The Hunger Games: Power

Chapter 2

          “Ohmygodohmygodohmygodoh…my…god!” I hear from the next room. “Reaping in, like, a few seconds, you guys…come on!” You don’t have to know my family too well to know that’s Keme- he’s always been a bit control-freaky at this time of year.

          “Gosh, you’re hasty…we don’t have to be there for another ten minutes!” I can picture the scene perfectly in my head- my brother’s frantic gestures and my sister just rolling her eyes at him.

          “Exactly! We should be gone already! ARISTA! ARISTA!”

          That’s me. Arista.

          I stand still for a few seconds, smoothing down my clothes, then take a deep breath and walk through the door. “H-hi.”

          “Where’s Dad?” Keme demands, and I find myself wondering again if it’s weird that my brother’s more like a father than my, well…actual father.

           My dad walks over. He’s as pale as snow like he usually is on reaping day. I suppose he’s got a right to be worried. After all, if I didn’t allow him that, I’d be a hypocrite.

           “Right! Come on!” My brother rushes to the door and gestures frantically for us to get out before sighing melodramatically and jumping onto the street. He makes a big show of the fact that he has to wait for us, pacing and tapping his feet and a whole lot of sighing.

          Naira glances at him pitifully then looks at me and smiles wistfully. I try and mirror her expression, hoping my face says something along the lines of, ‘Naira, I swear, we are the only normal ones in this family.’ She sighs and takes my hand, pulling me out of the building with Dad close behind us.

          It’s not that long a walk to the town square from our home and we’re there with minutes to spare. Naira and I are quite pleased with this timekeeping, but Keme looks like he’s going to explode.

          “Ridiculous…just…if we had been a few minutes later…” I hear him muttering.

          Our dad wanders off to stand god-knows-where and so we get into the queue to sign in. The peacekeeper does weird stuff with my finger, looking at the print, and it tickles until she sticks a needle into it. “Ouch…”

          The three of us hug. Naira whispers, “Good luck…both of you.”

          “And you,” I add, because if I didn’t I’d feel mean, and if Naira gets reaped the very day I didn’t wish her luck…well.

          Keme’s awkward nod accompanied with, “See you both after…this?” is my cue to go and stand with the other fourteen-year-olds, so that is exactly what I do after imitating his nod. I glance over my shoulder. My siblings have followed suit. Good, I suppose.

           Posala Whatsherface (as you can tell, I care about her so much) steps up onto the stage. She’s got this ridiculously pink dress which matches her (ridiculously false) pink lipstick-ified grin. And she’s at the microphone. “Greetings…District…Three…” Her face falls at the word ‘three’.

           There’s some speech I don’t listen to...who ever really listens to the speech, I mean, be honest. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I zone out completely or anything, I mean, I’m aware of the mayor on the stage and I’m aware her lips are moving…I just don’t listen to the words.

           After a while, Posala’s back and I know this is the bit where I actually do have to listen…I mean, the odds of my name being called are pretty tiny, but…just in case. Besides, it’s hard not to pay attention to the huge, pink monster chirping about death.