The 73rd Hunger Games

The Reaping

When I reach back home, Marge and my parents sit around the oak table in the kitchen. Tears fall from Marge's face and my mother and father are trying desperately to console her.

"What's going on?" I ask, laying my bag down on the table. Marge takes one look at me and bursts into tears again. 

"Your sister is feeling a little emotional reguarding your reaping today," my father says carefully.

"Oh."

"Orchid, why don't you go and take Margret to wash and change, and put on your reaping clothes?" my mother suggests in a tone you do not question. I nod and take Marge's hand leading her upstairs.

"Don't cry Marge. I'll be fine!" I soothe as I braid my little sisters hair into two sleek plaits. "My name isn't in the reaping bowl as much as other people. We have the vegetables, Mother bakes, and father can always catch a groosling; we don't need to add my names in any more than nesesscary."

She sniffs. "But it can be you."

This is not making me feel better. The dream from earlier on still looms over my head.

"I've done this reaping lark for three years. No such luck yet." I try for subtle humour to make her laugh but she isn't budging. So I continue: "And for three years, you've cried as if it were you going into the reaping! Honestly!"

She does giggle at this so I go back to braiding her hair, satisfied that I can cheer her up when my parents can't.

"Did you see Crista this morning? Is that where you went?"

"I didn't know you were awake."

"I heard you get out of bed."

"Yes. She's really worried about her sister. Who can blame her? I dread the day you are entered into the bowl." Marge is silent for a moment and I'm afraid I've upset her. But after a while she says:

"Did she enjoy the bread and groosling?"

Right before I headed home this morning, I'd remebered Mother had packed half a groosling and a loaf of bread for Crista's family. Ever since Mr Gooy left Crista's mother, my mother had packed something for Crista in the mornings we met. Whether is was a stitched  jacket, a loaf of bread or even bandages for me to give, she was more than appreciative.

"Of course, she always enjoys the gifts we bring her." Marge nods and then I'm done with her hair. Afterward we get changed. A hand sewn skirt with a faded white blouse for Marge and the dress from my dream for me. My mother had set is out especially. I slid it on as if it burned my skin, fearing that my dream would become real as soon as I put the dress on. I ushered Marge downstairs and examined myself in the mirror in the corner of the bedroom. The dress was pretty enough (I'd never been one for dresses) but in the dream, the dress was a precious treasure to new. The first time I had that dream was the night before my first reaping; and my mother had sewn this dress from dawn til dusk until her fingers were numb. I remember sitting by the fire with her as her fingers swiftly sew together patches of fabric intricately. I was amazed, by the dress, by my mother. It was a rare gem and I wore it proudly, as I did in the dream. Luckily, my body hasn't developed much since I was twelve and although it was tight around the armpits and was abit high, it still fit. And it was really one of the only formal garmets I had. My hair was tied back in a ponytail above my head and I wore my school shoes. I prayed that I wouldn't be feautured on the televised reaping, and nobody would see me in the dress.

After I have spent some time with my family we are off to the Justice Building. Marge gives me a kiss on the cheek, Mother squeezes my hand and Father kisses my forehead and then I am off to the annual routine. It's protocol that my family stands behind the barriers with the other families as my finger is pricked and prodded for my blood and fingerprints, all placed on specific documents. It is a long time of waiting before the peacekeepers usher us into our places by the stage of the Justice Building, where our district escort, Massie Star will announce the male and female tributes. I try to look for Crista and Herra rather than thinking about whether or not I'll be reaped. And the fact that I'm wearing the dress from my nightmare makes this feel all to ironic. As if the world is sending me a sign. I try to push it from my mind, but whenever I look down and see my dress, terror washes over me. Eventually I find Crista holding onto her little sisters hand and squeeze through the crowd until I'm next to them. I'm not really friends with anyone else at school. Sure we make small talk but they all see me as 'too fortunate'. It confused me too, the first time Crista told me. Apparently, because my mother can sew and bake, and my father sells the extra vegetables, we are better off than many of the others here in District 11. There's not really much I can say to defend myself, and whether they are my friends or not, I will always be grateful for my upbringing, which is better then others. However, Crista has always defendied me fiercely, even though she has as much right to dislike me as the rest of the school kids. She is used to sticking up for  her little sister, who is constantly bullied and usually ends up with us at breaktimes, and always says Herra and I are the two important girls in her life. Her two sisters. It's nice to have a friend your age, who looks after you and defends you as much as she can. Marge is too young for me to express my feelings on the Hunger Games, on the starvation I witness on a daily basis. But Crista, I share all my inner most thoughts with, and in return she shares her secrets with me. When her eyes land on mine, she reaches for me and I squeeze her hand, not needing to say anything. Seeing everyone pile into the crowd, seperated by the sexes through a thin rope, my heart begins to thump so loud I'm sure everyone can hear it. I put myself through it every reaping, but now, wearing the hand stitched  dress and looking at the reaping bowl, knowing my name is in there more than once petrifies me. Knowing Crista and Herra's names are in there scares me equally. But all my thoughts are frozen when Massie Star takes to the stage. Her outfit is a too bright shade of yellow. Her striking yellow wig is huge and curly and contrasts highly with her ebony skin.  She wears a yellow blouse and white and yellow striped pencil skirt and her make-up is outstandingly in your face and sticks out in this grey, colourless district; that lacks life and laughter. She grins and for a moment I hope her teeth aren't yellow (they're white, thank goodness) and begins immeadiately.

"Welcome to the reaping of the 73rd Hunger Games!" she pauses for applause but is greeted by silence. She continues, "Before we begin, I have a very special film for you all to watch; brought to you all the way from the Capitol!"

"War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute, one young man and woman, to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."

These are the words that boom throught the eeirly silent crowd. Pictures of suffering, starvation and death flood the huge screen and when the video fades out, Massie looks at us expectantly. Still no applause? I could never wonder why.

Then Massie jumps straight in. "Ladies first!" She digs her hand to the bottom of the bowl and then grabs one. She doesn't pull it out of the bowl, instead she shifts her hand evver so slightly to the left and digs out a name. My name.

"Orchid Lockhearst!" My hand releases Crista's and falls limply by my side and all of a sudden the world is spinning. I feel like I am going to pass out or worse. One thing is for sure: I can't move. I cannot move! I know if I take one step forward I will fall into a huge bundle of sobs and tears and can't bear the thought. "Orchid Lockhearst? Come up please!"

I can hear Crista sobbing beside me but I don't dare look at her. I know that this will be a televised event, and if I cry I'll be a target. I can't have that if I want to survive. To Survive!

I take a deep breath and step up to the stage. I can hear a cry, the same I heard this morning. But I refuse to look at Marge. Massie holds her hand out to me and I accept ot as graciously as I can. I needed her steady hand too because I'm a second away from collapsing on my face.  Once I'm on the stage and overlooking the crowd my eyes set on my Mother. She's quite visably weeping and I divert my eyes from her, avoiding eye contact with anyone I love. Okay, I look over at this old woman, her name is Drin or something. She buys my fathers vegetables all the time and in all the years I've seen her, she's never smiled once. She looks in her 70's, a very respected age in my district. I hear that her sister was reaped in the 25th Hunger Games, where the district residents chose there own tributes. How awful, the people you grow up with voting to send your sister into the Hunger Games. I think of the unbearable helpless feeling she must of felt at the time and think back to my dream. Screaming at the wind to drop my house, my family's screams and my helplessness, wanting to save them but being useless. I look down at the dress and try not to cry.

Massie moves on to the boys and calls out Cordo Oligby.  He is the same skin tone as Massie and has broad shoulders and features that'd make you think twice before crossing him. He's known in school as the Groosling Boy. This is because his aim is so spectacular he can take down a groosling in the sky with just a single rock. He used to come to my house and trade with my father, and occasionally stop to eat at our house with his father. Mr Oligby is my father's friend. His eyes are shaky but he looks straight forward. A girl in the crowd cries, his girlfriend I think but he ignores her. Once on the stage, Massie holds either one of our hands and holds them up. 

"May I present to you the tributes of district 11!"

Silence. After making eye contact with Crista, Cordo and I are ushered into the Justice Building, away from Crista and my family.

There's chapter 2! I hope you all like it, please give me some feed back in  the comments! Also please vote and add this story to your reading list I'm going to update as regularly as possible! Also please follow me I will follow back all! :) 

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