It never settles for me that the people of the Capitol forced a boy, still in the middle of puberty, to prostitution. Finnick Odair won the 65 Hunger Games, the youngest ever according to the books at the age of fourteen. He was described to be as beautiful that he got tons of sponsors, so many that they deliver a trident inside the arena. But anyone at fourteen is a child, regardless of what we think at that age.
At his victor tour I could understand a little bit better. Odair did not look like a small child or a weird teenager uncomfortable with his own skin. To begin with he was already as tall as a grown up and probably going to keep growing, his body was tonified because of the fishing he did back at home, probably with the trident he showed so much skill. He had a strong jaw, bronze hair and beautiful sea-green eyes, the most handsome person I have ever seen in this world. And yet I could only see a boy that was already plagued with nightmares as the dark circles under his eyes showed despite the attempt of his prep team to get rid of them.
I am sorry for him. In two years, his personal hell would get worst than he can imagine with President Snow selling his body countless time to whatever capitolian that can afford. And even with the rebellion he will perished in the underground tunnels of the Capitol by the fangs of mutts.
Looking to him I hope that the story change for him. That he will survive. That he is able to live with the woman he loves. That he can meet his son. That he can be free.
My hands are wet. I try to clean them in the dress, but the peacekeeper grabs her before this, taking my blood and rushing me to my section. To the other twelve-year-old girls that tremble in fear in the most far away section from the platform. I can imagine they do this because they know that our fear increases as closer we are to the stage, making us walk year after year closer to our possible death, starting the psychological torture even before the real Games. But the school tell us is only for practical reasons, is basic math, the more papers its most likely you are to be taken and die, so is faster when the tribute is already in front.
I am also shaking despite knowing that my name is only there once. Not like Harper that has 8 papers with her future at that ball since she took tesserae last year against our parents' advice. She is already eighteen, this is her last reaping and then she is free. She even got a job in the milking factory, not the best payment, but better than nothing. Soon almost all of us are going to find a job outside the farm. James is the oldest and probably going to heir it, maybe share with Will. But they are already 24 and 22 years old and at anytime they are going to start a family of their own. The cows, pigs and chickens will not be enough for all of us if they have as many children as our parents.
Watching the situation inside the district is clear that, even if Katniss Everdeen had not gone against the Capitol, a rebellion was just a matter of time. The population in the district is growing with out control, but there are not opportunities and jobs for everyone so we are going to start to starve soon if nothing changes, and we were not the worst out twelve. The only thing that stops us is the life expectancy, here sixty is as old as a hundred was on the world of before, the oldest person in the district is Carl Anix the victor of the 7th Hunger Games, and he only survive to this age because he won it.
I can see him in the platform, looking nervously from one side to the other as if waiting for something or someone to attack even though he left the arena almost sixty years ago. The rest of the victor stand quiet, staring at nothing with serious looks on their faces. Almost the contrary to Bloody Man that keeps gesturing excited to Mayor Barnes as he tries to engage the men in a conversation. Though he looks pretty happy with his monologue.
I point this to Sunshine that rolls his eyes and chuckle lightly where he stands at the fifteen-year-old boys' section. After today he only has three more reapings, not that he is going to be chose, his sister dying almost guarantee free pass to her siblings. Two people from the same family are not picked, at least not in our district and not between families that did not went against the Capitol. Emilia Treeston did not. She was a normal tribute that died in the bloodbath, the only capitolians that would know about her is the ones that visit her arena and her launching chamber, and even than she is probably going to be the Female Tribute from District 10 for them.
A small thorn pierces my hand, I am holding a flower crown. After so many I did, this is my year to receive one. My siblings handed me this morning as a good luck charm, it was full of beautiful red flowers and small pieces of green so artistically elaborated that screamed Chloe.
Our family survive to 12 reapings until now, we have seven more to go, and then the Gadeer Clan will be free for this generation, and the next one to come will live in a world where the Hunger Gamers are only a horror story used to scared not well-behaved children. This is something I want to see.
Aster comes closer to the girls' ball and I can feel more than see all the girls around me holding their breath. I was so lost in my mind that I couldn't remember a single world of the mayor speech, even though I doubt it was any different than the previous years. The red hand of our district escort looked like blood staining the lives of the girls that may be reaped. Finally, he chose one and almost jump back to the microphone, excited to see with girl will probably end up dead in the next weeks.
My heart is beating so loudly that I cannot understand what he says in the first time, but I notice how the girls around me sigh in relieved and step away from me. It can't be happening. Only one piece. The odds were supposed to be in my favor.
"Ophelia Gadeer? Where are you, my dear?" His voice with the Capitol accent echoing through my ears solidify this. I was reaped. I am going to the arena. I am going to die at the age of twelve.
Sponsors, my mind scream, and the other tributes. They are watching me. I need to make an impression. Because I may die, but I would be doomed if I didn't do anything to try to survive.
I look down to the flower crown and its beautiful flowers, now look like Aster's skin, like blood. I place it carefully on my head hoping no one can notice how I tremble. The peacekeepers surround me as soon as I start moving and I am so small comparing to them that I doubt anyone can see me.
My mind is racing. How to get sponsor ready to invest in a twelve-year-old? I'm too young to be sexy, too weak to be bloodthirsty and haven't done anything spectacular to grab their attention. I am just a little girl with flowers on my head and a plain appearance as anyone in the district. Empathy, maybe I can use this. I am like anyone so I can be everyone. The sponsor must be older than my age, kids normally don't have their own money even thought they came from a rich families, so I need to appeal to other people. The ones that may have daughters or sisters around my age.
Hopefully it would be enough. Faking a smile is harder than I imagine as I climb the stairs, Aster rushing me when he moves to the boys. From up there I can hear my mother's cries, I can see how Hunter clenched his fists and I can see the tears running down Chloe and Harper's cheeks. But they don't volunteer.
And I didn't expect they would.
My sisters and I are close. But we don't have that dependent relationship like Katniss and Primrose Everdeen in which one took care of the other like mother and daughter. We are siblings, from a normal family, we love each other, but to take my spot for the certain death…
Again, I don't blame them. If it was the opposite, I would not have done it. Both me and my sisters were just not brave to this point.
My district partner is a seventeen-year-old boy with legs and arms a little bit too long and sunken cheeks. Third school. I don't know him and I did not listen to his name, it brings me relieve. If I am going inside an arena that only one came out alive, I prefer not knowing personally anyone, less chance to become attached.
I held my head up when the peacekeepers escort us to the Justice Building to say goodbye to our loved ones. I can't allow myself to break down yet. Not when we are on public.
The Games have already started.