THE 150th HUNGER GAMES

District 3 Reaping (16) (yeah sorry District 4 coming soon)

Lindsey Zenn's (District 3) P.O.V:

I stand in the crowd, me probably more nervous and frightened than anybody else here. My sister was Reaped for the Hunger Games. And she is dead. Reality slaps me in the face again. Poor, poor, poor Lilli. She had told me she'd be fine at the Reaping. But she wasn't fine. She was speared in the head by a huge icicle, and I cannot describe how I felt as I watched the contents of her head spew everywhere, and her body hanging in the tree, still secured by the knot she had tied, headless and bloody. I just wanted it to be fake, just some TV show like it normally seems to be, except I couldn't deny the fact that she was dead when her body was shipped back to our home. And no living version of her to tell me, "oh, no, that's not me. I'm still living and breathing and I never went into the Hunger Games at all. That was just this other girl who looks like me, and her dead body was sent to the wrong address." How I wish that were true. And now, today, I may be Reaped, just like Lilli. And I will die, just like Lilli. And my body will be sent back home, just like Lilli's. Except there will be no sister to mourn for me.

The escort exits the Justice Building after the video on the history of the hunger games, clad completely in orange. I hate Capitol fashion. She clacks in her tall high heels over to the boy's Reaping Ball. So I have a minute more of suspense. A minute more before hearing my name called.

"Brad Sweeney."

My mouth drops open. Brad Sweeney. I recall a long-ago, almost forgotten memory of him.

He exits the school building, looking angry and frustrated. We were both twelve, and his brother was reaped the day before. I follow him from a safe distance, expecting him to eventually sit down in some distant alley and cry. For his brother, who was almost surely going to die. After all, there was a less than 4% chance that he was going to survive.

So I followed him, and he went where I expected him to, down into some abandoned alley, where nobody goes and nobody would hear him weep. Finally he stops, and throws his school books down. Then he does the opposite of what I thought he would do. He stood up straight and proud, balled up his fists, and yelled as loudly as he could. "I HATE THE HUNGER GAMES, I HATE THE HUNGER GAMES!" And he yelled insults into the air for about a half hour, revolting against the Hunger Games and the Capitol and old President Snow and our whole way of society. And then the footsteps of many Peacekeepers sounded in the distance, and I had fled, being frightened and scared. And I never saw what happened to him.

I watch, horrified, as he walks slowly up to the escort, who I believe is named Angelina. No, it can't be Brad Sweeney. A different Brad. A different Sweeney. But not him. Please not him. Not courageous, Games-defying Brad. But it is. I want to cry.

The escort, Devilina (which I have decided to call her, because she is certainly no Angel), trots over to the girls Reaping ball and picks one right off the top. And I know what it says.

"Lindsey Zenn."

I slowly walk towards her, the crowd parting before me. A faint smile twitches on my lips. How ironic. Me and Brad. But I doubt that he even knows who I am.

"Lindsey Zenn, as in Lillian Zenn, the girl who was Reaped for the eighteen-year-old games?" Devilina asks chipperly.

"Yes." I say quietly, imagining my body getting shipped home in a box. But I will make sure that Brad's is not. I will sacrifice myself for him when he needs it. Because I do not want to see courageous Brad in a box.

No.

I most certainly do not.