District 6
Newt Allium, 15
District 6 isn't usually the happiest place, but there seems to be an extra grimness on Reaping days. We have an apartment closer to the center of the District, so the streets outside are usually bustling with people shopping or working. However, this morning, the only people outside are the lethargic homeless men dotting the alleyways. They tend to harass people for money as they pass, but with no one in the streets this morning, most of the men are still trying to get some sleep.
I like to sit by the window and watch the people moving on the street below. They interest me, they way they move about their business like a colony of ants. I can't be among them, but watching them intrigues me. They never notice me when I stand at the window. It seems like only the homeless men can see me. Whenever I stand at the window, the man who sleeps in the alley across from our building will make eye contact with me. He's not one of the ones who harasses me for money whenever I go outside- I don't know why they expect me to have spare change. Most people in the center of town have low-paying factory jobs, and can't afford to cough up any extra money for a random man accosting them. The same goes for my family.
The man across from me is asleep, wrapped up in a ratty blanket in one corner of the alley. My Grandma once knitted him a quilt for the colder nights on the streets, but my grandpa was pissed. He said we couldn't afford to give anything to the "dirty bums on the streets". The man slept with the quilt for about a week until another homeless man beat him up and took it. I watched it all unfold through the window. The man fought back, but he was much smaller than his attacker and lost within a minute.
I tried to sneak out and give him a slice of bread afterwards, as he nursed his bloody nose, but Grandpa caught me rifling the cupboards and shouted at me for what felt like an hour about "waste".
"Are you ready to go?" Grandma asks, appearing at the door of my room.
"Yeah," I say in a small voice. My anxiety is already acting up. I hate the Reaping, and not for the reason most kids in our District do. I know that the chances of being chosen are next to nothing, especially in a District as big as District 6. But there's something about crowds that terrifies me. No matter how many times Grandpa shouts at me to grow up and that my phobia is stupid and unreasonable, whenever I go outside I'm confronted with feelings of absolute terror.
I get up from my spot next to the window and walk outside. Grandma and Grandpa will walk to the Reaping later; they allow me to run up ahead because they know it somewhat calms me down. I pull my sweatshirt across my head, and Grandma hugs me goodbye.
Across the street, the man is no longer sleeping. He looks me in the eyes. I quickly look away.
"Is it Reaping day?" he asks in a scratchy voice. I've never heard him speak before. I look behind me, expecting my Grandma to speak for me, but she's already re-entered the house.
"Uh… yeah," I say. My mouth feels dry.
"Huh. I thought the last one was only a few months ago. Have they changed the number of Games per year?"
"Um, no. The last was a year ago."
The man bursts into a fit of laughter, and I jump back in surprise.
"My sense of time is so fucked up," he says. "Are you at risk yet? You look about 14. You must be."
"Yeah. I'm 15."
"That sucks," he laughs. "My friend got Reaped when we were your age. He died. I thought maybe they'd get rid of the Games by this time. We always assumed somebody would step up and say something. But no one did, so here we are."
"Oh," I say, in a small voice. I'm eager to stop talking.
"Good luck," he says. He leans back and falls back asleep. His snoring echoes through the silent streets. I take that as a clue that I'm allowed to leave, so I take off in the direction of the Reaping.
The Reaping isn't crowded with people yet, one of the reasons I chose to arrive somewhat early. The line of kids checking in is relatively small compared to the wait you usually get about 10 minutes before the Reaping (the peak time for kids to arrive).
I get in line behind a handful of smartly-dressed kids. They must be the richer ones, the ones who can afford to be driven to the Reaping. Their collared shirts and shiny leather shoes make me self conscious about my simple tracksuit. We can't afford formal clothing, even though it's supposedly required by law. Casual dress is one of the things the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to, as long as it's somewhat clean.
The boy in front of me gets his finger pricked and enters the pen.
"Finger?" the Peacekeeper asks me as I step forward.
She roughly grabs my finger and jams the tip of the needle into it. I hiss at the sharp pain, but it quickly fades. She marks her check-in book with a drop of my blood, and uses some scanner to confirm my name.
"Newt Allium," it says in a robotic voice. The Peacekeeper waves me past and I enter the pen.
My aisle is in the center. I go to the very end of the row, as far from everyone else as possible. The endless chatter of everyone around me gives me a headache.
The town hall gradually fills with people as the time for the Reaping approaches. The escort and previous Victors are already on stage. The only one who seems remotely interested in the affair is our escort, Camilla Larke, who is carefully preening herself in front of a hand-held mirror.
Before I know it, we're watching the video. It's getting old, and it's quite stupid, but I wish I could just keep watching it because the Reaping is next, and I'd rather do anything than find out what kids are getting sent to the death this year. But alas, the video ends and Camilla can't wait to draw the first name.
"Boys first!" Camilla says, walking across the stage. She selects a piece of paper as the crowd holds a collective breath. She slowly unfolds it, taunting us with her pace. "Newt Allium."
District 6
Amber Vernon, 14
The chosen boy walks up the stage very slowly, his face completely white. The crowd is dead silent as we allow him to soak in the thought of his imminent death. When he's beside the escort on the stage, she holds her microphone out to him and asks some typical question about his confidence or whatever. The boy opens his mouth to answer, but can't manage to say anything.
After a few awkward seconds of silence, the escort pulls the microphone out of his face and pretends like nothing happened. The contrast between her painted smile and the boy next to her shaking in fear is quite gruesome.
"Now for the girls!" she exclaims. She shuffles over to the opposite side of the stage, where the girls' bowl sits. Twenty-one of those slips of paper are for me. Another forty-two are for my sister Ash. We both took out tesserae this year, although no one in my family knew I had taken out tesserae until I came home with the bags of grain.
I come from a large family, and they're all very protective over the youngest of us. This means that my younger brother Jasper and I have been banned from taking any tesserae. They don't want us to put ourselves at risk for the Hunger Games. Our parents used to ban Ash and Hayden from taking tesserae as well, but Ash signed up for tesserae the first chance she got and they figured they couldn't stop her. I did the same. I expect Jasper will follow our lead as soon as Ash becomes 19 and can no longer get tesserae. No one can control the Vernon siblings; no one can tell us what to do.
Camilla fishes her hand around in the Reaping bowl and yanks out a slip of paper. She returns to the microphone and begins unfolding it. My heart begins beating very fast. I don't know why I'm so nervous, Ash once tried to calculate the odds of one of us being Reaped. The percentage was very small. As in, multiple zeros after the decimal point. District 6 is the largest District in Panem which means there is a very slim chance one of us will be Reaped, even with the amount of tesserae we signed up for. So why am I so afraid? It's not likely-
"Amber Vernon."
All of the breath goes out of me as I hear my name. Everyone around me turns to look at me. There's nowhere I can hide.
My hand curls into a fist as I squeeze my way past everyone into the aisle, Just as with the boy, the District is dead silent. Even the wind seems to have gone silent for me. I take my spot on the stage beside Camilla and the boy. How could it be me? Out of all the people in the District… I can't seem to wrap my head around it.
"Do you feel confident?" Camilla asks. I look down to see she is holding the microphone below my face. I take a deep breath.
"Yes. I might not look like much, but I know I'll do well!" I say. I smile wide. I hope my fear doesn't show on my face.
"That's good! I love to see confidence in my tributes!" Camilla says. "Everyone, give a round of applause for your tributes this year: Amber Vernon and Newt Allium!"
My family rushes into the waiting room in one big clump, not even waiting for the Peacekeeper to open the door all the way. My Dad's already in tears as he wraps his arms around me.
"I-I-I…" he begins, but he's unable to form any words and chokes out another sob.
"Don't cry, Dad. It'll just make me cry," I demand, my own eyes already tearing up. It's not until I see my Mom's terrified face that I grasp the full gravity of the situation. Usually she's so composed and tough, but she's absolutely broken right now. That's when it hits me- I'm going to die.
I start to panic, tears pouring down my face and I start gasping for air. Hayden wraps his arms tightly around me.
"You can win," he says firmly. "You're strong. You're a good climber, and… and you can do this. You're tough."
I will myself to believe his words. I can't seem to imagine someone like me winning. I'm only a small fourteen year old from District 6. How can I possibly compete with the Careers?
"I told you not to take any tesserae! Why couldn't you have just listened to me for once!" Mom sobs.
"Bree. It's too late to think about that," my Dad says.
"3 minutes are up," the Peacekeeper says, poking her head in the room. My siblings start to exit with one last hug each, but my parents are struggling to leave.
"Please just give us a few more minutes," Dad begs.
"I'm sorry, I can't break rules," the Peacekeeper says, not sounding the least bit regretful. Mom rushes to me and wraps me in a hug.
"Please win," she begs me. "You can do it. I know you can."
"It's time to leave," the Peacekeeper says. Two Peacekeepers flank her threateningly.
"I love you, Mom," I cry as she leaves. The door shuts, and I'm alone. I can't help but feel that's the last time I'll see my family.
