteen, stand in the front.
As I stand, waiting for the reaping to begin, I take my time to look around. I only visit the town square once a year, during the reapings. I try to avoid it the rest of the year. The emotions associated with it make me sick even thinking about it. The Mellark bakery used to be in the town square before moving a long, long time ago. I'm glad it moved or I would never visit it.
During my first time visiting the town square, it was sunny. The day was incredibly hot. Everyone felt like they were baking. In between sweating and panting, I managed to make out my surroundings back then. The buildings were tall, towering above everyone. I had never seen buildings so tall. When I was younger, my parents and I would be forced to stand one of the alleys and watch the reapings on a screen. But standing in the town square itself was nothing like seeing it on the television screen. It felt like I was in a land of giants, readying myself to be squished.
The buildings are still tall today, but they haven't aged well. They didn't look too clean back then, but now I can see noticeable cracks running up the walls and chunks of concrete gone from the top trim of them. They are starting to grow mold. I don't know it is due the excess of rain or due to their age and lack of maintenance; probably a combination of both. At the front of the town square, there is a stage. It looks the same as my first reaping, but today, due to the rain, there are tents set up on the stage too. Underneath them are some seats for the important figures of the district; the mayor, his family, and the district's escort. If we had victor they would also be sitting up there. But District Twelve hadn't had victor since the 74th Hunger Games, the one the Mellark boy died in. Over the ninety years, we haven't had anyone win the Games. Not once.
Suddenly the music begins to play. The same music plays every year. Panem's national anthem… The Capitol's anthem. The tone is supposed to be uplifting and give the feeling of strength, but I always associate it with this day. It reminds me of death and fear and fragility. The music is the signal for everything to start. Everything goes hush except for the sound of the rain; that remains a constant obscuring noise.
A small man, no taller than five foot, stands up from one of the seats on stage and walks up to a microphone stand and the center front. It too is covered by the large tent of the stage, though some of the rain is managing to come in and wet the floor. The man tries to avoid the small puddle forming, but is forced to stand in it. If you were from the Capitol, you would understand his pain in stepping in that puddle. He was wearing a pair of very expensive-looking, shiny golden chukkas. They matched his equally shiny golden suit. To step in a puddle with them on was a crime. It would throw off the entirety of his look. The Capitol must be weeping for him right now.
The man's name is Auriel Kosmima. He is our district's escort. He comes from the Capitol every year. He is meant to help select the tribute, look good for the week they are in the Capitol preparing for the Games, and in the end help get them sponsors and supporters for when they are in the Games. That being said, I don't like him.
"Hello and welcome to the 164th Hunger Games," he says with a grand cheer.
Why is he always so chipper? I just hate it. I normally don't care if someone is happy, but him. I hate it when this man is happy, especially during the reapings.
"Before we draw the names," Auriel says. "The Capitol would like to say something."
The video. The reaping is the same every year. The music followed by Auriel followed by the video; the video featuring the reason behind the Hunger Games, explaining the history of Panem and the Dark Days. Talking about the Treaty of Peace and how the districts became required to send in tributes. How the Hunger Games were the reason for everyone still being alive today and that we should be so lucky to participate. With the rain today, the video felt extra gloomier than usual.
With the video's end, Auriel continued on with his speech. I have heard this speech so much now that I am starting to space out. I now know what Frent was always talking about on learning how to sleep while standing.
"Shall we begin then?" Auriel asks, responded with only silence. "Ladies first…"
Auriel steps away from the microphone and over to a large bowl that has been wheeled up on stage. It is a great glass globe-like bowl sitting on top of a small table dressed with a blood red table cloth. Inside the transparent bowl you can see hundreds of tiny white papers folded in half. Each one of those papers has a name of a potential tribute on it. My name is in there a total of five times; five of those papers has "Dae Coop" scribbled on it in a tiny black font. While many other children have their names in there more than I do, that is still five more than I would ever want.
Auriel plunges his hand deep in the bowl, into the papers. I close my eyes as I pray for my name not to be called. I can hear the girls next to me doing the same thing. No one wants their name to be called. And while it sounds horrible, I would rather someone else go instead of myself. I squint a bit and look towards one of the many screens that are placed on the decaying buildings. I see Auriel has already picked a piece and is opening it. I continue to squint and pray as the paper unfolds and he begins to sound out the name.
"The female tribute for this year's Hunger Games is Miss… Dae Coop!" he roars out.
I can see my name up on the screen for everyone to look at. That is my name spelled out in the tiny black font. Dae Coop… I have just been selected for the Hunger Games.