The Jabberjay's song (A Hunger Games story)

Chapter 1 (Kat)

The sun peeks it's head around the curtain of dawn, casting a fluorescent orange glow through the grimy window of my house in the seam. 

 I force myself to get out of bed and take a shower, which in reality is a scrubbing brush and a small tub of water. I can't afford soap so I simply slather myself down to my toes and rinse through my hair as quickly and efficiently as I can. When I'm done I cross the small room to my wardrobe, where my father has set out a beautiful dress for me to wear to the reaping. At least, he thinks it's beautiful. I think it's obnoxious, and the salmon pink collar and matching bow makes my stomach turn. 

even though I'm 16, I've never been much of a fan of "Girly" things. I much prefer plain shirts over frilly blouses or trousers over skirts. In fact, I'm not even sure I am a girl. But I'm also not a boy either. I just exist, without a care in the world, only phazed by this one day of the year that haunts every citizen of the districts of panem. The day that dictates whether or not you, or your friend or relative will be picked from the lottery to compete in televised slaughter, known as the hunger games. 

Reaping day. 

It's twelve fifty. I have ten minutes to reach the square, where I will meet my father, who works in the mines, before registering my attendance and waiting in the area designated for 16 year olds. I pick up the dress gingerly, thinking for a moment, before shoving it back in the wardrobe and grabbing an off-white shirt and brown trousers from one of the draws. I pull the shirt over my head and hurriedly do up the buttons. I frown at myself in the mirror. With my short ginger hair hair and smart clothes, I could almost pass as a boy. I suppose that's one way to make an impression on the audience if my name gets picked. 

I shut the front door behind me in such a hurry that its hinges wobble aggressively. Our house is so old, I wouldn't be surprised if it came tumbling down here and now. Without thinking I turn on my heels and head for the square. 

I reach it just in time. The square is packed full of grey weathered faces, nervously waiting for the ceremony to start. The justice building stands tall in front of the crowd, practically the only thing in 12 that isn't covered in dust and coal or moments away from collapse . Owned by the capitol, it eagerly symbolises the power that they hold. I hate it.

quietly, as to not draw any attention to myself, I join the queue where several peacekeepers are registering citizens. When its my turn the soldier dressed in white takes my hand and pricks my finger with a foreign capitol device. A droplet of blood forms, which the machine registers as my own. 

"Kat Gray" 

"Next" the peacekeeper calls out, signaling that I am free to move forward. slowly, I shuffle into the roped off area for kids my age. No one says a word but a few sullen glances are exchanged as we wait. My breath hitches in my throat when I spot my father amongst the other parents who also anticipate the results of this years reaping. He gives a hopeful smile before he's engulfed in the growing crowd. 

"This is fine."

"I'll be fine." I mutter to myself, but in truth. The odds are not in my favour. The glass bowl full of girls name that sits upon the stage in front of everyone has my name in it 23 times due to my choosing to take tesserae. My eyes dart around the square. It's littered with cameras and crews of people from the capitol staring at us like animals, or goldfish behind glass. Several banners with the symbol of panem loom overhead, hung from almost every angle of the justice building, illuminated by the artificial glow from the floodlights that also serve the purpose of making district 12 look less miserable for the audience. The mayor of twelve sits down on a chair that's perched on the stage, followed by the designated mentor, Haymitch Abernathy and a few other district and capitol officials. Haymitch seems drunk, which isn't out of the ordinary. He's in his early thirties, but he's rarely sober, due to the trauma of winning his games a few years back. 

Effie Trinket appears on stage adorned with neon accessories and a lime green wig that's 2 times her head size. She looks so young, it's almost creepy. Effie is the district 12 representative from the capitol and it's her 2nd year presenting the reaping. She clears her throat as the ceremony begins and approaches the microphone to address the crowd.

"Welcome welcome! to the 61st annual hunger games! may the odds be ever in your favour!" she trills. She wastes no time to get to the point.

 "Ladies first!"

 My heart is beating so fast that I can feel my whole body shaking with each thud. Effie struts towards the glass bowl that contains around 100 thousand names. My odds are 23/100,000, not bad, but not great either. Her laced gloved hand gracefully dips into the bowl and fishes around for a few seconds. The silence in this moment is so defaning you could hear a pin drop. Finally she pulls out a slip and returns to face the audience. 
"The female tribute to represent district 12 will be." she pauses.

"Kat Gray!" 

My first thought isn't to cry, or try and hide in the crowd. It is the awkward notion that Effie Trinket just called me a "Lady" in front of panem. I cringe at the thought of having to explain my unethical gender identity to Caesar flickerman in an inevitable interview. Mere seconds after my name is called, I stand up straight, gathering up my courage and dignity. I have to make a good impression, that's all that counts as I climb up to the stage and stand next to the painted lady who has just resigned me to certain death. I have to look good for the crowd. The kid's who cry never get anywhere with the sponsors. I hold back the tears that prickle threateningly behind me eyes and I face the people. No longer as a child of district 12, but a tribute of the Capitol.