The 134th Hunger Games (CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN)

Chapter One: The Reaping

Note: I am not Suzanne Collins and i don't own anything except my OCs

Reaping Day. Two words. Just two little words, that shouldn't mean what they do. My head pounds, and for a moment, the world tilts a little. Nothing new, really. I didn't sleep last night, and I'm not a particularly good sleeper at the best of times. "Dalia! Breakfast!" "Coming, Mom!" I lean back into my coarse pillow. "Dalia!" "Alright, alright, I'm coming!" I get up. As I enter our main room, the smell of porridge wafts towards my nose. "Again?" "It's quickest, dear, and we can't be late." At least, not if we want to see the action. My porridge is like a soggy mound of our grain, but I've learned to stand it. "So, will Athalie be there?" "Of course, Dalia. Surely you didn't think she wouldn't go?" "Right, stupid question." Unless you're at death's door, there's no avoiding the Reaping. Even when you're past the age, like my sister. Two years ago, she, Bill, my Mother and I were terrified she'd get picked. She even cried, and Bill had to hug her to persuade her into the square. She got distressed again when Bill went into his section. Only calmed down after it was all over. After finishing breakfast, and washing my bowl, it's time to get ready.

I only have a few nice dresses, but that doesn't matter. It's quite normal in Seven. The first is sleeveless, but has a long skirt. It's made of a deep blue fabric. The second is crimson, with long, puffy sleeves and a skirt that's wider than the first, and a yellow threaded waistline. Hmm. Which to wear? The blue one, or the red one? Eventually, I decide on the red one. If I get Reaped, I deserve to look pretty, at least. My mother brushes my dark hair, and we're ready to go.

"Hi, Ivy. You ready?" "You bet, Dalia!" She giggles. "Come on!" She pulls on my arm. "Let's go!" "Oh, alright. I'm going, Ivy." She skips into line, and I get in behind her. After the lady jabs the needle into our fingers, we're herded into the area marked for thirteen year-olds. I exchange acknowledgements with the others, while Ivy is jumping up and down. In the first seat on the stage is Mayor Lincoln, who spoils his granddaughter rotten. And, incidentally, is Ivy's grandfather. In the second, third and fourth seats are Bryjet Harp, Ash Jonesin and Johanna Mason, the victors. The escort, with her sky-high, curly green wig, makes her way up to the stage. "Good day, District Seven!" She shouts gleefully. But she's only met with silence.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor. I'm Gardenya Flurry, your escort. Now, ladies first." Her bright green nails plunge into the glass ball for girls, digging around for their newest victim like some species of foul green worm. Finally she takes out a slip. The air is charged, waiting, and everyone is holding their breath, terrified it might be them or someone they love. Gardenya reads it aloud, in a crisp, clear voice. "Dalia Maplewood." No, no! It can't be me! There has to be some sort of mistake! I was two slips of paper in thousands! Two! In thousands! This isn't real! It can't be real! Time seems to slow down, and I can't breathe. The situation is just so.....surreal. I don't even hear Ivy or Athalie's cries of despair. I walk up to the stage in a daze, unaware of everything.

Gardenya flits over to the boy's bowl. "Elm Churchill." Good. I have no clue who that is. A rather thin boy with pale green eyes and short black hair walks up nervously. He seems to be looking back at a large clump of people who also have black hair and green eyes. Given their sizes, many of them could probably volunteer. But they won't. If he dies , it'll just be one less mouth to feed, and more food for the rest of them. I've seen it happen before. When he reaches the stage, he just stares right past me in shock. I hold out my hand for him to shake, and he takes it, though his grip is like a limp shoelace. "The District Seven tributes for this year's Hunger Games!" Our escort proclaims. Then the Peacekeepers bring us into the Justice Building.

A/N: If you like my work then please vote! It really helps and I appreciate it!