Today is special. Well, in some ways it is. Most people here find it a horror. In fact, all people in District Twelve do, even those without children. It's the day of the reaping, which means one boy and one girl will be chosen to compete in the Hunger Games. They are carrying on from the number which they stopped at all of those years ago. So it's the 84th Hunger Games today - ten Games after my parent's first time in the arena.
I originally planned to catch a few hours of extra sleep, but I'm awoken an hour earlier than planned by a knock on my bedroom door. I had been thinking that my parents would also want to sleep in for an extra two hours or so, but I guess I was wrong. However, when I push myself out of bed and open my door, I see whom I wasn't expecting to see. Rory Hawthorne. The way he pushes himself into my room shows that he is worried and I know why. He closes the door behind him and steps further into my room, starting to pace around. He seems really worried.
"Rory?" I ask in a soft tone of voice, not wanting to let him think that I am worried as well. He stops for a moment to take a look at me, studying my expression, as if sensing a mask covering my emotions.
"Are you not worried?" He asks, frowning, "Frightened at all?"
Of course I was frightened, beyond belief, but I couldn't let him know; I didn't want to make him worry too much. I run my fingers through my hair and sigh up at him.
"My name's only been put in three times, and there are people here in this district with a higher chance of being selected than me." I know what I'm saying is true because I don't need Tesserae, but I can't stop thinking that it could happen.
"What if –" He starts to speak, but I shut him up by stepping close to him and press my finger up to his lips.
"Rory, I'll be fine. I won't be chosen. There's other people my age who'll have their name in twice as much as I do because they've had to sign up for Tesserae. If I am chosen, I promise you I'll win. For you and for my family." I keep my eyes on him as I speak to make sure that he believes every single word I say. I mean everything I say. I would never lie to Rory, ever. He's my best friend and I know that I can always count on him to be there for me and to listen to me.
"Jay…" He mutters, the tone in his voice telling me that he doesn't believe what I'm saying. Though I hope he believes my promise.
I make my way over to my window and open the curtains, deciding to look out for a moment. Far from my house, in the centre of District Twelve, the stage and lottery are being set up. A few people are already gathered in the centre, but Peacekeepers are holding them back from invading the stage. The sky is dull and faint complaints from the centre echo through the panes of my window. I try to imagine myself standing on the stage after my name being reaped, but it's hard to bring all of the emotions which they could be feeling together.
Rory mutters my name so I turn around, my expression soft, but my arms folding.
"Come here," he whispers, but loud enough so that I can hear. So I do as he says. I walk over to him, and knowing what he wants to do, I open my arms and he pulls me close to him. We remain in the embrace for a few minutes, until there's a knock on the door. I pull away from the hug slowly and open the door to my bedroom. It's my mother.
She shares a glance with Rory before he gives a small nod, which is when the door closes, leaving her on the other side. He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead and then leaves after a small 'goodbye'. After a minute pause, my mother walks back into my room, a small sigh escaping her lips when she leans against the door she closes it. There is an awkward silence between us, as we both occasionally glance out of the window to look at the square where they are setting up the stage.
"How are you feeling?" I manage to croak out in a quiet tone, fear showing obviously in my tone of voice.
"I think the question is: how are you feeling?" My mother replies back to me, stepping forward so she can stand in front of me, her hand gently resting on my shoulder. I don't know what to say, I don't know what to feel. Should I feel frightened? Of course I should, it's the reaping. Should I feel thankful? Yes, I have so many people around me who are coming to speak to me, wish me luck and care for me. I never have to sign up for tessarae. Should I feel worried? I may be used as a weapon to break my parents - rebels who beat the Capitol and won the games… twice. If my name is chosen, I'll just be another pawn in their silly little games. Of course, I can't say this out loud.
I give a light shrug, not intending for her hand to drop of my shoulder, but it does. She licks her lips and sighs quietly before pulling me close to her, where she brushes her fingers through my hair, whispering softly to me.
"Don't worry about today, you won't be chosen." Her words comfort me, but not enough to stop me thinking of the possibilities that I may be chosen. Though, out of plenty, my name is only in there three times. Hopefully the odds will be in my favour once more this year.
The white dress covers most of my body, only leaving my head, arms and shins visible. My feet are covered with flat white shoes that have a lace bow on the front to match the lace on my dress. It's not what I usually like to wear, but it's the reaping, a day to look your best. The front sections of my hair have been clipped back in braids, where the rest has been tied back into a bun. I like how it's supposed to represent my parents in some way: the braids, my mother, and the bun, my father.
We make our way towards the square, my parents at either side of me as if they're protecting me. They continue to share glances with each other and I know that they fear something bad may happen, but I dare mention anything about it. I say nothing. We sign in, but after that I'm separated from my parents and brother. I stand in a line of other fourteen year old girls, and in the pack of females, I'm in the middle. I glance around the others whose names aren't in the two bowls on the stage, and meet the eyes of my best friend. Rory seems panicked, and honestly, so am I. He isn't the one who has to face being reaped, but it's not just those between twelve and eighteen who fear the Hunger Games. Either way, every year, people lose those who they are close to. I've seen families break apart from losing someone because of the Games.
Then the District Twelve escort, Orlando Malone, comes onto the stage at two. His lime green hair is spiked up straight, not even swaying in the light breeze because of the amount of hairspray and gel that holds it. It looks like he's been attacked by an electronic fence. He's extremely bubbly and outgoing, always giggling. Every year my mother tells me that he reminds her of the woman who used to be the district's escort - Effie Trinket.
"Happy 84th Hunger Games!" Orlando sings down the microphone, nothing but excitement in his voice, but he has to step back to allow the mayor to read a story to us. The history of Panem. The Dark Days, the rebellion, and how the Hunger Games first came along. Then the story of the second rebellion comes to turn, and most eyes in the square turn to my mother and father. It happens every year; they're used to the stares. The Hunger Games were stopped for quite a few years, but then the wrong person came into ruling. He tells us how President Paylor stepped down and how the country is now ruled over by President Clark. Julius Clark is the man who brought the Hunger Games back to life. Once the reading is over and the previous victors have been read out - four in total - the mayor steps down from the stage and Orlando retakes the place in front of the microphone.
"Time to pull out the names," he grins, "Ladies first." With a laugh, he makes his way over to the bowl closest to him and lets his hand drop in. For one torturous minute, his hand swirls around the names, the excited grin never leaving his lips. My heart beat rises as one piece of paper is pulled out of the bowl and Orlando waits until he is back up at the microphone before he unfolds the paper. At first I don't register the name he reads out, but as it bounces around in my mind, my stomach churns.
The name is Jay Mellark.
Numbness. That's all I feel as I push my way through the crowd so I can be lead up to the stage by Peacekeepers. I can hear my mother yelling after me, and my father trying to hold her back and comfort her. My brother is crying, and I want to look back at them, but I know it's best not to until I'm up on that stage. Tears threaten to escape from my eyes, but I hold them back, as I remember something my mother used to tell me. She told me never to show them my tears; they'll see me as weak. I swallow and hold them back as I step up onto the stage, trying to show confidence in the way I move and stand.
There's silence for quite a while as I look around the crowd, seeing nothing but shocked expressions. Had people not expected the daughter of Katniss and Peeta Mellark to be reaped? I hadn't, so I don't know why I'm questioning them. Orlando looks between the crowd and me, also seeming shocked. But he soon loses it and returns to his bubbly self.
"Well, now to choose the boy tribute," he sings once more, strutting over to the second bowl full of names. I don't pay any attention to the name he pulls out; I'm too busy focusing on my family who has been joined by Rory. They all appear angry, apart from Rafael who is still crying into my mother. I wish I could be down there with them, trying to comfort them, but I'll have that time in the Justice Building soon. Swallowing, I turn my gaze away from them to see who the boy tribute is as he walks onto the stage. I recognise him from school, though he's two years above me, and around the district, but I've never really spoken to him.
His name is Archie Stanton.
He doesn't appear to have muscles on him, but I know he's strong. I've seen him when he helps his father around the Hob, lifting crates filled with meat. There's a distance between us to allow Orlando to stand there. He takes our hands and lifts them up into the year.
"District Twelve's tributes for the 84th Hunger Games!" He yells with great joy, waiting for applause from the audience before dropping our hands. Then the mayor takes Orlando's place on stage and wishes all the families a Happy Hunger Games, though I can see he doesn't want to be saying that. He knows my family personally and quite well. Archie and I are told to shake hands, so we do, and then the anthem of Panem begins to play.
Once the anthem is finished playing, the Peacekeepers take us from the stage and over to the Justice Building. They put us into different rooms so that we can have privacy while we spend time talking to our families and those who visit us. I sit alone in the room for a few minutes, looking around the room. Even though I live in a house in Victor's Village, this room still seems very rich. There's been a lot of detail put into the artwork around the room, and I start to wonder what happens in here when the tributes aren't spending their last hour with their friends and family. I run my fingers over the fabric on the couch I'm sitting on, the velvet sort of relaxing me. It reminds me of home. Some of the cushions are made of velvet.
My parents and brother are the first people to come in. Rafael rushes over to me straight away and I open my arms to pull him close to me. His tears fall onto the shoulders of my dress, and I run my fingers through his hair to try and calm him. I hold him for quite a while, struggling to hold back my tears. Eventually he pulls away from me to allow my parents to take his place. At first, not one of us knows what to say, we're all too shocked. But after a while, my mother cups my cheeks and begins to speak.
"Jay, listen to me, whatever they throw at you, you throw it right back at them. Don't let them mock you. They'll know you're our daughter, they'll know that, but you need to show them that you are." She tells me.
At first, I don't understand what she means by show them, but the more I think about it, the more I do. I need to put up a fight like my parents did. Use their signature. And that's when my mother slips something into my hands. The moment I feel the shape of it is the moment I recognise what it is - the Mockingjay pin. I look up at her then down at the pin.
"Wear this. Use it as your token. Remind them of who you are," my mother whispers then presses a kiss onto my forehead.
Then my father sits down beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulder. He holds me close and tells me that I'll be alright. I know I won't. I don't have the survival skills my mother had in the Games. I may be able to keep myself alive for a few days, but after that, I'd be like a lone bird to a hunter. Anyone could take me down. Then again, my mother sits down on the other side of my and we all shuffle close to each other.
They keep me in a silent embrace. None of us have anything to say. We are too frightened. Too worried. Their tears fall from their eyes onto me. They know what I am going through. They have been through it before. They hold me tight. I don't want to let them go, but I have to. My brother sits beside us, too upset to say or do anything. We are given the sign and time is up. They have to leave. My father stands first and my mother follows him, then my brother. They mutter words of "I love you" and "We love you". My mother whispers "stay alive" and my father shoots a glare at her. I reply the same back to them. There is sadness in their eyes. Anger in their eyes. A man comes in to take them out and he nods at my parents.
"Mr and Mrs Mellark, what a pleasant surprise." I can hear sarcasm and resentment hidden deep beneath his words.
Then I start to think: was this a set up? Was my name pulled out of that bowl just to hurt my parents? But how could they make sure that my name was pulled out? Did they fill the whole bowl with my name? The way this Peacekeeper is looking at me and my family, I'm starting to think that. Suddenly, I start to hate the Capitol a lot more than I did.
The Peacekeeper leads my family out of the room, but joining me afterwards is Rory. Instantly he pulls me into an embrace, holding me tightly.
"Win this, Jay, you win this for us. For your family, for District Twelve, for me." He tells me, and I know I must. I can't let them down. I must win the Games, but how can I? I'm not a warrior, I'm not a fighter, and I'm certainly not able to win the Hunger Games.
"I will, I promise you." I tell him, not wanting him to leave on a negative note from me. I want him to stay positive, where I will not. I want my family to stay positive, where it's clear that I cannot. Nothing means more to me than my family and I know that I must win the Games for them. Stay positive, I tell myself, maybe you will win. Maybe you will have some skill in that arena.
He brushes some loose strands of hair behind my ear and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
"Stay calm, stay hidden and stay strong."
Those are the last words I hear from him before he's taken out by the Peacekeeper and I'm left alone, with only my conscience to keep me in sanity.