My thanks to the people of District 1.
I've been trying to think of a comparison for Reaping Day, but there really isn't one. For us, it is the biggest day of the year. Bigger than a birthday, or the new year all put together. A group of four friends and I had been planning on what we were going to do for months. We bought all the best fabrics and jewels to make all the best dresses, and planned everything down to the most minute and intricate detail. How do we wear our hair? Nothing that blocks a view of our face. How about our make-up? Something striking and bold—you don't want anyone to forget you.
So the night before the Reaping my gown was hung on the back of my bedroom door, along with the shoes, jewellery and accessories that would accompany it. I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. I was seventeen, and time was running out for me to win. I had been practicing fencing with my friends for over eight years, and had been running track for five. I figured I had a better shot than almost anyone in Panem, and it was that thought that finally lulled me to sleep.
I woke up a full hour before the sun was up, and spent the time making sure everything was perfect. By the time the sun rose, I was just starting to get myself ready. My mother walked in just as I smoothed the final layer of yellow-orange taffeta over myself.
"Mother!" I growled, tossing a cushion in her direction. "I'm getting changed, can't you knock?" I knew my nerves were getting to me, but I couldn't afford for anything to go wrong. Mother ignored my comment, looking instead to my gown. Looking down, I saw that the sun was filtering through the fabric, an orange light pooling at my feet like a stained glass mosaic.
"You look beautiful," she breathed, but I was already shutting the door, trying to get at the brush that lay behind it. I planned for my hair to be swept up—it meant no risk of the wind blowing it around. By the time I had finished perfecting my look, I only had twenty minutes before father's company car would arrive to take us to the square. I suppose I did look beautiful, though I wished my dress had been slightly less bulky. I smoothed it over one last time, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind my ear before slipping on my shoes and heading downstairs.
Father's car swooped over the square, a patchwork quilt of taffeta and silk. The screens were lit up with images of children throwing confetti, cheering for their siblings or wishing each other luck. Dessie Fireswitch rose to the podium shortly after I found my place, to a booming applause by everyone in the square. I squeezed by friend's hand, and felt her squeeze back. Charm was wearing a dress made of dark plums and blacks, which I thought was silly—she would never be noticed in something that dark. After many speeches and introductions, Dessie proclaimed her famous "ladies first" and swooshed her hand around the bowl before plucking out a small slip of paper.
"Charm Maywater!" Charm cursed outwardly, but plastered on a smile as the cameras panned to her. I felt sorry for her, but knew that my odds had increased slightly. The one to be called was never the one who went. There were always volunteers. But Charm was forced to walk to the podium anyway, her black hair swept up in a style suspiciously like mine. Dessie shook her hand, then declared it time for volunteers.
It was then that I stretched my hand up as high as I could, along with about two hundred other girls. The cameras automatically panned to our section—preference was given to older ages—and we all put on our best smiles. Already tall, I smiled inwardly at my choice of four-inch heels—I could already see over most of my competitors.
The camera panned from face to face for a painful thirty seconds before Dessie's finger finally rose, and pointed to me.
"You, young lady, will represent your District during the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games!" For a moment I was frozen. I didn't realize that Dessie had said my name. But then I felt someone push me, and I was able to move forward. While some of the girls looked resentful, the rest of the crowd cheered.
"Young lady, what is your name?" Dessie asked me, helping me up to the stage.
"Glimmer. Glimmer Flightworth."
"Glimmer Flightworth, everybody!" The applause was deafening; I was smiling so hard I thought my jaw would crack. This was it. The moment I had been waiting for. Dessie called a boy named Marvel to the stage, but I was hardly paying attention. I just couldn't believe it; I had won! Of all these people, with all of these odds stacked against me, I had been the one to come out on top.
Just then, something blocked out the sun, causing me to look up.
It was a hovercar. Just like father's, but much larger.
I closed my eyes as its claw was lowered toward me, but not before a quick young girl yanked the quiver of arrows from under my back, then sped off into the woods.