The 63rd Hunger Games - Part 1

It was the day of the Reaping. I walked through the streets, deliberately trying to stall my return home. The shops were closed today, their doors locked and the Peacekeepers usually stationed near the growing sprawl were busy rounding up the district for the Reaping, not that anyone would fight against it here. District 1 was a place where few thought about rebellion, and fewer thought that it would be dishonorable to be in the Hunger Games.

The Hunger Games, they were a trick of the government, an indisputable way to show the citizens that the Capitol was in charge. They were a tool used to keep the districts in line, as were the Peacekeepers to fight back the riots that were happening in the other districts, and to prevent them from happening here. We were the citizens of the Capitol, the suppliers. They needed us to make everything that they used and indulged in, tucked away inside their glamorous buildings. Without us, they'd suffer, and they couldn't let that happen now, could they?

It's the day of the 63rd Hunger Games. The Reaping is supposed to happen in less than an hour and the streets are still, silent. It's unnerving. In a while, people will shuffle their way to the center of the city and the groups eligible for having their names drawn will stand in the front. Behind this large group of people stand their families, waiting anxiously to hear the names called and secretly praying it won't be their child. A stage is set up with eight chairs and a podium on which sits a silver, laced metal ball. Inside are hundreds of slips of paper, each one signed by a citizen of the city who is aged between twelve and eighteen. The chairs are for the mayor, the escort for the reaped contestants, and the other six are for past victors, four male, two female. There are currently only six residing in District 1, others have given up their homes in the Champion's Square and have moved to the Capitol, while others have died, from natural or unnatural causes.

I hurry down the streets toward the home that we live in on the outskirts of the city, I notice something I hadn't seen the years before. There is a black x painted neatly in the center of the door. The curtains are drawn and the house has a closed, forgotten look. Someone moves behind the curtain, draws it back, and beckons with one finger. The elderly woman watches with sharp, beady eyes as I come closer. She opens the door.

"Good luck, Esme," she says in a quiet voice. I recognize her now. Her granddaughter, Diamond, died in the Hunger Games the year before.

Her body is thin and frail under my arms, her eyes hold a haunted look, "Thank you," I whisper.

She steps back and closes the door. I stay there for a moment, my hand resting on the x. Then, I walk away without a glance back. Diamond was twelve when her sister was chosen for the Reaping. Several other girls volunteered to take her sister's place. Diamond volunteered to go in for her sister. She wanted the older girl, with her boyfriend and close group of friends, to be able to keep that. Knowing that her sister had always been the favorite with her parents had influenced her one step too far. I reach the house I share with my parents and older brother, Rementin.

"Hey Ez!" My brother called me from the other room. He was wearing jeans and a sweater over a neatly pressed white shirt.

"Oh, hey Rem. You look good," I said with a slight smile. I straightened his collar with a practiced hand.

I noticed that my father wasn't home and I hoped he wouldn't be late for the reaping again. Last year had not turned out well. The Peacekeepers had marched my father from his workshop to the games.

"Esme! Go on and get ready, we're all waiting for you," my mother called, as impatient as ever. The last few weeks had been trying for her. My brother was eighteen; he'd finally have his last chance to be thrown into the Games today. She didn't believe in the Games; she thought they were cruel, punishing. They were nothing but a tool used to invoke fear and order. She also didn't believe in naming her children after the wealth and commerce we were centered around. That is why, unlike a large majority of the populations, we had plain names.

I hurried down the narrow hallway and into my room. I looked around, hoping it wouldn't be
the last time I'd see the twin bed, the worn dresser, bookcase, and shelves. I opened my closet. Inside I could already see the outfit I had decided to wear for the reaping. I draped it over my arm and went down the hall to shower. A half hour later I had finished drying my hair, putting on my dress, and I finally slipped my feet into flats. I looked in the mirror for a long moment. I was dressed in a sweet little purple dress, my brown hair was tucked back into a long ponytail, and I looked older than I had in a long time. My eyes, brown flecked with gold and light hints of green, were bright with tears. I didn't want anything to happen to Rem. I'd do anything to protect him, but unfortunately for me there was no way to volunteer myself in the place of a male tribute. It was against the rules. I blinked a few times and looked away from the mirror.

---

The Reaping was busy with people. They were unusually silent for a day where so many people were gathered in one place. Some of the people whispered excitedly amongst each other, exchanging bets and expressing wonders of who would be among the contestants. I filed into line behind several other people my own age. The girls were all dressed in skirts or dresses except one girl who wore jeans and a plain black t-shirt. She glared at me as I approached. I merely raised an eyebrow and stood next to her, fidgeting my hands. Rem takes his place amongst his friends, winking as he disappears into the crowd. There was a long silence as the mayor stands up and takes his place at the front of the crowd, leaning against the podium for support as he speaks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to welcome you here to the 63rd Hunger Games Reaping. Before we select our tributes, however, I need to tell you of the history of Panem. Long ago, the districts rebelled against the Capitol. They believed that they should have their own power, and not have to conform to the oppressive style of government. The Capitol fought back. They defeated twelve of the districts and completely destroyed the thirteenth. After the rebellion, the Capitol formed the Hunger Games, an annual game in which each district must provide, by lottery, two children between the ages of twelve and eighteen to compete. The children, one male, one female, are entered into a competition where the twenty-four of them fight to the death until one victor remains standing."

"The Hunger Games were invented to fulfill two purposes. The first was to demonstrate the complete power that the Capitol had over the districts. The second was purely for entertainment. The Hunger Games tributes are made out to be celebrities, and the events themselves are dramatized and glorified."

He took a deep, steadying breath and continued, "I wish you all good luck."

The mayor moved away from the podium and our escort, Sariah Jones, took his place. She was a mousy lady with short brown hair, blue eyes, and dressed in a chic black pencil skirt and a gray sweater. She lacked the exotic hairstyles and abundant colors that most of the former escorts had. She actually looked like a reporter, with her curious eyes and small smile. I thought she looked like she could fit in anywhere.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen of District 1, to the 63rd Hunger Games Reaping!" She announced. She gave a bright, beaming smile. The mayor tried to smile but it looked like more of a grimace.  I could imagine the horror the other districts were experiencing as they watched our Reaping live and now knew what they'd be facing when the time came for their tributes to be picked later in the evening.

"With that," she continued, "may the odds be ever in your favor." There was a long pause. "Ladies first," she gave the metal ball a slight push. I crossed my fingers. She snatched up a piece of paper with her long fingernails. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath, waiting to hear the name of the contestant. "Esme Devonix."

I did not move for a long moment, then with a nod of acceptance, I stepped forward. There was nothing I could do. If I tried to run, the Peacekeepers would get me before I could possibly leave. This is it. I'm facing my death, already. The crowd was cheering, and I knew no one would take my place. I had too much potential and this crowd, all they wanted was a District 1 win.

"Sit, sit," she ushered me into an empty chair. "Now, now, we need our male tribute! This should be exciting!" The males, especially the older ones, were always fighting to have the spot in the games. Volunteering was a process which could take hours with the District 1 tributes. Once more she held a paper between her fingers and squinted down at the neat handwriting. "Rementin Devonix."

There was a gasp from the crowd. What if no one volunteered in his place? These district citizens were ruthless. They wanted to see the two of us fight to the death. Siblings, well siblings obviously made the Games more exciting. Rem, pale, shaky, neared me. He stretched his fingers out and touched mine for a moment, then pulled away. The silence stretched on.

"I volunteer. I volunteer as tribute!" The cry came from a small boy who was replaced quickly by an older man. We ended up, after thirteen volunteers, with a boy named Martin Helland. I knew him, and I didn't want him on my side. I couldn't trust someone who looked at you like prey and acted like there was nothing to stop him from wrapping his hands around your throat and giving it a nice crack.