500th Hunger Games Story [Chap. 1 - D1 POV!]

This would be my 30th year as an escort, and it was certainly getting more and more exciting as the years went by, because if I lasted, I’d get to be an escort in the 500th Games. Very fun, don’t you think? All the trees around the District are a bit foreign to me, but they are beautiful. My job, as an escort, can be very exciting, and as I board the stage I put a genuine smile on my face. None of the citizens look to happy though. “Come on District 7! Smile!” I say. There is a bit of mumbling and shifting, and those boring faces just become annoyed. I shrug my shoulders and take my place. “Anyways, it’s nice to see you all again! Let’s just go ahead and cut to the chase, eh? You must be bored to death!” I walk over to the girls’ ball and shuffle around, then walk back to the microphone and read the name.

“Harmony Jackson!” I call. For a few seconds there is nothing. “I volunteer!” Someone shouts desperately, and my head bobs into the direction. A volunteer! For the 500th Games! How magnificent! “Well come one then!” I say in the direction. There is a bunch of shuffling of feet, and a little moan. “No Diana…” Someone says loud and slow, and I give a laugh. She must’ve wanted to be in the Games! “Oh come on, there’s always next year!” I say heartily, and watch the volunteer mount the stage with a look of utter hardness on her face. Maybe she was just that tough a fighter! Or… the other way around. “What’s your name, doll?” I ask. “Diana Holly.” She says with an edge to her voice. “Be happy! You’re a Tribute!” I say. That fails though. I shrug my shoulders and walk to the boys’ ball, and dig around for a name. After I’ve grabbed the name I walk back to the microphone and unroll it.

“Uno Verren!” I say. The boy that emerges has gritted teeth, and he is stomping his way to the stage. Quite a show if you ask me. No need for drama. Although, it’ll make a nice show for the capitol! No interesting things happen such as a volunteer, but rather he is the “boring” Tribute for this year. We’ll see though. For all I know he could be future Victor.

Harmony and I are walking to the Square together, silently assuring each other it’d be okay. Today we’d be quiet, and not say too much, but I wanted to speak so badly. We glance at each other then enter the area together. Area as in the girls’ 15-year-old section. We are the same age. We go through The Reaping together. As soon as the mayor starts the Treaty of Treason I start thinking of the possibilities. What if Harmony or I were to be Reaped? That’d be terrifying. I settle with myself I’d volunteer for her. Hopefully though, neither of us will be going in. The escort emerges. We’ve had her since before I was born, and she uses the same greeting every year. Variety please? No? Fine. As she walks o the girls’ ball I hold my breath and grip Harmony’s hand tightly. Not me or her, neither of us. Hopefully.

“Harmony Jackson!” is the name called for. I freeze. So does Harmony. I grip her hand tighter, then prepare for my next sentence. “I volunteer!” Immediately Harmony turns and looks at me, but before she can utter a word I make my way to the stage. I don’t want to go through with whatever she would say. “What’s your name, Doll?” The escort asks me. I look at her in disgust and answer, “Diana Holly.” I don’t fancy being called Doll. She approaches the boys’ ball and snatches a name after shuffling for a bit. I watch a bit shyly as she walks back to the microphone and reads the name of the unlucky person.

“Uno Verren!” She shouts. I look at the crowd and see a boy emerge from the 14s’ section and walk slowly towards the stage. I know he’ll be my district partner. We don’t have to ally though, but it might be a good idea. As he takes his place next to me I look at him gingerly and shrug my shoulders. “Wanna be allies?” I whisper, and even though we aren’t anywhere near the capitol yet, he nods his head. I have an ally.

I stand alone in my section, waiting for that stupid Treaty-of-Treason to be over. Just get started already, we know what we’re here for and why, you don’t need to remind us every single year. Finally, the mayor shuts his mouth and our escort comes out and says her hellos – which would be taken back in about 10 minutes if everything went normally. She walks over to the girls’ ball and shuffles out a name. I lean on my left leg and wait for the answer to a question. Who is the female tribute?

“Harmony Jackson!” I shrug the name off. Oh well, just another girl I didn’t know going off to die. Still sad, though. Although soon it’s overrun by the sound of a volunteer. My eyebrows rise high, and I look in the direction of the volunteer. Hey… I recognize that girl from my walk here. I don’t know her name though. Nonetheless, another sad moment. I watch her mount the stage and say her name. Diana Holly. Nope, I don’t know her, never heard of her either. Then the escort goes to the boys’ ball and pulls out the name. She opens it and reads.

“Uno Verren!” She yells. My eyes drop to the ground and I take a few steps forward. Thoughts race through my mind at lightning speed. Will I die? Will I in? No, I won’t win. Will death be painful? I hope not. I get on stage and she smiles. “Wanna be allies?” Diana whispers to me. I’m caught off guard, but look her straight in the eye when I answer with a nod of my head. We’ll be allies. I don’t know her at all, but in situations like this you have to improvise. For all I know no one else will be my ally. She could very well be my only chance.

“There you go!” The escort shouts, “Your Tributes of District 7!”

Ah, the not-so-beautiful District 8! Nothing compares to The Capitol. Even the people here are ugly and dirty. Nonetheless, the clothes I’m currently wearing wouldn’t be here without them. We need the Districts quite a lot. The very second the Treaty of Treason ends, I bound onto the stage with a huge smile on my face. “Good afternoon District 8!” I shout, “It’s that time of year again, to pick a very lucky boy and girl from your District to act as Tributes for the Hunger Games!” My voice has an air f importance, since it is quite an important announcement to make. “Let’s get to it already, and may the odds be ever in your favor!” I say. It’s an old saying, and not many of the escorts use it anymore, but a few of us still put it to use as a joke that the Games are so old and loved. I love using it, it sounds so fun.

I walk over to the girls’ ball and quickly snatch a name right off the top. “Makayla Atwood!” I shout. I look around, then see a girls turning around and running – rather fast, away from her section. I lean on my left foot boringly, and watch the peacekeepers drag her onto the stage. She’s a bit more beautiful than some of the other residents, but nonetheless, a District Citizen. I nod my head at her and turn to the boys’ ball. Walking over, I grab a slip from the top again and walk to the microphone.

“Cotton Tromelove!” I announce. Out pops a boy looking pale and worried. He is scrawny and weak-looking, but that’s how most of them look. He takes slow, wobbly steps towards the stage, as though he could collapse at any moment. I don’t want another fainting Tribute. Almost every year either the male or female Tribute faints. It makes them seem weak and I need strong people to represent. Anyways, I’m finished here.

I’m standing in my section, barely listening to the Treaty of Treason. I’m planning ahead for whatever happens. If I’m Reaped, I might as well give up, but if someone I know is Reaped, what would I do then? Merely cry, volunteer, yell? Root them on to kill? I don’t know. Reaping can get rather confusing. Very confusing, actually. The Treaty ends and our Lady Escort hops onto the stage. “Good afternoon District 8!” She shouts. I give a little roll of my eyes. It’s not a good morning. She says that quirky little saying, May the odds be ever in your favor, and walks to the girls’ ball. She pulls out a slip and reads it quickly, then walks to the microphone.

“Makayla Atwood!” I her. Then I almost faint. Almost though, I just feel dizzy and tired. I turn on my heels and start running for any direction but there. No time to think, I have to get away first, then let my emotions come. I will not be a Tribute. Suddenly I feel hands on my shoulders, and slump completely. Then I am dragged to my death sentence. Dragged to the place I will begin my journey to death. I don’t want to go, but I have to. I can never escape these hands. I barely keep my eyes open as I watch the escort walk over to the boys’ ball and pull out a name. A name that would die with me, and 21 others. The other one will come out alive – as the Victor. And now, I discover who will die with me, who will, who will?

“Cotton Tromelove!” She shouts, as in the escort. My eyes dart around, looking for my partner. He stumbles out, looking frightened, but not as foolish as me. I must look so crazy, drowsy and ready to pass out. He mounts the stage and passes me, and I see his eyes roll over my body. I feel protective over it, and cross my arms and begin rocking on the heels of my feet. I don’t know this boy, he could be a ruthless killer now that I think about it. He’s older than me. He is probably stronger than me and my read-to-faint self.

The Community Home is busy on Reaping day. All the little kids wondering what’s going on, the ones ready for Reaping scared to the bone. Especially the 12-year-olds. My little sister is huddle up in a corner dreading her first Reaping at the moment. I walk to her and lean down on my knees to come vis-à-vis with her. “It’s gonna be alright.” I sign to her. Soon enough it’s time to go, and she won’t budge. I may look weak, but that’s just from not having enough vitamin C. I pick her up gently in my arms and walk her all the way to the District Square. Then I set her down and ask her to please go with the other little girls her age, the brave little kids. She agrees and goes to be ‘brave.’ Like the mouse in one of the stories I told her. I love telling her stories.

The Treaty of Treason begins, but I keep my eyes on Bailey’s (my little sister) back. Once the Treaty ends our Escort gets on the stage and says her hello’s. I notice Bailey mouthing words to herself and feel like scolding her. She’s deaf, which is why I have to sign to her, if she was to be Reaped, she would never survive the bloodbath. Too bad I can’t volunteer. No one in the Community Home would volunteer either. Ever. The Escort walks to the girls’ ball and I hold my breath, turning my gaze to the ball. Not Bailey, please don’t let it be Bailey!

“Makayla Atwood!” Is the name called for. I breathe a sigh of relief, but take it back when I see the poor girl getting dragged to the stage. It’s sad but at least it’s not my Bailey. As the escort walks to the boys’ ball, I must once again hold my breath. She pulls out a name and yells, “Cotton Tromelove!” My eyes get a bit big and I feel my body go pale. I look at Bailey, who doesn’t understand. All she knows is that a girl came out when the escort moved her lips. She must think whoever it is is scared! I frown, and when I catch her eye sign an important message. “It’s me.” Immediately she shakes her head and covers her face, the girl next to her looking sad for her. I shake all the emotions off me and let my own take me to the stage, where I stand next to the female Tribute.

And then the Escort says the magic words. “Your Tributes of District 8!”

I am a girl not a boy. That’s kind of hard to explain though when you have short hair like mine, and and everyone assumed you are male from your name alone. Anyways, it’s time for the District 9 Reaping. Well, this Treaty of Treason thing is taking way to long, no matter how important it is. At least it’s almost over. The Treaty ends and it’s time for me to walk on stage. With quick, brisk steps I board on. “Hello District 9! It’s Refinnie, your favorite escort!” I shout playfully. The Capitol loves me, but not as much as Rikkie, Cholly, or Ferdinand. With a laugh I continue, “It’s my favorite time of year again, so that means everything is special! Let’s pull out the Tribute’s names and see the lucky winners!” I hear a few grunts at the mention of Winner, and shrug it off. Time to get this ball rolling! I walk on over to the girls’ ball and wish them luck. I don’t use that old catch phrase like some people.

“Grain Jostle!” I shout. There is silence, then the sound of feet slamming against the ground hard. A wild looking girl with dark brunette hair comes bursting out of her section, fists balled and feet stomping all the way to the stage. She looks rather angry, with a temper and everything. But yet, she’s so small, coming from the 13’s section. I purse my lips and watch her get on stage, and glare at me. I’m taken aback by her actions, and feel awkward next to her. I put on a smile and walk to the boys’ ball, and pull out a slip.

“Omri Montresiti!” I shout into the crowd. Another silence I cannot explain. Then out comes a muscular looking boy, popping out of the 18’s part. He looks just as angry as the Jostle girl, and takes his place next to her, looking at her for a moment with a sad expression. I assume the girl has a hard temper in general, because she just slumps her shoulders and sends a glare in his direction. I raise my eyebrows and give up on trying to figure them out. I’m done here.

I step out of my house into the afternoon sun, and begin the walk to the Square. It’s Reaping day, probably the most dreaded day of the year. I hate it, anyways. This is only my second Reaping. Yah sure, I’m a bit scared, but not much. I try not to be scared of anything. So as I walk I have an air of fear mixed with an awkward confidence. I’m not really confident, it’s completely fake. I arrive at th square and sign in, then go quickly to my section and await the Escort to come out. The Treaty isn’t very interesting to listen to. When the escort finally does come out, she at least cuts to the chase and draws the name. I hold my breath and await the answer to my question. Am I it?

“Grain Jostle!” She shouts. Yes. I’m it, But I don’t want to. How could I have acted so confident? I feel so dumb! I grit my teeth and stomp to the stage. Anger is boiling inside of me. I look up and glare at the escort. It’s her fault for picking me. I don’t even watch as she walks to the boys’ ball and yanks out a name. I can hear her feet walk to the microphone though, because the crowd has fallen so silent.

Then, in her loud, capitol-effected voice, she yells, “Omri Montresiti!” A shiver goes up my spine. Omri is a boy at my school, and I’ve heard rumors about him. I’m sure they aren’t true, but he sounds like a bully to me. A boy with no values, willing to do anything to anyone to get what he wants. He’s going to be one of my opponents. I’m only 13! I can’t fight! My fear only gets worse as he joins me with his hard steps of anger. I see the look of sadness on his face for a split second, and it just makes me angrier. I look out into the crowd an see my friends, already mourning my death. It’s like I’m already dying. Of course, I am.

I laugh, amused, as I push a little group of 12-year-olds on the way to the Square. They are moaning and complaining, asking me to stop, but it’s too much fun to make them so helpless. I’d never kill as required in the Hunger Games, I prefer to mess with my victims. That’s why I’ve never hoped to be in the Games. I am capable of winning, I know, with my strength, but I’d prefer to stay home and not risk it. Finally, the kids dash off and I decide not to chase. I sign in to the Reaping and take my place in my section. The second the Treaty of Treason ends, th escort comes out and goes to the girls’ ball. My problem is the way she said winners. Winner? TO DIE? No. More like loser. The people not Reaped are our Winners.

“Grain Jostle!” Is the name shouted first. I shrug, until I see the little girl come popping out. It’s not common for young kids to be Reaped, and it saddens my heart u=such a small, fragile thing should be Reaped. There is a moment of silence to wait for volunteers, then our escort walks to the boys’ ball. I lean on my right foot as she pulls out a name. It’ll be one of my victims no doubt, and I’ll need to pick on someone new.

“Omri Montresiti!” My head bounces forward and my eyes bulge. WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY? “That’s Omri! He’s gonna win!” I hear, “He’s so strong, at least it wasn’t another youngun” I hear voices all around, some joyful I’ll be going into a deadly arena, some confident of my win for the District and supply of food, some just sad for the Reaping part of it. If I do win – my District will have food and treats. I should win, shouldn’t I? I walk to the stage, still angry, and look at the little girl sadly. She just glares at me and in my head, I think ‘fine.’ And that’s it. Because,

“Here are your Tributes of District 9!” The escort shouts. And that’s why.

It’s that time of year again. The time of year I don’t exactly love. I have to select two innocent children who will die, and so on top of that I get the guilt if they do die. If they win, I’ve created a murderer. Of course, it’s not entirely my fault; it’s also the first President’s. I hear the mayor’s voice stop droning on with the Treaty of Treason, and that’s my queue to get onstage. I walk up the steep steps, and am greeted by the hot District 10 sun, and a spread of children shaking hard. Behind them lies the grassy plains, horses and cattle grazing nonchalantly. I swallow hard and focus back on the children.

“Hello District 10.” I say, a certain drone to my voice that reminds me faintly of the mayor. I was like this every year, because I didn’t want to sound excited when I really truly wasn’t. I quicken my pace and go straight for the girls’ ball, wanting to get this over with. “Ladies first.” I mutter. I then proceed to pull out a name, not really wanting to read it. Some girl out there will probably die because of this slip. I walk to the microphone and unfold it. Then read the name.

“Charlotte Thompson!” I yell. A girl emerges from the 18’s section, and I’m allowed a little relief. She’s strong, most likely because of her district. I always do overreact a bit. I tend to forget what this District produces and how they live. Another side, is that she is 18 and has a larger chance of winning. I smile, satisfied, and walk to the boys’ ball. My confidence seems too much though. I pull out the slip and read the name. “Vachel Merfiun!” I yell. Out pops a boy from the 12 section and I gag. He’ll be dying. I just couldn’t watch him get murdered, no matter what way either quick or slow. But there is no changing what I’ve done, because it’s already happened. I’ve finished my job.

”Hello District 10.” our Escort shouts out. I rub my forehead and lean on my right foot. “Every year...” I mutter. She probably acted bored for the sake of us. The girl next to me looks at me and nods, “Yes, every darned year.” she agrees. I nod back at her and watch the escort stumble about. “Ladies first.” She says quietly. I change feet as she walks over to the girls’ ball and pulls out a slip. I don’t have any friends to cross my fingers for, so all I do is hope it’s not my name on there. She walks back to the microphone and I watch her eyes scan the slip.

“Charlotte Thompson!” She shouts. I stop leaning on my foot and my head bobs forward. What was that? Charlotte? Charlotte Thompson? No, that can’t be me! But I’m the only Charlotte Thompson in this crowd. I start walking forward. At least it isn’t some poor 12-year-old this year, and no doubt I have a chance of winning, if it’s not large I’ve still got my strength and my general age gives me a boost. As you get older you tend to get bigger. I walk slowly to the stage and take my place. Technically, I should have a pretty good chance of winning, even if all I get for a weapon is a rock. I watch the escort as she walks to the boys’ ball and grabs out a name. She walks to the microphone, and once again her eyes scan the slip.

“Vachel Merfiun!” She shouts. I look over towards the older sections, but am taken by surprise when a little boy catches my eye. A little boy, from the 12-year-old’s section. Who is yet to have lived life. I haven’t lived much either, but he’s lived even less. The Games are very unfair. He walks up to the stage and stands next to me. He looks up at me and immediately his eyes dart away when I look. Maybe I should protect him. My little sister was 12, and last year she went into the Games. I didn’t volunteer. Now I will do everything in my power to protect the boy. Hopefully that won’t be fatal. I look at the crowd and see my dad’s horrified face, and my mom is on the ground, out cold.

”Let’s go!” My dad says. I put down the cards and stand up from the floor. Ever since this morning my sisters and I have been playing cards. I’m the youngest of 5, and I don’t have any brothers, so I can’t exactly talk about boy stuff around my sisters. I walk out the front first, and I’m followed by Savanna, Arête, Kaolin, and Walesa. Arête is the oldest, Kaolin comes next, then Walesa and Savanna. They aren’t twins, rather Savanna is a foundling. We count her as a sister though. We arrive at the square and take our places. Arête goes to the 18-year-old girls’ section, Kaolin to the 16’s, Walesa and Savanna to the 14’s, and me, of course, to the 12’s for boys. I feel awkward going in a completely different direction than half my family. My dad stands near the middle to watch. He knows this is my first year.

The Treaty of Treason ends and we all hold our breath as the escort comes out. It was time to send some children to their death. Painful or not, someone would die. 23, to be exact. I glance in Arête’s section and see her muttering some stuff to a girl. I silently wish my sisters luck. Then, the name comes out. “Charlotte Thompson!” I look around, but the girl is actually right next to where my eyes were. She pops out from next to my sister. I watch helplessly as Arête gives a surprised look, then glances at me and wishes me good luck for the boys’ turn. I notice, as I look around, all my sisters are looking at me, wishing me silent luck. I look at the escort as she pulls out a name, and I myself have to close my eyes.

“Vachel Merfiun!” She calls, and my eyes open wide with fear. Vachel as in me? No! I can’t! I’ll die! I look around at the terrified faces of my sisters. Savanna is crying, Walesa has her face buried in her hands, Kaolin’s face is buried into her best friend’s shoulder, and Arête. Arête isn’t doing anything. She’s standing there, and she nods her head at me, and points to the stage. I give a small wave, but she shakes her head. She means exactly what dad said when Faelyn went into the Games. Her best friend went into the Games last year, but she refused to say goodbye. Goodbye means I’m never coming back. Faelyn didn’t come back, but she was in the finale. Why is she so confident? Maybe she’s trying to give me confidence. Nonetheless, I must take small steps to the stage. I stand next to the big girl, and when she looks at me I look down. For all I know she’s planning how to kill me.

“And here are your Tributes of District 10!” The escort shouts. My escort.

I walk onto the stage, nodding with a smile at the mayor. It’s that wonderful time of year again! Of the 6 male escorts in the pool, I’m definitely the best at my job. I flash a huge smile and prepare for the fun. “Good afternoon District E-leven!” I say, flicking my tongue at the ‘L’. “We all know what time of year it is again!” I continue, jiggling a bit with excitement. There are a few groans in the crowd, but I ignore them like every year. “Ladies first!” I shout, then rush on over to the girls’ ball. “May the odds be ever in your favor!” There’s that old saying, but what the heck. It’s fun. I reach in and shuffle around, then pull out a girls’ name. I walk back to the microphone and read.

“Amity Strekker!” There’s a scream in the crowd, and a little circle forms in the 12-year-old’s section. Oh how sad, a little 12-year-old who can’t win! I frown dramatically, and see her… what? There are two more of her, trying to calm her down. Suddenly one, the only one with one braid, pops her head up and glares at me. I’m taken aback by her action and tilt my head. “I volunteer!” She shouts. I then proceed to raise my eyebrows. “A-Alright.” I say, unsure. She let’s go of her sister and starts walking toward me, fists balled and everything. I glance behind her but the crowd has already swallowed the other two. “What’s your name?” I ask. She looks at me and begins to turn red. “Fornax Strekker.” She answers. I smile and look up at the crowd, motioning towards the girl, then call “Fornax Strekker!”

I walk to the boys’ ball and pull out a slip. The next one better be old enough to fight. I rush back to the microphone and unfold it quickly, and read out, “Griffin Keen!” I look out and see a boy come walking out of the crowd, hardly a sound. He takes his place next to the girl and I nod. Alright, now we’re done. I can wrap this up and leave.

I open the door for my sisters and they half tumble half walk down the path from our house. Our very first Reaping, and we’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about it. We walk in utter silence towards the Square, a billion thoughts looming over us as we walk. It seems like in the time it takes to snap a twig we’re confronted by a rattle snake. My first reaction is to freeze, and Meredith knows to do the same. Amity knows, but she is so startled she moves back, causing the snake to bounce forward towards the nearest person – me. I screech a bit, but the snake never bites its target before a rock comes tumbling onto his head. I look up from the ground and see a boy, looking down at the snake, then at me. “Th-thanks.” I mutter. He nods his head, and with a small wave of his hand he’s gone. Gone with the rest of the crowd going to the Reaping. Amity apologizes, and I of course forgive her. We’re like a team. One person. And you have to be able to forgive yourself.

The second we get to the Square we sign in and take our places. I just want to get this over with. The Treaty of Treason starts, and all the while Amity shakes, Meredith stares, and I look around impatiently. I’m supposedly the mature, serious one of us. Being triplets, we still have different personalities. Amity is the weak, simple-minded young one, Meredith is the friendly, supportive middle, and I’m the dead-serious loner oldest. That’s what the kids at school call me anyways. A loner. Soon enough the escort pops out and says her ‘Afternoons. Meredith is hanging on tightly to Amity’s hand, but I stand alone in this. I don’t exactly know how to act. Should I be holding on? I’ve got tesserae. But that doesn’t mean much.

“Amity Strekker!” Suddenly rings in my ear. Amity starts backing up, and screams. Meredith holds onto her, and together they lay on the ground. I cover my mouth and stifle vomit. It comes though, and I vomit all over the kid behind me. I rush to Amity and start hugging her. Meredith is whispering nothings to her. A small circle forms and I look up at the escort and glare. It was his fault my sister was going in. But wait – Amity doesn’t have to go in. I could take her place. I’ll get rich food of the capitol, then escape this torturous world! But how would my family survive? I’ll take my chances. “I volunteer!” I say hoarsely, and stand up. He says ‘alright’ and I start walking to her. I ball up my fists in anger of him ending my life. I board the stage and he calls out the next name. “Griffin Keen!” I look around, and see a boy come out. Wait, not any boy. The boy from my walk here! He stares at me for a second then starts walking towards the stage. He stands next to me and we lock eyes. He obviously hasn’t forgotten. Hasn’t forgotten the girl he saved.

I’m merely walking to the Square for Reaping day, when I notice a snake in the road. I begin to go around it, but I notice a few girls come walking over, and before I can open my mouth to warn them they are stuck. It’s three girls… that look exactly alike! Except for the fact one has a hat and one only has one braid they look like triplets. Perhaps they are. The smallest looking one accidently moves, and the snake goes popping towards the stiffest looking girl, and I immediately pick up a rock and smash his head in. I stare at him for a bit then look up at the girls. No conversation, please. I nod my head when the girls thanks me, and then turn to get out of there as fast as possible.

I make it to the Square in good time and listen through the Treaty of Treason. Most boring part of the Reaping, indeed. Scariest is the Reaping itself. Finally the mayor steps back and the escort comes onstage. She says hello and I stare intently. As she walks to the girls’ ball I nod impatiently. Come on. Hurry up. “Amity Strekker!” I look around, trying to find the unlucky girl. I hear a scream and my head goes turning quickly to the 12’s section. I silently hate that it comes from there, but then see who it was that screamed. A girl with bright red hair, who look remarkably like the child I helped only about an hour ago. That’s when I see the other two. Of course. The only redheads in District 11 – and they’re triplets. I grit my teeth and watch everything unfold. That girl – Fornax – seems very brave to volunteer for her sister, I think as she stands on the stage saying her name. I wish her luck, even as the escort bobs over to the boys’ ball.

“Griffin Keen!” He shouts. I’m taken aback by the name. Me? No, not possibly! I look around, as though there is another Griffin Keen. But there isn’t. Only me. I take a few steps forward, and look at Fornax. Then I continue walking to the stage, and stand next to her. I lock eyes with her and frown. We’re going in together. I have to look very far down on her, being so tall compared to her short figure. But still. I feel the need to keep protecting her now. She protected her sister by volunteering, so maybe it’s owed to her. Not by me – but her sister can’t exactly pay debts right now.

“And here, Ladies and Gentlemen, are your Tributes of District 11!” Our escort shouts. “May the odds-“ I whisper, and Fornax looks up at me quickly, “Be ever in your favor.” she finishes in my same whispering tone. And she is dead-serious.

Here I am now. Treaty of Treason status: Over. Now, just like every generation of my family, I’m going to go on stage and pick the male and female tributes of this year. Exciting, isn’t it? I think so! I rush onto the stage and snatch the microphone from its stand. “Good evening District 12!” I shout. The microphone fusses a bit and I curse under my breath about the terrible technology they have here. Then I perk back up and smile again. “May the odds be ever in your favor!” I continue, then rush to the girls’ ball. “Ladies first!”

I shuffle around and grab one from the very bottom. Who would the lucky girl be? I take the clip back to center stage and open it up. Once I read it I smile again and say, “Angel Laht!” A pretty looking girl walks up to the stage. Her dress look a bit better than most of the people’s around here, and I can see a few smirks. The name Laht makes me feel uneasy. The mayor’s last name is Laht. I turn my head slowly towards him and see a straight face staring intently at the girl. The share a similar look. Nonetheless, this does occasionally happen!

I prance over to the boys’ ball and select a name right from the very top. I then walk back to the center of the stage and read aloud the name. “Kinteen Pizzero!” I shout. Silence. Someone leans towards me and whispers, “I don’t think you said it right.” I nod my head and look back at the paper. “Kooeentin Pizro!” I say as a correction. What’s going on? I look back and begin to stumble. “Kine-tin Pizzero? Pizro? Pize-ro? K-K… P-P…” Then I roll my eyes. “Gah why can’t people have simple names?!” I shout. The mayor snatches it from my hands, and in his deep voice calls out for me, “Quinten Pizzaro!” I look down. “Oh.” Is all I can say as the boy joins on stage next to the girl. Whatever.

My five siblings and I, that’s what it is today. All about us according to my parents, preparing us for the Reaping. My dad is the mayor of District 12 so the Reaping is something he wants us to look good at. To make an impression. My mom opens the door and we file out one by one. First Avery, then Thorne, me, Angelina, Parker, and then little Mina. Dad follows us and mom brings up the rear, but as soon as we get out of the house I’m walking by Angelina and Thorne, while the rest are walking a few paces ahead of us. Silence is all we know on Reaping day. Until dad gets on stage and reads the Treaty. And of course, the second we arrive, as we are always the last ones, dad hops on stage and starts reading.

Eventually he finishes and steps aside. As the escort comes on stage I see him wish Mina luck with a smile. He always does that for the youngest. He can’t do it for all of us, it’d take too long. He (as in the escort) walks to the girls’ ball and I cross my fingers the last name isn’t Laht. “Angel-“ he begins, and immediately my breath catches and I clench my fists. I’m certain at the name Angel my siblings all tightened considerably. “-Laht!” I fall back a few inches, and the girl behind me catches me and pushes me forward with a smirk. My turn to suffer. I smooth my pretty yellow dress and start walking to the stage. Then all I can do is take my place. So I do. And that’s that.

Then my escort starts fumbling around with the boys’ name. My dad glances at me, and see his face is red. A mixture of so many emotions. His daughter was going to die. He never paid much attention to me. It was always Mina’s youngness, Parker’s athletics, Angelina’s dancing, Thorne’s grades, or Avery’s multi-talents. Never Angel’s anything. I have to win for him to be proud of me. That’ll never happen. “Quinten Pizzaro!” I hear my dad yell out at the crowd – mostly at the escort. Excuse me, my escort. The boy joins me and I glance at him. My dad hates that boy.

“Angel Laht!” I hear called out by the escort. My head turns in that direction, away from the rabbit that had caught my eye. Laht? Isn’t Angel the mayor’s daughter? I’m his assistant, you see. He doesn’t like me much though. I see a few smirks, and give a small one of my own. There, that ought to bring a little lesson to the mayor’s family. Not even they are safe from the Reaping. No matter how much they think that. The escort walks to the boys’ ball and snatches up a name. I nod my head in a bored fashion and cross my arms. He walks back over to the middle of the stage and reads the name.

Who? I wonder. Kinteen Pizzero? Sounds a little like Quinten Pizzaro… “Kooeentin Pizro!” She tries. I know she means me, but we’ll see. She stumbles a bit more until the mayor snatches the name. He obviously knows who I am. “Quinten Pizzaro!” he shouts. I give a worried glance at his daughter, but she isn’t looking at me. No doubt. I start walking towards the stage and stand next to Angel. Great.

“And here are your tributes of District 12!” The escort shouts. I stare at the ground, but then look back up. “You have very big hair.” I tell him. The mayor gives a snort and Angel covers her mouth. I grin. “Thank you, young man.” He replies, patting the side of his huge hair. Another snort is heard from the mayor and her turns his head in laughter, trying to stifle it. Angel is looking at me with quite a giggling smile, and I shrug. “Well it is…” I whisper.