Hunger Games Writing Compilation

The Reaping - Kasidee Winters

When I woke up on the day of the reaping, the sun had barely kissed the horizon. If it wasn't for the impending doom of the reaping, it would have been a beautiful day and I could have sat and watched the sunrise. Instead, I had to haul myself out of bed and shuffle blearily into the kitchen. It's only your second reaping, I told myself as I filled a pot of water and placed it on the stove. Then I steeled myself to open the cupboard.

As I expected, it was mostly empty. Just a small jar of oats pushed toward a back corner, some berries, a few apples, and a small package of jerky. We didn't even have a stale loaf of bread! Well, I can use the oats, I think darkly as I stand on tiptoe to scooch them off the top shelf. Oatmeal was simple enough to make, and we could even top it with some berries since we didn't have sugar or cinnamon to flavor the bland oats. Oatmeal was always better with cream, but we definitely couldn't afford that. "Water it is," I grumble as I check the pot of boiling water. I dump some of it in the sink, to wash dishes. The rest I leave in the pot and stir in some oats. As the oats cook, I wash the dishes from the last few days in the sink, ignoring the sting of the too-hot water on my skin. Once the oatmeal is cooked, I mix in some berries and pour it into three bowls. "Kristyl, Mom!" I call through the house. My little sister looked awful, as always. It hurt to look at Kristyl as she bounded into the kitchen, her cheekbones all too prominent and her face sunken. But her eyes were bright (as always) as she sat down to eat her bowl of oatmeal. I stirred mine aimlessly for a bit, but I couldn't bring myself to eat it. The reaping always came with bad memories. I shook thoughts of my brother out of my head as I forced a bite of oatmeal down my throat. It hadn't cooled enough and burned as I swallowed. "Mom!" I call again, starting to get nervous. Mom was paralyzed ever since there was an accident in the orchard. She had a wheelchair that the carpenter had built for free. He was sympathetic to Kristyl and me. "I'm gonna go check on her," Kristyl said, pushing her chair out from the table, which made an awful screeching sound across the floor. I shuddered as I remembered the crate that had been drug across the floor with my dead brother in it. Usually, I was able to pretend I lived a normal, happy life. But the reaping day cast a shadow over everything.

"Kasidee! The wheel broke again!" Kristyl calls from the other room, snapping me out of my despair. What are the chances, really, that I get reaped? Little to nothing. Kristyl's too young. It's fine. I told myself as I stood up. Sure enough, Mom's wheelchair is at a dangerous slant and the wheel is super wobbly. "Loose screw," I mutter, looking at the wheel. I kept meaning to have the carpenter make us a new wheel that held the screw in better, but I was worried he would want payment. But we had nothing to trade. Not when we didn't have enough food for ourselves. "Try this," Kristyl said, picking up a small hairpin used for reaping day. "Thanks," I responded, carefully looking at the screw. Kristyl loved watching me work, at anything really. She looked up to me so much, and I felt bad. She used to look up to my mother that way before I had to take over as head of the family. Before the accident that paralyzed my mother permanently. I heard in the Capitol they had surgery to fix paralysis. But we could never afford that, nor would we ever be allowed. We were just useless farmers. I used my fingernail to turn the screw, and by the time I was finished, my fingernail was full of dents and snags. Then I bent the hairpin over it, to secure it in place so it wouldn't have room to worm out of the screw hole. Kristyl helped me lift the wheelchair a bit so I could spin the wheel around a few times, and it seemed okay. "Thank you," Mom said, and kissed my forehead.

"It's nothing," I said. She was family. Family stuck together. Family protected each other. That's what Father did when he died to protect Mom and me the day I was born. That's what my brother did the day he allowed himself to be sent to the Hunger Games without fighting so we wouldn't be punished for rebellion. That's what Mom herself did, working in the orchards for 18 hours a day until she broke her back. They were all just protecting me and Kristyl. I push Mom's wheelchair to her spot at the table where the gently steaming oatmeal lies. Kristyl and I take turns feeding her, as she can't move her arms either. That's why she can't even work in the fields. She has no way to take care of herself, her daughters, or the farms. To the Capitol, she's as good as dead. A useless, broken tool.