Chapter 3
The reaping. A day when two tributes are chosen. Just two. Two children, one boy and one girl, are reaped from the district to bring honour for their district in a competition geared for murder. Some are trained since birth for this glory, chosen at their peak to compete. This day is filled with dread. Horror. Tears. For those ready for this day, triumph.
All my life all I've known is the Hunger Games. The cries of families when their child tribute finally dies, escaping the torture everyone describes with vivid imagination. Since I was a child, I watched the annual Hunger Games with fascination and avid attention. Before he died, my father bequeathed to me a bow. Shoot straight, he said. In the forest, my talent became known. A straight, clean kill every time. No-one could match me, at least with the bow. Yet, my soul hungered for more. A bow wasn't enough. Living in fear without my bow was alien emotion, one I could only combat with more. More knowledge. More weapons to wield. No-one knew of my desire. My desire for fame, glory and honour. My desire to compete in the only chance I would get. The Hunger Games.
So I trained. I carved makeshift weapons out of wood, the design similar from those I could faintly remember from the first Hunger Games I was permitted to watch. The Hunger Games that not one since could match. All the tributes had skill. All had a sliver of intelligence and cunning. Alliances and betrayals were rife; two tributes would form an alliance and then betray each other hours later. The weapons were simple and effective. No fancy designs or technology like now. Pure, simplistic instruments of terror and pain. These were weapons I adored, ones that got the job done. These were the ones I copied to the best of my ability, and ones I learned to fight with. It took me a long time to become comfortable with these new, unfamiliar weapons; their disposition was different to what I was familiar with. But, I was determined to master them.
And so as the years passed, I trained privately, preparing for the day when I would volunteer for the honour I so dearly wished for. Hunting became easier; my family would always have the finer meat. My original desire was to compete at my peak; when I turned eighteen and was in my last year of eligibility. Yet all this changed at the reaping for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Though it differentiated from my plan, I couldn't let her die could I?
The entirety of those eligible for the Hunger Games had once more been sectioned and roped off into our areas for the reaping. Being one of the elder years, I was stationed further towards the stage. Primrose was further to the back, this being her first year of her reaping, whilst Mother was off to the side, worrying about my sister. Her name had only been entered once, mine five. We'd refused every offer for tesserae. I was too proud to accept needing to rely on the Capitol. Effie Trinket, the escort for the district, was speaking into the microphone, speaking about the honour of being chosen. I knew the speech off by heart, ever since I first hear it at the 60th Hunger Games, where it captured my attention and subsequent fascination. Yet, I was pulled back to the district at the sound of the female tribute being announced. Primrose Everdeen. My sister. My weak, twelve-year old sister, who cried at the sight of an individual with a twisted ankle. She would die within the first day; she'd never make it past the plates, never mind the blood bath. I couldn't let her compete.
"I volunteer!"
