The Reaping Day.
Young children cling to their parents longingly, in fear of the dreads they would face in the Hunger Games, if reaped. My situation, however, is different. I have five siblings suffering malnutrition clinging on to me for the life of our family. Clinging on to the dreads our mother will face if I were to go. I am now twelve, my first year eligible to be reaped for the games. I am not nervous, even though I signed up for tesserae multiple times. There has never been a twelve-year-old tribute from my district. But a dangerous thought looms in the back of my head… there is always a first. I pray that it isn't me, but the odds should be in my favour.
I wander through the ocean of possible female tributes. There really aren't that many when they all stand together, but one of them will be reaped. As soon as I take my place with the twelve-year-old girls, a silence falls over the crowd. The man I have only seen on television at home appears in extravagance. An array of coloured lights beam and false smoke drifts upwards. Edward Finkle runs onto stage spontaneously, posing for a quiet crowd. Everyone stands silent as Edward's voice booms over the town square. Edward tries his best to make the crowd cheer for death, cheer for the Capitol; but no one responds. A sudden gunshot fires into the already smoky air. It startles my sisters a bit, but neither I, nor anyone else hesitates, it isn't until a second fire that everyone begins to applaud in perfect unison. Edward accepts the forced praise from the crowd, and nethertheless, continues.
'As always, ladies first.'
Edward swirls his hand around the giant glass bowl, almost overflowing with names, mostly because of tesserae, not because of population. He has fun pretending to play with the crowd, holding up a piece of paper before rejecting it, and searching for another. This happens for so long, it gets to the point where it annoys me. He sighs in a final tone as he pulls out (hopefully) the final possibility. Edward returns to his podium, and carefully unfolds the small slip of paper. How could a paper so small, matter so much?
He announces the name of the next victim entering the arena…
'Rue Azuria'
I felt my jaw drop.