I sat in my desk, shifting uneasily, while Mr. Abernathy continued with his instructions. I started spacing out, while his words droned on, which is one of the things that I am best at doing. I pulled out a piece of paper and started drawing absentmindedly while pretending to be listening. He was about to dismiss us to our work, when he stopped as if, he had suddenly remembered something. I broke my eyes from my drawing to stare at him in confusion. "Now we will be working on this project for at the very least a month. I want you to know as much as you possibly can about your subject. Now in before the completion of this project, one of you may not have a partner, so I want everyone to do the most they can, so they do not make a fool of themselves. Now get to work."
My stomach started to churn uneasily, while the meaning of his words sunk in. In three weeks, today would be the Reapings. I looked down at my drawing and noticed, for the first time what I had sketched out, The Justice building in its entire splendor. The large gray, cement building with the flag of Panem dangling over the edge of the roof, just barely sweeping into the bold words that were carved into the cement, Justice Hall. There were lights placed in the corner of the building, angled towards the stage, so that everyone who was watching would not miss a thing, because it wasn't bright enough. There is a large screen to the right of the flag, which is suspended from thick cables that are attached to the roof. And of course in the direct center of the stage is a long, slender microphone, and to its sides are the glass bowls resting on podiums. I can almost see the small bits of paper inside of them, and all that they imply, which is certain death, to at least one person, man, women, or child.
The rules are quite simple. If you have a child, the name of the head of your household is added into the glass bowl. With each addition to the family, the times the name is added, doubles. Whether it's by adoption, or by birth, or a relative it doesn't matter. At noon on the 7th of April, everyone is gathered in front of the Justice Building, no matter what age. A bright and bubbly capitol woman named Effie Trinket will draw the name.
The whole family is brought on stage, and President snow picks a slip from the other bowl, which will determine who in the family will die, and how. One thing however does not change. The Head of the household has to kill the person chosen, whether it's the youngest child, the mother, or even in some cases him/herself.
Now anyone can volunteer to take the place of the person chosen, as long as they are not family, but unfortunately this is a rarity in District 12, and a child is killed almost every year. Now in 1 however, it is considered an honor to be chosen to be killed. They must be pretty crazy to think that it is ok to be killed for the enjoyment of the Capitol and the punishment of the Districts.
In exactly three weeks it will be the 7th of April, and someone will get killed, most likely someone I know. I looked around my classroom, my eyes lingering on each and every face, wondering which one it will be. I turned from their faces my eyes catching hold of the garbage can. I stood up, walked over it, crumpled my drawing and threw it in the bin, along with my thoughts of Panem and the Reapings. I turned around and went to face Peeta; with I'm sure a determined look in my eye.
I want to figure him out, I thought, and this is the perfect time to do so.