The 50th Hunger Games

Part I : The Reaping

The firm grip of Chadwick's hands awoke me, as he violently shook me back and forth as an attempt to get my attention . His eyes had swelled up with tears, with his lower lip quivering in fear of what was yet to come. This year was the 50th Hunger Games, meaning that the Gamemakers had decided to double the amount of tributes that are reaped from each district- two boys, two girls instead of the usual one of each. Upon remembering this, I calmed Wick down and assured him in his safety, despite having fears myself. I sprawled frantically out of my stiff mockery of a bed, leading Wick to the kitchen where my mother paced the room; murmuring indistinguishable words to herself. She had noticed myself and Wick and warmly embraced the two of us, like any nurturing mother would when aware that both of her sons are at twice the risk of inevitable death which would be broadcasted to the districts live. She had laid out our finest clothes on the counter - which was our usual scraggly tethered attire- for us to wear to such a 'formal' event.

When we were both dressed, my mother escorted us to the reaping ceremony where our fingers were pinched, identities were questioned, clothes were criticised and fears were heightened. Wick was terrified, understandably, as he was merely 12 and had been affected severely by our fathers death and mothers consequential mental state.
Before separating our paths into our allocated age areas, I knelt down to his level and placed my hands on his feeble shoulders and stared intensely into his eyes ,as an attempt to affirm him that he would be okay despite it being out of my control. A peacekeeper hurled at me, restraining me as though I was an animalistic beast who was about to eat my prey despite the innocence and purity within mine and my brothers interaction. I was shoved into the sixteen year old male line, alongside a few familiar faces I had recognised from my school or from around the area. The young murmurs of the crowd were abruptly interrupted by a young, weirdly attractive abundant woman who had taken centre stage and was introducing herself.

She smacked the microphone gently to ensure that the audio was working - " Is this thing on?" . Her scattiness was found amusable by the district which angered the peacemakers into firing some blanks at the sky to quieten the audience. Her hair was electric blue, in tight pinup curls which had small pearly swans within the curls. The skirt she wore had a trail that stretched out several metres, with pearls spread out across the entirety of it, her eyelashes also had minuscule pearls on the tips of each one.

" Welcome to the 50th Hunger games , it is with great delight that I , Madila Trinket, am able to take part in this delight ceremony. But first, as tradition, the capitols message."

Each year the capitol broadcast this ominous, disturbing video of children slaughtering each other in the Hunger games, with a voiceover of President Snow explaining the historical rebellious war that took place 50 years ago ,which lead to the creation of Panem and the crude reaping  that were currently experiencing. The districts were portrayed as responsible, with only ourselves to blame for this inhumane torture that we experience annually. A brief reminder was displayed at the end of the video, stating "If you have purchased any Tessera this year, depending on the amount of times is how many additional slips of paper will have your name on it." As if I would have forgotten that my 23 Tessera purchases would've had a price to pay, with each stingy ration barely supplying a few weeks of food, hence my multiple purchases in order to support my family.

Madila spoke once again, batting her ridiculous eyelashes to the male crowd. " Now let's get onto the reaping of the tributes! We must also remember that this year we have double the amount of tributes, meaning that I will draw two male names and two female names."

My eyes searched for my girlfriend, Rassie, but I failed to find her, I could only beg internally for her safety. Madila smiled, peering over the audience at our destitute, frightened faces as she walked over to the pot containing the pool of female slips.

"Let's begin; Ladies first!"

Her slender hands swirled in the sea of slips. Her hand finally pulled out a slip which had been carefully folded over. She had opened it up and a look of remorse filled her face.

" Emery Evelle"

The entirety of the twelve year old female group paved the way for her where a young, skinny girl could be seen emerging the line and slowly stumbled towards the stage as she began to wail hopelessly, aware of her fate. The audience was silent. She held the common district 12 appearance, with jet black hair and sunken grey eyes which had little life in them , either due to her inexperience of life due to her age or challenging experiences she had faced living this poor lifestyle.

Madila scooped out a second slip. With a deep breath she announced:

" Fern Crontill"

A brazen, seventeen year old girl strut out of her area, with her curly ginger locks bouncing as she walked towards the stage. Her determination was visible, yet so was her fear. She stood on the stage with her hands in fists, yet they shook visibly. Her eyes were deep brown and she was freckled all over. Again, stood no chance of winning. She stood alongside Emery, with her arm wrapped around her shoulder as an attempt to comfort both herself and her. Emery continued to cry, burying her face into the chest of Fern who remained strong faced.

" Moving onto the male tributes.." Madila's voice shook as she noticed the harsh glares of the female tributes families which began to chip at her. Regaining focus, she retrieved the first slip.  I begged for Wick's safety.

" Bonni Westley"

A tall, lean boy limped towards the stage. His right leg was clearly damaged, large purplish bruises and lumps made up the majority of his leg with his actual flesh being a minority. I couldn't help but feel pitiful for him as he clearly stood no chance. His hair was dusty brown with loose curls and he had light grey eyes, with his face overall appearing weak and defeated.

"And the second male tribute is..."

I pleaded with myself that it wouldn't be Wick and if it were, I would have to volunteer myself. My thoughts were interrupted as Madila proclaimed,

"Haymitch Abernathy."