The Reaping of the Red Wheat | The 72nd Hunger Games

Chapter 1: The Beginning: June 1st, The Year of the 72nd

   I remember it very clearly, the day it started. I was at my home, in District 9, sitting under a tree in the middle of my father's wheat and grain plantation. I was neglecting the chores that my mother wanted me to complete by the end of the day, to instead watch the field boys treating the wheat that they had planted a few months ago with the purple, sticky substance created by berries found in the forest surrounding the field. My father had discovered it years ago, and it had been an immediate success. Not only was the wheat plentiful, but the field boys all got a little extra money to take home to their families. That was good, for them. Field boys was the lowest class yet most populated occupation of District 9. A little bit of extra money was always good for them. At that time, I didn't know how good I had it. My father owned one of the 3 grain plantations in the entirety of district 9. I lived in the biggest house in the district, besides the mayors. I went to bed every night with a full belly and dreams of the future. Our family had never been affected by the gruesome toll of the Hunger Games, nor had we ever had to apply for tesserae. Why would we? It'd be silly to do so. Looking back, I wish I could go back to that life.

That day, I sat under the tree with the summer breeze swaying my long blonde hair, a common trait for the people of District 9, for another hour, until I had an unexpected guest.

"Boo!" My best friend Ryle yelled from behind me. I jumped, because I had always been quite jumpy at any sudden movement.

"I told you to stop doing that!" I said as I turned around and hit his chest in a playful way. Ryle and I had been friends since we both had started walking. His father was a field manager, a step below owner like my father. He would often bring Ryle to the farm with him to teach him 'the ways of farming the field' and what not. Over that time, he and I became very close friends. He was the closest thing I had to a brother, or a sibling for that matter.

"And I told you to start doing your chores." He laughed, "Your poor mother, slaving in the kitchen all day, expecting her daughter to do at least a little bit of work, but instead she sits outside, holding down the ground all day!"

"Hey! We both know that my mother does not slave around in the kitchen all day!" That was true, we had amassed enough money over the years that we had the kitchen fully staffed, so much so, that my mother hadn't had to even step in the kitchen in a long time.

"What about your father then? He expects a hardworking daughter." That part was also true.

"You really want me to do my chores, don't you?"

"That depends," He said, slowly smirking, "Do you want to do your chores?"

"Obviously not."

"Then I have a bargain for you." I already knew where he was going with this, "Let's race. You win, I do your chores for you. If I win though, you're right back to square one."

"Is that all?" I asked. We have raced each other to get out of things our whole lives, but usually these agreements came with a more, undesirous outcome. He would give the first, original deal, then add something else to it, such as a dare. It was always this way, since the beginning of our time. I would do his laundry for a week, and also have to prank the teacher. It was how it worked.

"If that's what you want." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Let's make this interesting. Whoever loses, not only has to do the chores, but also has to sign up for 10 tesserae."

And there it was. The few words that would change my life forever. Looking back, I regret every moment of this entire conversation. How differently things would have gone if I just would have stopped talking.  But there I was, hesitating before finally saying the words on the tip of my tongue.

"Deal."

As expected, Ryle won the race. He was usually always won, except for a few occasions. That was why most deals were always in his favor. So, because of the deal, I now had to go up to the districts Justice Center and apply for 10 tesserae. As I walked toward the tesserae office, observed the posters with slogans such as, "I have plenty to eat thanks to my tesserae!" They reminded me of the posters used for propaganda during one of the wars before the rebellion, that we had learned about in school. I finally reached the office and braced myself to approach the receptionist.

"One tesserae form please." I said, as quietly as I could, so that no one would hear me.

But I hadn't said it quietly enough. I began getting confused and disgruntled looks across the room as the receptionist searched through her desk drawers for a form. When she looked back up, she also had a strange look. 

I obviously knew why I was getting these strange looks. It was obviously odd for the daughter of one of the nation's main grain suppliers to be asking for help from the government to obtain wheat. But I filled out the form, nonetheless, carefully requesting 10 tesserae, and signing that I understood that I now had a higher chance of being reaped for the Hunger Games. The thought hadn't occurred to me before that very moment. A thought came to me. 

"What if?"

I brushed that thought off as I gave the form back and began my walk of shame home, being acknowledged with strange looks by every person who witnessed me fill out the form.

A week later, my first box of tessera came. I will never forget the anger, yelling, and disappointment that came from my parents after opening the wooden box filled with bottles of oil, and dark, dense grain, foreign to what was grown by my father. I was confused at their anger, because to me and Ryle, it was just a harmless joke. What we didn't know at the moment, was that it wasn't something we would look back and laugh at, it was the end of life as we knew it.

My name is Elsie Whittaker. I was 14 years old. and that, was the day it began.