Laying Low | Hunger Games

The Odds Have Not Been in Anyone's Favor

Avarsh

Today is the Reaping. Every year, some poor kid gets drawn out of the unforgiving glass bowl by our horrific escort, and gets to participate in the "amazing" Hunger Games! I aften wonder what it would be like if only District 10 was a Career district like 2, 4, or... I feel a tear drop on my cheek.

District 1. Where my sister was shipped to.

People say I'll get over it. People say that I will forget her. People say there are others that will help me, and I won't be sad. But I won't. Nothing will ever replace my sister's harsh glares when I annoyed her, her rare smiles, her golden hair. I will never be as good as my sister.

"Avarsh!" My mother calls from the main room.

I sigh. I know what she wants. I saw it happen to Kana a few times, and it happened to me last year. Last year a classmate of mine, Livedon was reaped, as the male tribute. He was killed by the female from District 6. That was the year Cashmere Delgado won. She is something of my idol.

I like her because we were told from the one letter Kana was allowed to send us, that her training partner was Cashmere. She volunteered and won. And she didn't just win, she fought her way through it, like a true Career. She used her beauty to its advantage and every one of the silver knives that she threw, hit their mark. Those were the 64th Games.

This year is my second year. I remember how terrified I was on the 26th of January last year, when I turned twelve. It should have been a day of celebration, but instead, it was a day of dread. Knowing that I am finally eligible for the Reaping. Now I am thirteen.

On Reaping Day you need to look your best. Everyone. Even those who are not eligible for the reaping anymore. We are supposed to celebrate the tradition that has been going on for 64 years ever since the Dark Days.

Today will be the 65th.

"I'm coming," I reply. I climb wearily out of bed and take fresh underwear, but don't wear them. I head to the main room that every house in 10 seems to have. 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom (or if you're especially unlucky, none), and a main room that combines as what I have heard from my father, a kitchen, dining room, and living room, for the richer districts.

I wonder often what life would be like if I lived in District 1, or 2, or even 4. I think that any district would be better than 10, except for 8, 11, and 12.

Mother emerges from "the doorless doorway", as we like to call it. She is already completely dressed up. A gray shirt, and black pants. We can't afford beautiful gowns, unlike in 1, or the Capitol. Even if we could, nobody is selling them.

I laugh bitterly. What a life. Where just a few miles away, people are laughing and dancing and entertaining themselves on the blood of children, while rejoicing that their won children will never need to go into that hell.

My mother lifts me up easily, seeing as how I am quite small for my age, and dunks me playfully into a basin of water. She reminds me so much of Kana--but after all, Kana is her daughter.

Mother takes a bristly piece of hairy wood and begins to scrub me with it, with a little bar of soap Lagoona, the owner of a small shop gave Kana for her birthday a few years ago. When she was still here.

It hurts, to be scrubbed like that, but for me, that pain is heaven. It is rare to be clean in poorer districts.

Once I am relatively clean, I dry myself with a torn shirt of Dad's, that serves as a towel for the whole family. Except for Kana.

Mother then dresses me in a pale orange blouse, and a grey skirt and divides my brown hair into two parts intercrosses them, folds them up, and pins them.