Hey guys! Chapter Two!!!!!!! Yay!!!!!!!! Ok so I know I'm an awful speller and I'm not too good at grammer either. Yeah, I know, it's sad. So I tried really hard to check my spelling and grammer in this chapter, I just hope I did a good job. Also, I had the help from Parodoxical Shift, who created Vicuna. So this one should be better than the last. I would love to have a beta reader, except I have no clue how to get one so yeah. Any help? In the meantime I'll try and get someone to correct spelling and grammer. Well, I hope you like this chapter. and once again thank you Parodoxical Shift for the wonderful character! Yay! Now, onward!
Vicuna Ramsey POV
I shrug on a white dress shirt and jeans, hoping that it didn't look too casual. Today is reaping day. In other words, the best day of the year. Most people hate the reaping, but I don't. I think it's the smartest thing the Capitol has ever done. What better way to keep your subjects in check than by using fear? Threaten to kill their children, and even the toughest warlords will be reduced to a groveling pile of filth. Only weak people don't like the reaping. They don't deserve to live, anyways. It's the survival of the fittest out here, and if they're weak, they won't win.
I make my way to the main square, my younger brother and parents trailing behind. I don't listen to their trifling, boring conversation. I just concentrate on the fact that this year, I will be crowned the victor of the 75th hunger games.
I slip into the 15 section and wait impatiently for the reaping to start. The mayor drones on and on with the same speech he's used for years. About the history of Panem, how the Capitol spared our brilliant district, etc. Then the purple haired escort jumps onto the stage.
"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds ever be in your favor!" She squeals, her delicately engraved face alight with excitement. "Ladies first." Her hand dives into the bowl. She searches around, smiling when she sees the faces around her tense up. After several suspenseful seconds, she pulls out a slip of paper. She opens it slowly to add to the drama and I suppress the instinct to yell at her to get a move on. Finally, she opens the paper. She scans it, and pauses, smiling, before yelling,
"SPARKLE FONKLING!" A girl in a short, skimpy aqua-colored dress bounds up to the stage, a winning smile plastered on her perfect face. I hear a collective sigh as the other Fonkling twin is sentenced to her death. Pathetic. Yeah, she's hot, but I'm not weak and spineless like the rest of the boys here. Then the escort pulls out a slip from the boys bowl. "Josh Johnson!" A boy from 14 struts up, flimsy arrogance masking a frightened soul. I roll my eyes at his attitude, and drum my fingers on the chair until the escort asks
for volunteers.
"I VOLUNTEER!" I yell. Standing up, I can see the enraged faces of several 18 year olds glaring at me. I flash them a cheeky smile as I turn toward the stage. I feel Sparkle's stare as I walk up the steps and onto the podium. We shake hands, a calculating, cold gesture instead of a warm, friendly one, and I know she won't be a problem for me. I'll take her out in a second.
We're whisked away into the justice building and my family comes in. They say encouraging words, slapping me heartily on the back. I return their smiles in turn, say fighting words. We all avoid goodbyes. I'm going to come back as a victor anyhow, and there's no use wasting breathe on worthless goodbyes. These games are mine.