The Hunger Games: Never Safe From Danger

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Alsa’s POV

Of all the reapings I’ve ever attended, this is the worst by miles. And not for the kind of reason you’d expect.

I didn’t get reaped.

I didn’t get picked.

I won’t have to fight in the Games.

But Torrin will.

And that’s it. That’s just it. I don’t know what it is, but it’s here. Torrin is in the Justice Building. He’s sitting in a room, waiting for the goodbyes- oh, no…the goodbyes! They’re going to be painful. Now the reaping is over and we are free to leave the square. Everyone does, except us and poor Ennie’s family. Wait a second…’poor Ennie’?

Why should I feel sympathetic towards the little girl who has sentenced my brother to death? She picked him. I hate my life. I hate her. I hate the Capitol. I hate Panem.

“I hate Panem,” I whisper, quietly. I sit on the bumpy ground and Rosaliss joins me.

“Why?” she asks, innocently. I don’t think she understands what has happened.

“The Games,” I reply. She knows what they are- they show them at school.

“Uh huh, they’re really bad,” she says. Her eyes go all ‘sad puppy’, but not distraught like I know she would be if she knew the full extent of the truth. “Why is everybody crying?” she asks, curious.

I take a deep breath. “That was the reaping. They chose the people who are going to be in the Games,” I tell her.

It takes a minute for it all to sink in- she is only seven- but  then she gets it.

“But…but Torrin’s name got called,” she says, in a frightened, wobbly whisper.

“I know,” I say. She gasps.

“Is..is he…?” she begins. She doesn’t need to end her sentence. My nod confirms her suspicions. She leaps up and gives an agitated cry. Then the tears start running down her face. My mother turns and sees. She realises immediately that she’s realised that’s happening and scoops up her youngest daughter into a hug. I’m left sitting on the cobblestones. The square is silent apart from the sound of brokenhearted families crying- mine and Ennie’s. Literally, nothing else can be heard, apart from the occasional, distant sound of a bird singing. The factories where they make the electronic devices and the power stations are all shut for the day, their workers too busy celebrating the fact that their children are still okay.

So I mope around on the ground for a while longer while my dad just sobs and my mother makes an effort to comfort Rosaliss, but it’s in vain. Then it’s time for the goodbyes. Shaking, I get off the ground and follow the peacekeepers into the Justice Building, then up into Torrin’s room.

He’s definitely been crying- his face is all red and his eyes are wet, but he’s stopped now. In fact, he’s completely zoned out. He barely notices us come in. My father puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Son?” he says shakily. Torrin shakes his head as if waking from a trance and looks up.

Then we all sit down beside him, except for Rosaliss who climbs onto his lap. She starts crying again and clutches her big brother. I throw my head into my palms and shuffle closer to him.

“Torr,” I say. “…Torr,” I say again, because no other words will come to me.

Rosaliss, on the other hand, can’t stop talking. Well, more screaming and crying and whimpering than talking, perhaps.

“Don’t go!” she wobbles.

“I have to…sorry, Rosy,” he says, hugging her closer.

“Torr…” I say again. He snaps his neck around and looks at me.

“Alsa…” he says, pulling me in. I wouldn’t have been able to evade the hug if I had tried. Soon, our parents are hugging us too.

“If you have to go, then you must…you must win,” Rosaliss declares between sobs. Torrin gives a half-hearted laugh. “I’ll try…”

And I know he will. He will try with all his might. He is a strong boy, seventeen years of age. The careers might want him in their pack, but I can’t see him accepting their help. Why make allies just to have to kill them later? I wonder. If you’re going to kill someone, you want to distance yourself them from them as much as possible, even try to hate them. How can you kill someone who is almost a friend?

And now the maths is kicking in- as one of twenty-four tributes, Torr should have a 1/24 chance of winning. But then you have to take into account that the tributes will vary from tiny twelve year old to huge teenager. And around half will die in the bloodbath, and if my brother has any sense at all he will not be one of them. And the Gamemakers could have any number of weird twists in the arena. And then I give up- the Games can’t be put into equations. It’s all blind luck, and all I can do is hope for the best.