I yank my hairbrush through the knot that is my hair, a weak attempt to look somewhat presentable.
"Why does it matter what I look like?" I turn to Ivy.
"For the enjoyment of the Capitol."
She answers, mocking the affected Capitol accent.
I'm convinced that the accent is put on to show the districts how much better the Capitol is. They can't actually sound like that, right?
Deciding to give up on brushing my hair, I pull it into a tight braid. Ivy is already dressed and in a crumpled navy skirt and puffy white blouse. Her hair is down and naturally falls in loose blonde curls (stereotypical merchant class appearance). She always looks so grown up on reaping day as if she is too old to be reaped. She throws me a green dress and grey cardigan. They used to be hers and got her through four reapings. I hate wearing them- especially the jumper with its itchy weave- but Mum says they're lucky and so I must.
Through the open window I can hear the peacekeepers setting up the square: shouts of instruction; scraping of tables on the gravel; and the buzzing of the big screen.
I hear Mum and Dad pacing in the other room, obviously worried. Last year, Ivy's friend was reaped. It showed them that the same could easily happen to us. When Brooke died Ivy was inconsolable, made worse by the way she was killed. Johanna Mason- the victor- put an axe through her head and we all had to watch. Fair to say tensions are high this year.
No. Think happy thoughts: reaping day dinner and meeting up with Holly later. It doesn't help that my stomach is tying itself in knots.
"I feel sick." I tell Ivy as I clutch my belly.
"Don't worry about it Fern, your name is only in three times. A boy in my year has his name in 46 times!" She places a hand on my shoulder to reassure me.
We head to the other room where Mum is pouring soup into four bowls. I sit at my seat and stare at my soup, my appetite having forsaken me.
"Eat up Fern." Mum orders, her tone stern but her face soft and empathetic.
I reluctantly do as she says. One spoonful at a time I drink the watery soup with its chunks of carrot. It's cold and has little substance but Mum is staring me down so I keep taking spoonfuls. I try to take my time in order to delay the reaping but Mum cuts breakfast short and escorts us out into the square.
No one is there yet. Ivy and I walk over to the first table.
"Ivy Abrams. Age 17. District 12." Fern recites robotically. They take a blood sample and she walks off to her section.
The peacekeeper at the table stares at me expectantly and I stutter out, "Fern Abrams. Age 13. District 12." I wince as the needle passes into my finger and my blood drips onto the page. I shuffle awkwardly over to my section.
I stand motionless as the other 12-18 year olds line up. Too scared to move, I keep my focus on the bowls on the stage. Three of those folded slips have my name. "Fern Abrams". I can here Effie Trinket calling out. I shake off the though. Ivy said a boy in her class has his name in 46 times. Odds are my name won't be called.
"Ladies and gentleman thank you for being here today." The mayor breaks the silence. I hear some girls around me murmuring about not having a choice.
The mayor continues with his spiel about the war and how as a punishment the Capitol murders 23 children. He doesn't say it in those words of course. His wording is:
"As a reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated and as a punishment for the uprising each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy to participate. Over a period of several weeks, the tributes must fight to the death. The last tribute alive becomes a victor."
As he draws to the end of his speech I feel my jaw clench and my muscles tense up.
Effie Trinket stands up and waddles over to the microphone in a tight green dress that seems to imitate a fir tree. Her heels are so high that she towers over the mayor. Her wide grin makes we feel nauseous: what monster takes enjoyment in this?
"Ladies first..." Effie Trinket trails off. She wiggles her hand around in the glass bowl. My stomach drops in fear. My legs go weak and my ears begin to ring.
I turn to look at Ivy. She mouths the words "It won't be you" at me. I nod along and feel slightly calmer.
"May the odds be ever in your favour..." Effie Trinket dramatic removes her hand from the bowl with a flourish. She opens the slip. I hold my breath and close my eyes waiting for her to call out someone's name and for the flood of relief to hit me.
"Fern Abrams!"
No...
Author's notes:
Hi guys! I'll be writing quite a bit over summer. I'm hoping one chapter a night. It will be posted at 11:00 BST.
If I'm busy I'll try my best to post but please be considerate.
Hope you enjoyed part 1!
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A piece in their games
Fanfiction"I dared to believe that I was an exception. That I could win and still be me. Yes, I won but I became what they wanted me to. I'm just another piece in their Games..." When Fern Abrams was reaped for the 72nd Hunger Games no one believed she had a...
