The Reaping is held in the Central Square. Every district has one. It is always right in the middle of the district. Usually it is filled with mothers begging for food for their children because their husbands have gone out to war and can't supply the family with money and sales men trying to make you go into their store. Today Central Square will be crowded with news reporters with cameras and kids 2-18 waiting to see if they will be chosen.
Central Square is sectioned off into age categories: 2-10 to the right, 11-18 to the left. Before me and Esia go our separate ways, she stops me.
Her eyes are full of despair. "Bella, I'm scared."
"Why?"
"What if," she looked straight into my eyes, a tear slid down her cheek, "what if I get picked?"
"That would suck. Besides, your name is only in there once. You never bitch and complain."
We split up and go to our designated areas. I stand in line. You have to get your finger pricked. To see if you're healthy I guess; I'm honestly not sure why. I'm next, and while I'm pricked, I give Esia a reassuring glace. She'll be fine. I'll make sure she's fine. She's the only person I would ever die for. Okay, that is an exaggeration. I would die for Edward. Luckily he doesn't do anything stupid like go to the Volturi in Italy and take off his clothes in plain sight because he thought that I killed myself. Now that would be very idiotic.
I walk by a group of people my own age- 18. We stand in a clump as we are ready for the announcers to stand on the stage and tell us our fate.
The stage is positioned in the east so, as the sun continues to rise on this pathetic day, the lighting would be perfect. They don't care about the lives on millions but they care about how well they look on television. Woohoo, the people who work in this country are wonderful.
It's frame is made out of rusty iron and is sitting on wheels for transportation purposes. The actual floor and stairs is made out of dirty cement. The same stage is being used in every district to look uniform. District 12 is painted onto the middle of the stage to determine which one to send to which district. One year, someone sent the District 3 stage to us. His body has never been located.
Right int front of the painted District 12 on the stage is a wooden podium which is where the afternoon's speakers will be speaking. Right next to that is a wooden table which holds a two bowls- one for girls names and one for boys names. These aren't just any bowls, but the bowls which hold the names of who will be put into the next Hunger Games.
This isn't just happening in our district; It is happening all over Pamen. Every child from ages 2-18 from their district stand in their central square to find out who will be selected in the hunger games.
I imagine our president, Mr. Snow, sitting and watching the Reaping from his comfy chair at the Pamen headquarters which is located in the Capitol. I bet he is mocking us right now. He is mocking us as we tell our friends and siblings goodbye, not knowing if this will be the last time we see each other. He is mocking us as we pray to God that we will not be chosen. He is mocking us as we cry due to the fact that our lives are in the hands of a president who does not give a shit about its citizens. Of course, if I said this out loud I would probably get beaten publically. Instead, I raise my head up high. I raise it to the clouds. Yes, Rain might take my life, but he will never take my dignity. I destroy my dignity by doing other stupid stuff I don't need it ruined by crying.
I glance around at children's faces. They look so innocent. None of them look old enough to know how to kill someone, to know how to save their own life. If they get picked, the youngest would die first. Part of me thinks it will be a good laugh. As long as it's not Esia then I don't care. Edward will be fine- he can fly to get away from people. He could murder a contestant and have a snack at the same time! This is why I wish Edward had bit me earlier. I cry as much as a child so the two year olds don't got nothing on me. Me being a vampire could really give me an advantage.
Our mayor- a fat old man that lives on the corner of my street- walks on stage. Someone throws a twinkie at him. He twitches, catches the twinkie, and hides it in the podium. He blushes and fixes his microphone.
His cheeks get redder by the minute as he speaks. His armpit stains get yellower as the day ticks on. I, as well as the rest of Pamen, can tell how scared he is. He doesn't want to mess up, knowing that if he does it could cost him his job. I wonder why someone would want to pick a job with so much stress, but then I remember that the mayor's kids don't get put into the drawing. Lucky bastards.
A woman followed by a young child walks on the stage after him. I don't even glance in her direction but I can tell who she is by the sound of her staple red high heels on the cement stairs. I know her from somewhere- my nightmares.
The mayor looks at him. "You better watch out, Jane might purposely pick you to be next in the hunger games." He laughs. No one else does.
Jane Clarkson is Rain's secretary. Since he cannot be at every Reaping at once, he forces his many secretaries to attend for him. I remember last year I got the hot male secretary. I gave him a blowjob behind the stage to make sure I wouldn't get picked. I asked him what I would have to do to make sure I or my sister would get picked this year but anal wasn't worth it.
She is wearing black slacks, deep red shoes, and a matching deep red v-neck long sleeved bloused. We get it, you're rich and able to afford deep colored clothes, don't rub it in our faces. Her nude lips contrast with the richness of her outfit. Her hair was up in a bun to keep her hair out of her face since it is a windy afternoon. Even though she is attending such a depressing event, she looks quite dazzling. The irony makes me want to puke.
Next to her stood a 10 year old boy. He is the first winner of the Hunger Games for our district. His long brown hair fell in a fringe on his forehead. The stress induced wrinkles on his face look strange on his young skin. The reason they are there is inhumane. No child should have to be put onto so much pressure, even after his victory in the Hunger Games.
The mayor looks back at his audience. "My name is Mr. Sawyer, your mayor, and this is Jane."
He gives the crowd an awkward smile, obviously feeling nervous. Sweat drips down his forehead and lands on his microphone. No one claps.
Mr. Sawyer moves to the side of the stage as Jane walks to the wooden podium. "Hello and good morning. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor." She gives the sly smile that a serial killer makes before he murders his victim.
No matter how dreadful this event is, we all have to pretend like it actually means something. We have to pretend that there is happiness somewhere in this madness called life to survive. Life sucks.
I look around through the crowd. I catch a glimpse at Esia. She looks so gorgeous in my old pink dress. Why couldn't I have been as pretty as her? Her hair is blowing in the slight breeze that is cast over the district. Too much worry, too young.
I look around again. Me and Jacob hold eye contact for a second. He shaved for the Reaping I see. Every few seconds I catch a glimpse of him taking his shirt off and putting it back on. His abs are amazing. They are not hairy, weird, or glittery like Edward's. Oh well.
He has nothing to worry about, lucky mother fucker. Werewolves have to compete but because of their immense strength they are only entered once. But if they are selected, they cannot change into a werewolf in the arena. That sucks because he can't use their skills to their advantage. If they try to anyways, they will be immediately killed. How? I'm not sure. No werewolf has risked it.
"Ladies first!" Jane put her hand in the bowl. Ew, her fat fingers smell like Popeyes.
She twirls her hand around in the bowl while looking at the faces of children. Children who should be home with their families, and not being picked to die or to live. I should be trying to have sex with Edward. Again.
The anticipation is immense as she takes her time to pick a name. What a bitch. Finally, she picks a piece of paper with her fingers and pulls it out of the bowl. She slowly opens it, and her eyes widen as she reads off the name that is written.
"Rafflesia Everdeen!"
Maybe I should have had that anal.