Vira Melia's Reaping
Soft hands paw at my face, dragging me from the bliss softness of sleep. I open my eyes only to see Garlic staring at me with her huge bowl-like eyes. She pokes my face again with her paws before curling down on my stomach and purring. I smile and pet her gently as her breathing slows and I know she's asleep.
Garlic used to be a stray cat living in the streets of downtown District 3. My parents, who own the local supermarket, found her sitting in a basket of garlic in the back of the market, hence her name. I had always wanted a cat, so they agreed to adopt her. We've had Garlic for about three years now, and she's grown to love all of us, especially Ficus, my baby brother. But she's not allowed to sleep with Ficus because he can't sleep when she's around.
I watch as the sun rises over District 3. Generally it's not a pretty site because of all the factories which are polluting the air, but no one is going to be working today. Everyone in the district will be grimly waiting in the square while the names are picked. I just hope it's not mine. For the last two years it hasn't been. I'm fourteen now and luckily I've only had to take tesserae a few times, so my name's only in there six times. Much less than my friend Lyra, who may be the poorest girl in town. Her name is in the jar at least sixty times. If she was reaped I would die; she's my only friend.
According to Lyra, my personality is like a sad doe. I'm always quiet, which means I'm easily pushed around, but luckily no one notices me enough to bully me. I'm too nervous and silent to make any new friends, and it's a miracle Lyra noticed me so I don't have to eat lunch alone.
Even though my family isn't rich, my mother always insists on letting Lyra take home some fresh vegetables from our garden. My dad says mom's grateful that I found a friend since I never make any motion to talk to people unless forced to.
I pick up Garlic gently and set her on the aquamarine covers of my bed. Then I step into slippers and head to the garden. It's my place of sanctuary from the horrible world of Panem. Our garden is large and overflowing with ripe tomatoes, grapes, corn, and almost every imaginable fruit or vegetable. Small stepping stones lead through the garden out towards the other end where we keep the apple and lemon trees. Strung up between two trees is a small white hammock that my mom knitted me for my birthday. Sighing, I lay down on it and swing myself as I watch the beautiful sun rise over the distant mountains. It must be 6 AM now, so the reaping won't start for another ten hours. The thought exhausts me and slowly I drift to sleep.
When I wake I know it must be afternoon. Checking my watch, I see that it's already noon! Oh, great. Swinging myself off the hammock, I make my way to the bathroom where I shower and scrub my hair until it's glistening clean. My parents were probably too busy with preparations to remember to wake me on the hammock. Quickly I pull on a black and white skirt and a pink shirt. If it's not a warm day, I'll freeze my legs off. I don't even bother putting on lipstick or makeup. If I get reaped, I want peope to see how I really look.
I walk to the kitchen where my parents are waiting for me with a huge stack of pancakes. I smile apprehensively and sit down, glancing at the clock. The reaping starts in one hour, so I should be there soon, before it starts.
I can only choke down one pancake out of the stack because I'm so nervous. Mom smiles grimly as she takes away my plate. "I guess we'll save this for Garlic," she says reluctantly. She hates to waste food. At this moment, Ficus toddles into the room and hugs my feet.
"I wuv you, Vi-rah," he says loudly into my knee. I laugh. He always brings a smile on my face.
"I love you, too, Ficus," I say before glancing at the clock again.
"Oh!" I exclaim. "We should get going." This brings the happy moment to a halt. We all step out the door. The square is pretty close to our house, and we see others trudging towards the plaza. I end up walking next to dad, who is 35 but looks much older. I grew up being closer to him, because Mom was always working non-stop at the small market we own.
Then we reach the square. I immediately see Lyra and run on over. She has dark hair and olive skin, and looks young for her age. I hug her and then we get in line. The whole time we're chatting quietly about what would happen if one of us would be reaped. We would die, obviously.
"If you get reaped," says Lyra, "I can help feed your family." I roll my eyes, even though the offer is polite. "With our garden, we'd last years before starving. And your family is poorer than ours."
Lyra's cheeks instantly go pink and I feel bad. "Sorry," I say, but she's already turning to get her finger pricked. We get sent over to the fourteen year old section and we wait in silence until Viktoria arrives. Our escort is short and wearing all pink, my least favorite color. She's cheerful, like most escorts are, and I hate how she's always trying to brighten the mood.
Viktoria clicks her heels together and says brightly, "welcome to the annual reaping of the 226th Hunger Games! Well, ladies first."
I should be nervous, but I'm not. I'm just immensely relieved that she seemed to forget talking about the history before the games like last year.
Viktoria reaches the glass bowl, and digs to the bottom, finally grasping onto one name. Then she goes back to the microphone. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with such fear that I don't even hear the name. But the next thing I know Lyra is hugging me as hard as she can, and people have moved aside and formed a straight path for me.
My name was called.
I'm going to the capitol.
I'm going to die.
Thomas Petersburg's Reaping
"Wake up, dear," says a soothing voice from above me. I glance up and it's mom smiling at me. "Time to wake up. Daddy and I made you breakfast. You'll need a full stomach for the reaping."
I smile and step out of bed. My mom is a loving, gentle, and kind woman who is 39. She always does what's best for me and we have a tight bond that cannot be broken. Her long brown hair is tied up into some kind of complicated braid that only my father can master.
At this moment she's leading me to the kitchen where some waffles and a glass of milk are waiting. I grin as I sit down. I'm most likely the only boy in town who's not nervous for the reapings. After all, there's about a two in fifteen thousand chance, considering I'm thirteen and our family isn't poor enough to force me to take tesserae. But we're not rich enough so eating waffles is a rarity that only the reapings begin. That's why I don't mind the reapings so much. It means more food.
Quickly I drain the glass of milk and chow down the waffles. My mom laughs as she eats her meager breakfast of baked oats. Then my dad enters the room, yawning and stretching his arms.
My parents are often described as perfect. It's kind of annoying sometimes, because they're never in a bad mood and they are non-stop encouraging me to attend electronic camps and study all the time. They are always calm and obedient. And I have never seen either of them complain. My friends say I'm lucky, but I don't like it. It just seems fake and inhuman.
Dad smiles and kisses mom as he seats himself at the table and serves himself a fresh cut apple. They love each other more than anything and I haven't seen them ever have a fight. Another reason why they seem so inhuman and fake.
"I signed you up for another computer class," mom says as she finishes her meal. "Are you interested in it? I know that your friend Kyle had his mother sign him up. You could have fun together."
"I guess so," I mutter, even though I've hated Kyle for months now. But computer camps are my form of entertainment. If I had to be in the hunger games, I'd just electrocute everyone on day one and be done with the whole thing.
After breakfast I quickly change into a small suit and a blue bowtie before heading outside. The reapings start at two and it's only noon now, but I promised my friend Daren I'd meet him at his house.
As I reach Daren's mansion he steps outside in an expensive tuxedo. His parents are wealthy from inventing some sore of wire which attaches to a satellite connection and brings internet connection easily. It's all the rage in the capitol, but few people in District 3 can even afford computers. It's strange knowing how Daren's parents are so well-known in the capitol. If he's reaped (which I doubt he will) he'll pull sponsors just because people have heard of him.
Daren has his short brown hair brushed to the side. His dark eyes gleam with excitement as he leads me into his house and up the stairs.
"Why did you want me to come over early?" I question him curiously.
"Because," he says, a smile on his face, "I want to show you something."
It actually turns out to be some brand new computer for his birthday which was three weeks ago. He's so excited that I pretend to be a little enthusiastic, especially since every time I visit his mom puts together a bag of food for my parents. So I have to be grateful, even if he is a little self-centered.
At one o'clock we exit his house and walk down to the square where we meet our other friends, Trevor, Jack, and Seth, who are all thirteen like us and all resemble each other. They are all wearing identical black tuxedos and ties.
After the woman pricks our fingers, we head to the roped-off area to wait. Some other boys who stand next to us glare at us, as if they're annoyed that we're standing next to them. Oh well. No one really likes us, except for teachers, because we're nerds who "think we know everything." Sometimes I wish they could get reaped so they wouldn't have to irritate us anymore.
The escort, I think her name is Viktoria, stands from her seat and makes her way to the front of the stage to address the district. On the way to the microphone her pink wig slips and falls off her head and lands behind her, revealing her naturally red hair. After struggling to pull it back on again, she steps forward.
"Hello, and welcome to the 226th District 3 reaping!" she exclaims in her squeaky high voice. "Today we will pick one courageous boy and girl to be represented as tribute for District 3! First, the girls." She picks the girl, someone I don't know, and then turns her attention to the boys.
Slowly, as if to make every moment as nerve-racking as possible, she walks to the jar of boys' names and chooses one. Then she returns to the microphone and reads the name.
"Thomas Petersburg!"
All I feel is confusion. There were two in fifteen thousand odds! How is this possible! I must've heard wrong! No! Everyone is staring at me! This can't be happening! I can't die! What about mom and dad and Devon and-
A peacekeeper nudges me with his gun. "Go to the stage!" he snarls under his breath. Slowly I make my way forward, tears streaming down my face.
Author's Note: Tomorrow I'm traveling to San Diego, so I won't be able to write much while I'm gone. I might be able to finish District 4, but probably not. And sorry the D3 reapings were shorter. I was bored with it the whole time. Please write me a review and give me ideas about the games or the arena. Thanks!