The Hunger Games: The Violent Hour

:The Hunger Games: The Violent Hour: (4) The Reaping

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Chapter Four

Effie Trinket solemnly makes her way across the stage, a piece of paper in her hand. Everyone is silent. I can hear my own heartbeat, but maybe that is because it is beating so fast; attempting to push tears out of my eyes. But I won’t have it. If my mom stayed strong when she was in my position, so will I.

I am surrounded by sixteen-year-old girls, most of which I’ve spoken to many times throughout my lifetime; many of which I am very close with. I can see Rye about twenty yards to my left. He’s stiff, almost as if he pretended that he is a statue, when his name is called, he wouldn’t have to go up there.

There’s no question who Effie is going to call. I already know. Everyone already knows. That is why I received several reassuring pats from those around me before the Reaping started.

It was their final goodbye.

I don’t have enough time to psych myself up, to tell myself that maybe; just maybe, another’s name will be called. I am still thinking about how I am ever going to get out of this, when Effie is at the microphone. “Iris Mellark,” she says in an even voice. I can feel the eyes of every citizen in District 12 on me. The most potent are my mother and father’s – maybe even Haymitch’s.

Slowly but surely, I find my way to the platform where the mayor, Haymitch, Effie, Katniss Everdeen, and Peeta Mellark stand. Waiting.

Facing every citizen in Panem, I force myself to remain expressionless, hoping that my meager act fazes those watching. My mother clears her throat and the mayor directs Effie to the second clear bowl, filled with slips with none other but the name ‘Rye Mellark’ written in them in neat handwriting.

A few more steps to go.

You can hear the crowd take a deep breath in unison, in hope that the twelve-year-old boy’s name will not be called. No matter how many prayers were prayed, by brother’s name is whispered by Effie.

His pale face has become paler in the harsh lighting, in the circumstances. It’s all I can do to not sprint to him, wrap him in my arms, and tell him everything is going to be ok. No. That would show weakness. And that is something I cannot afford.

Mayor Sandstine doesn’t even bother to recite the mandatory Hunger Games. Does it even matter? We are all doomed to death. Some just have to encounter it in a different way.

The worst part it, my mom is my mentor. She will have to watch me every single second of every single day. She has the power to keep me alive, or watch me die a sure to be painful death. That can be handy. Except if your mentor – I mean mother - barely has enough strength to keep herself together.

The Square has grown quieter, if such a thing were even possible. The occasional twitter of a bird was the only thing to be heard. It was only when people in white suits my father called Peacemakers ushered my parents, my brother, and I into an unfamiliar building that a riot started.

“Let her have us!”

“I’ve had nightmares about this happening…”

“After all Katniss and Peeta have done!-“

The last remark was cut off by the door shutting behind me. I don’t know what comes next. All this is so new to me I am shocked by the mere sight of people with green hair. Who are they? Where am I? Surely this is not District 12… White suits are in a flurry around me. I can’t see my brother. I can’t see my parents. I can’t even see Haymitch.