I watch my people, all copper-skinned and black-haired like me, resting only to wipe the tears away from their sorry, poor eyes. It is amazing that they have tears, really.
The Enforcers let you only take a break three times a day for water, the bathroom and lunch. Then after that, we go back to work. The water my people get is so little; I'm surprised the tears they shed are even there.
I shift a little on the best branch I found, the sturdiest and thickest. Taking I binoculars, I scan the fields.
I see the new eighteen-year-old harvesters being poked hardly all over with a long bat. The Enforcers are seeing if they are fit enough. I suck in a breath as I see one skinny boy being looked over, but exhale when they let him go. The next one isn't so fortunate. He's so skinny, you can see his ribs, and they throw him out without a second glance.
Please be aware that harvesting isn't the only job here.
If you are somewhat strong, healthy, tall, and at least 18, you are a Harvester. If you are small enough to climb tress, healthy, and between the ages of 10-15, like I am, you are a Watcher. If you are a mother of at least four children, you stay at home. And if you don't fit in to anything, like this boy I see now, you are a Helper.
Helpers are the ones that risk everything. Since we are not fans of the Capitol, they continually send ways to try to torture us. Sending poisonous wine. Bringing fake Capitol residents in who have deadly diseases. That sort of thing.
And who do you suppose has to taste that wine? Who do you think is sent to visit the Capitol residents?
I choose to pray for this boy now, as they force him into that horrid purple jacket. The sign on the back says 11, for our district. But is he really a part of it?
They pull him away as he kicks and screams, and I force my eyes away.
They yellow flag comes up. It's been three hours. They are letting us go early today?
Usually this is one of our breaks.
But the flag would have been red. Instead it's yellow, showing we are leaving.
One of the Enforcers comes to the end of my tree.
"The reaping has been moved to today," he says gruffly, as if in his opinion, we should never be leaving for a second. "Go home, kid."
I whistle the four-note tune and climb down, running home to tell my family. They won't be up yet.
"Papa!" I exclaim, running through the door.
"We know. Mama has your dress laid out." He waves me off.
My heart pounds as mama combs my hair and smoothes my dress.
Its brown, with tan flowers on it. Mama ties the pink bow around my waist.
"Oh, Rue, you look beautiful!" she smiles.
I say goodbye to my siblings.
"Here," Benny says, handing me one of his toys. It's a small bronze statue of a teddy bear. "For good luck?"
I kiss his forehead. "I don't need it."
I walk down to the middle of town with Papa, who looks so upset.
"Papa?" I say worriedly. "We'll pray for whoever gets chosen, won't we?"
He nods. "Of course."
Our announcer, Kevana Dadren, smiles brightly as we sign in and come. I stand with the other girls my age, my heart pounding loudly still. You couldn't hear a pin drop.
"Good morning!" she chirps in her Capitol accent. "I do hope our switched time for the Reaping didn't annoy you all. You all work very, very hard."
I look up at the tree in the fields that I'm on everyday. This is all happening so quickly.
"Let us reap the most courageous man and woman!" she smiles. She crosses over to the boy jar. Usually it's the girls first. I guess they've decided to switch things up even more. Above us, I see the large camera focusing on Kevana.
She really is a sight, with her purple hair and her eyelashes that curl up to almost touch her eyebrows. Why do the people in the Capitol dress and speak so strange?
I wish this whole thing wasn't filmed.
A girl beside me begins to shiver with fear. I reach over and take her hand.
"It's all right," I whisper.
"Thresh Longborn!" Kevana says, and begins to clap. No one joins in.
A burly, strong boy makes his way up onto the stage. How did I never see him in the fields? He is built like a tank.
Kevana crosses over the girls' jar, roots around, and plucks a name.
It's odd, the reaction, that people would care. Here, we are treated so cruelly it's rare we ever think for others.
Papa's jaw drops, the girl besides me slides her hand out of mine, and Kevana looks around.
It suddenly dawns on me.
My name has been drawn.