HungerGames72

Chapter six

I wake up, the sun peeking in through the window, right into my eyes.
I sit up groggily and wipe the sleep out of my eyes.
There's little bits of dust floating about in the air, zooming about in the sunbeam.
The sunbeam.
I scramble to my feet and look out the window. Sure enough, it's summer.

Most of the time, the sun doesn't rise where I can see it from my room, but around May, it starts to shine into my eyes in the morning. A nice wake-up call from nature, I suppose.
It couldn't be May already, could it?
And if it was summer, that meant....
It meant the Hunger games.
The yearly reminder that the capitol is superior and not to rebel blah blah blah. No doubt the stupid snivelling capitol suck-up Cinnamon Farley will sing the praises of President snow and give us all the usual crap about 'hOw ThE cApItOl Is ThE sTrOnGeSt' or whatever pish she usually reads of off her cue cards.
I'm not a violent person, per se, but given the chance I would gladly give her a good kick.
The hunger games also stings for me and dad, as it took away two of our most beloved people. The reaping only brings back horrible memories, and usually for months after it when I sleep all I can see is the children on the stage, faces blank. Or sometimes I'm up there, or Valerie, or my father. Once I dreamt it wasn't Cinnamon on the stage, but the middle-aged woman from August's reaping, only in my dream she had giant razor-like teeth and leered over me, as she pulled my name out of the bowl.
I give myself a shake. It's too early to obsess over dreams. I had to help my dad.

Summertime was hard for him too, as every time he'd see flowers, or hear birds singing in the trees, it would remind him of August and my mum. Every turn would bring a bitter slap of reality as the pain of never seeing them again settled in. I hate May.
But of course, the capitol needs a show, doesn't it?
I can already hear the saws and drills in the town square as the peacekeepers put up the stage.
Our village always holds the reaping, as ours is the biggest out of all the small farms in district 10. And surely, in the next few days, the trains would arrive with Cinnamon, and the two district 10 mentors, Archimedes and Daya.
Archimedes won the games 12 years ago, after setting the last two tributes' camp on fire, and Daya won about 20 years ago, by escaping the pack of savage bears that terrorised the other tributes.
And with them, the other district 10 people would arrive, carriages full of people anxiously awaiting to see who would get picked.
Although our district was quite big, the people were spread out, due to most of the place being covered in farmland, so the odds were never entirely in anyone's favour.
I would say there was about 15 thousand people, maybe about eight hundred of us eligible for the games.
My name was in seven times last year. This year twelve.
I don't like those odds.

I decide to stop mulling around and go downstairs. Dad is sitting, looking out the window.
"It's summer, Clemmie" he says, not breaking away from the window.
"Yeah. It is. The sun almost blinded me this morning."
Dad smiles sadly. "Oh dear. We'll have to get you curtains. Come on pet, let's get some berries for breakfast."