A life without the games

Chapter 1

I spent the entire night tossing and turning, unable to sleep for more than an hour at a time, but I suspect that the rest of my District did the same. The night before the reaping is always a difficult one for families and children from the ages of 12-18. For those families, this could be their last night together before one of their beloved sons or daughters get sent off to fight for their lives in the Hunger Games. Two tributes, one boy and one girl, from each of the 12 districts are reaped every year to fight in the games. The games are supposed to keep the districts in line as a scare tactic and a reminder of the capitol's power. But in the capitol, the games are seen as the highest form of entertainment. The wig-wearing idiots pick their favorite tributes as if they are plastic game pieces on a board instead of human beings. They place bets, make merchandise and even dress like some of the more favored tributes. Then once the games are over, the arenas are opened up for capitol citizens to travel to and tour! The thought disgusts me, I only watch the games when I am forced to in school, and even then, it takes everything for me not to shut my eyes and cover my ears to block the whole thing out.

I come from district 12, where we produce coal for the capitol. While we are constantly struggling to survive, they sit back and enjoy the fruits of our back-breaking labor. Life in District 12, is not life, it is survival. Laughter and happiness are rare here, we struggle too much to hope for such things. It's as though the soot from the mines has coated over everything one happy and left everything covered in its dreary depressing grey. Most of the citizens of district 12 find work in the mines, but of course there are other jobs that every city needs people to do for its survival. Working in the mines is a dangerous job, one that everyone tries to avoid, but ends up falling into anyway. My father used to work in the mines, but after a fatal mine explosion, he died and left my mother, younger sister, and me behind. Even with my Father's income from the mine, we had struggled to put food on the table, but without it, we had nothing. Before he died, my father had begun to teach me how to use the woods to provide for the family. It was dangerous work, but with him there it seemed okay. Once he was gone, it took me weeks to find the courage to go hunt alone. But out of desperation and hunger, not courage and bravery, I was forced to attempt to hunt on my own. At first I was terrible, but over time I began to perfect my skills and I even acquired a hunting partner, Gale. Between the two of us we have supported both of our families for years.

As I swing my legs off my bed and check the time, I realize that it's almost time for me to leave to meet Gale at our hunting spot. So I give up on my attempts at sleep and get dressed. It's a sticky summer day, which in 12 means dust and full sun. Typically by now people would be bustling outside to try and get their work done before the afternoon heat, but it's reaping day and everyone has the day off. I suppose they are spending it inside treasuring what could be their last moments with their families. So once I am dressed I go to check on my mother and Prim. They are both still asleep, curled together with Prim's cat Buttercup at the foot of the bed. Prim went to sleep in our bed that we share, but my constant tossing and turning probably woke her up, so she transferred to the more comforting arms of my mother. Buttercup hisses at me, and I hiss back as I walk out the door. I hate that damn cat, but Prim loves him so I let him stay. I muse to myself that if my name did get drawn today, at least she could hug Buttercup for support and warmth when she gets lonely. But then I snap out of it, if I was picked as the female tribute for 12, Prim would be left with my mother and the loss of a father and sister would be too much for her.

On my walk to the hunting spot I silently curse the sun for being so annoyingly hot, within 10 minutes I am covered in sweat and my special hunting pants are not doing a great job at cooling me off. They are made to withstand burrs, thorns, and branches so the material is thick and durable, which is great for the cold winter days but today I find myself wishing for shorts. Oh glorious shots that would let my body breathe, but of course wearing shorts would leave my legs scratched and bloody after traipsing around the woods for hours on end.