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happy hunger games ! yells fausta hammond when she's near the mic, her outrageous accent cutting her words in a funny way. and may the odd be ever in your favor.
from the tip of her big red varnish heels, to her tights studded with rhinestones, her long darkened nails similar to claws and her deep-black wig decorated with fake colored stars, all in her screams that she come from the capitol. her face is covered with a thick layer of makeup, and like every other year since she is our escort, i wonder what she really looks like.
i turn back my attention to the crowd around me, no longer interested in her and i eyes-search the last row of children gathered on the other side of the square. in no time, i can find willow. with other girls of the same age, she's in the very back of the crowd. i can only see half of her face and her blonde as the wheat hair, but it's enough to reassure myself ; and terrify me at the same time.
i try to think straight and wise. her name is write down only once because it's her first year. she just turned twelve, and as panem's laws stipulate, she can now be reaped as a tribute. of course, i absolutely disagreed for her to take any tessera and luckily, she's too afraid of the hunger games to even think about disobey me. there's few chances for her to be reaped, not with the hundreds of names fausta hammond can take out of the lottery.
on the other hand, the odd might not be in my favor at all, this year.
not with my name write down twenty-three times.
i'm seventeen, so six times my name, plus every time i used for tesserae. since our parents died, three and five years ago, i am the main provider for both of us. i had to register my name for food, or else my sister would have died from hunger.
so today, i have exactly twenty-three chances to be reaped. i pray to escape it, more because i don't want to leave willow alone behind than by fear to die. she only got me. if i'm reaped, i don't know what could happen to her. it's not like my district's municipality cared about orphans. when my dad died in a work incident - as they called it - we got nothing except a few silver coins as compensation ; not even enough to feed the three of us for a month. then, two years later, my mom died from a lungs disease for which we couldn't afford medicine.
i was fifteen, willow ten, and i took my first tessera.
our parents left us some money, but without any income because we were still students, we had to save up. no help has been provide, no one took care of us. for the government, i was too old to go to an orphanage, and i refused for them to take willow. at fifteen, i had to work for us to live and to eat. so in addition of the school in the morning, i took a job at the paper factory the afternoons, and more hours as a logger on the weekends. with the tesserae, we never missed anything. willow always got to bed with something in her stomach, and my fear of her becoming as skinny as the starved of district twelve disappeared.
but if today i'm reaped,
i'm not sure what will happen to her.
this fear make me almost suffocate as much as the crowd gathered on the main square, in front of the hall of justice. the buildings near have been decorated to match the colors of the capitol, and what the government would like to be a big day of celebrations is just the worst day of the year for us.
people squeeze in the streets, in front of the large screens set up sooner for that every living soul of our district can follow, in live, the reaping. not anyone can be absent and the peacekeepers make themselves sure that every house is really empty. the day is in fact a holiday, nobody works or goes to school.
a nudge from the boy next to me take me back to the ceremony. i'm standing next to the stage, at the second row behind the eighteen years old boys, and the cameras are filming meticulously the crowd of children in front of them.
fausta hammond just finished her speech about her pride to be the escort of district seven - it's false, of course. everybody know that every escort from the outline districts would prefer to be in charge of a richer district as the one or the two, or even the four which has always provided quality tributes over the years.
as the mayor's speech, i didn't listen a thing. every year, it's the same : glory of the capitol, the dark days, punishment of the districts, the treaty of treason, hunger games, et cætera.
it's when she finally announces the lottery selection that i drag my attention back to her. the dreaded moment has come.
as usual, she begins with the female tribute and goes with little steps to the left big glass jar. her hand goes in, she plays with the tension for more suspense and finally draws out a little sealed piece of paper. then, she goes back to her mic before unfolding slowly the paper. the crowd holds its breath ; a dead-ass silence reigns, everyone pray for their child to be safe.
and then, the moment of truth :
willow terrace ! screams fausta hammond in a happy voice.
