The 9th Hunger Games: District 12
People here are especially filthy, maybe it's all the coal dust in the air.
Though the weather is fine, with the sun shining and all, there is this cold stiffness which hangs in the air like floating mist. The square is buzzing with people, but even the noise can't drown out the sound of beating hearts.
The people here aren't all one skin color, like in the other districts. Pale skinned blonde haired blue-eyed people hover in and out of the olive toned, grey eyed ones.
Sconda Trinket, the "escort", is already on stage, fluffing out her hair. It is a weird shade of blue, pastel blue, but with that neon effect.
When the reapings start, all the children in the age limit file into lines, while the ones not in the age limit bunch together at the foot of the stage.
-Snap-Snap-
I take a photo of a young man, olive toned with piercing gray eyes, singing softly to himself. "Deep in the meadow, under the willow. A bed of grass, a soft green pillow…"
-Snap-
He catches me looking, and stops singing abruptly.
My tripod is ready for the signal, and the mayor scrambles on stage.
After the usual long talk, he lets Sconda proceed.
"The girl tribute is…"
As usual, photographers tense up, finger resting stiffly on the button. I sigh, in the next second, one family is going to become shattered beyond repair.
"Gertrude Mellark."
-Snap-Click-Click-Snap
Flashing lights blind the audience as cameras start clicking away. My finger moves automatically, like a machine: press down, lift, change positions, press down.
I see a blonde haired girl shakily making her way towards the stage. A boy, a little younger, also blonde, is screaming uncontrollably. Peacekeepers weave their way through the crowd, and the boy hushes before they get to beat him to a pulp.
Then everybody falls quiet again, waiting for the next name to be called.
-Snap-
Sconda is pulling out another slip of paper, her hands tattooed in golden swirls. I make sure to get a close-up of the tattoo; it'll surely cause a frenzy in the Capitol. Maybe even start a new trend.
"The boy tribute of District Twelve is Damian Meadow."
-Snap-Snap-Snap-
Another one of the blondies stands up warily. The olive ones have been lucky this time. The boy walks steadily, though, almost with a determination. I like that one.
"Looks like District twelve has got a chance this time."
"He surely will team up with the Careers."
I can't wait to get away from all the gossip, so I head towards the train immediately.
I walk past the singing olive-skinned boy. He is staring at me reproachfully, like it's my fault. Those grey eyes are unforgiving.
"Everdeen boy! Get back here."
The boy gives me one last cutting glance, and speeds off in another direction.
Those grey eyes will haunt me forever, and so will that melody.
Deep in the meadow, under the willow. A bed of grass, a soft green pillow…
