District 10 - The 136th Hunger Games

1 - The Reaping

            I wake up to the soft chiming of my parents' little alarm clock in the next bedroom over, penetrating the thin walls separating our rooms. Even before I am fully conscious, I am overcome by the terror that had kept me up half the night, and had been waiting to attack me the moment I woke up. Today is Reaping Day.

            I don't know why I get so nervous. I'm sixteen, so I've done this before. Not only that, but my dad has been training me ever since I can remember, just in case the unthinkable happens. Just in case my name is called. When my dad lost his sister, my aunt, in the Games, he told me that he promised himself he wouldn't let the Games take anyone else away from him. Our little cottage surrounded by fields of grazing cattle provides the perfect place to train, with no one to see my little brother and I practice on the weekends. My brother, Owen, is eleven, so he's safe. For now.

            Thinking of him, I turn over and look at him across the room. He hasn't waken up yet, and is still peacefully sleeping. Lucky. Staring at him, I listen to the ever present lowing of the cattle around our house. District 10's thing is livestock, so we supply all the meat to the Capital. My family's job is to raise cattle, and fatten them up for the slaughter house. I'm glad I don't work there. The kids at school who do look strong, but that place of death isn't worth it to me. My family is fortunate, unlike many others. Despite never having enough food, at least we get food. Our small house has four whole rooms, one for me and my brother, one for my parents, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Our clothes are worn but clean, and our jobs don't require breaking our backs all day. Despite this, we're still poor compared to the districts closer to the Capital. Compared to the Capital itself, our lifestyle probably seems barbaric.

            I try to savor the last moments of rest I will get before I have to get ready, but my body is shaking so hard I can't control it. I stare at the ceiling and focus on breathing. In. Out. Repeat. Slowly I stop trembling. I will have to be strong today, if not for myself but for Owen. Hearing steps in my parent's room, I know that it's time to wake up. I push off my blanket, and walk across the room to Owen's bed. Gently I shake him.

            "Huh?" he says. "It's time to get up," I tell him. As he blinks the sleep from his eyes, I see his face morph into worry. "It's Reaping Day," he says, as if I need the reminder. "I know. I'm going to get ready. You should too," I tell him, even though his name won't be in the Reaping Bowl. As I turn to leave, I hear his voice. "Kira? I love you." I turn around and look at him, my heart breaking. "I love you too," I say.

            I pull out my best clothes from a drawer in the small dresser, the only furniture in the room other than our beds. Then I leave the room, heading out into the kitchen. There are four doors leaving the kitchen. Two to the bedrooms, one to go outside, and one to the bathroom. I head to this last one. There I change, putting on the long sleeved black shirt and the muted, sage green skirt with faded white flowers printed on it. A bit of color, but not too much. Not enough to draw attention. Looking in the mirror, I comb out my blond hair. It goes about a couple of inches past my shoulders. I toy with the idea of putting it up, but decide against it. I normally wear it down, anyway.

            I pause as I'm leaving and glance at myself in the mirror. Tall, pale and blond with blue eyes. Slim, from never having enough to eat, but also lean and muscular from working in the fields every day, and from my secret training. My outfit hides it though. If I do end up going to the Capital today, my best defense is to play at being an incompetent airhead. Better to be underestimated and left alone than overestimated and hunted down. My dad and I have spent hours talking over this strategy.

            I leave the bathroom to find my mom already in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Scrambled eggs. A special treat. We have them once a year, on Reaping Day. My dad has to bargain for ages with the chicken lady at the market to get them. When my mom sees me, she pulls me into a hug. "You look beautiful," she says. "Thank you," I whisper back. She pulls away and says, "Now go eat! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know." I smile to myself, and go get my plate. As I'm finishing breakfast, my dad walks in. I can tell he's trying not to act worried. We each have identical shadows under our eyes from lack of sleep.