The light breeze flew through my hair as I made my way out to the meadow. Today is Reaping Day, the day where two unfortunate souls will be selected at random and sent out to fight to the death in the great arena of the Hunger Games.
"Great, just great," I mumbled to myself as I fought back the wild overgrown sunflowers that were blocking the way to the meadow. The meadow was my home away from home. I came here whenever I needed to be alone, to reflect on life, or to just sit in the grass and talk to myself if nobody was there to listen. Which was quite often.
Out of about 500 people living in District 12 though, I'm sure that there's at least 200 here that meet the age requirements of getting entered in the arena. You've gotta be 14-18. I guess I'm wedged in the middle of that at 16... Luckily, I've never been pulled before, and I don't plan on getting picked either. The process is absolutely terrifying. The fear of you or a loved one getting picked is nerve wracking.
But then again, I have no one to love.
I started daydreaming of a better world, a world where there were in fact no Hunger Games at all. Where it was run by civilized sane people that weren't obsessed with the idea of the death of teenagers.
I started running my hand through the grassy fields, picking at a yellow dandelion flowing back and forth in the wind. And then I heard it. The horn signaling that it was time for the Reaping. I took a deep breath and stood up nervously, feeling a sense of hopelessness.
YOU ARE READING
The Hunger Games of Bengui
Teen FictionJust off the coast of the Pacific lies a ring of islands, miles and miles apart. In the center features the Capitol known as Bengui. There are twelve islands, called Districts, each having their own district number. To the North of the Capitol lies...
