Hunger Games Writing Compilation

The Reaping - Daizee Farsand

The morning of the reaping was busy. Mother had to bake loaves of cinnamon bread, and Father had to go into the mayor's office to make sure everything was ready for the reaping. Me? I had to sneak out of my second-story bedroom window to get to the forest. I pulled out an old length of cable I used as rope that I had found in the back of the Hob sometime far in the past. It remained tightly tied around my bedpost, and whenever I needed to use it I would just drag it out from under my bed and lower it out the window. The hard part was making sure my parents didn't see it. To do that, I just convinced my parents to let me plant shrubs around that side of the house. And no one ever saw me, because that particular window faced away from the town square. So on the morning of the reaping, I was dressed in a starched green shirt and thick black canvas pants with a knife in my belt. Running through the back alleys of my district. If my parents saw me, they would have been furious. I was not setting a good image for our family, sneaking around in the shadows. They didn't even know I had the knife. If they did, I imagined they would use it to stab me. Probably not, but they would be irate. When I finally got to the fence at the edge of the district, I could sneak through in the holes I had cut every so often. The first time I wanted to get into the forest, I had to climb the chain link fence. Mother had asked me why my shirt was snagged, so I blamed it on her rosebush. Now that the rosebush had grown along the entire front of the house, Father would carefully prune it. He loved roses, perhaps as they represented the Capitol for him. It annoyed me, how much he looked up to the Capitol, considering District 12 was the furthest district from the Capitol. But in our District, my family was like the Capitol. We had money, and both my parents had decently paying jobs. I never had to wonder if there would be food when I got home, because there always, always was. Maybe if I had a rougher life, I could sympathize with the people in The Seam. But I couldn't, because the fact was, they scared me. They reminded me of the tributes in the Hunger Games, always struggling for food and survival. Willing to kill for it. Not once had I talked to someone in The Seam, but I didn't trust them. As soon as I was in the forest, I walked just past the treeline to a tall oak tree. Up in its branches was sort of my base. It's where I would take a nap when I was too tired or just didn't want to go home. It's where I kept my snacks in small wooden boxes so the squirrels wouldn't get them. It's where I kept my water knife sharpener and even my shoes. I climbed up my tree and drank a bit of water then took off my shoes before climbing down the tree again. The shoes made me heavier, and my footfalls louder. They made me more obvious, and incapable of being quiet. Once I was back on solid ground, I withdrew my knife, holding it defensively. Who knew what could jump out of the grass around me? A venomous snake, bears, lynx, and a variety of other predators. That's when I saw it. My first catch of the day. I shifted my knife silently in my hand and threw it, hoping that the plump bird wouldn't hear the faint whistling noise it made as I threw it. It didn't, and instantly fell to the ground. It wasn't a big bird, unfortunately. Just a fat blackbird. It would sell for good money, and if its feathers weren't too bloodstained I might be able to sell those too. I put the bird in my homemade deerskin bag and continued my trek through the forest. A twig snapped behind me and I spun around, knife raised to attack. There was no sign of whatever caused the disturbance, which left me apprehensive. It's reaping day, maybe there are Peacekeepers out here. Maybe I should get out of here. I pushed these thoughts aside as I spun my knife back into a defensive position. If I could save up more money, I could buy a real sheath for my knife. I always had to wear my thicker, more uncomfortable pants when I went to the forest because if I wasn't careful, I could cut my leg. I did it only once, trying to worm through the gap under the fence. I rolled onto my side and the knife sliced right through my pants and cut my leg. I tightened my grip on the knife handle again as I detected movement. I froze, slowly shifting my knife.

In front of me stood a wild turkey, in all its glory. I stared at it for just a split second before it flopped over, dead. I removed my knife from the turkey and put it in my bag. That would sell for quite a nice sum of money. The fresher the meat the better, so I wiped my knife in the grass and stalked back to my tree, keeping an eye out for game on the way. As soon as I reached the top of the tree, I took my knife out and cleaned it with an old scrap of shirt. I sharpened it slightly, then returned it to my belt. Then it was time to prepare the game. It didn't take long to pluck the feathers, so I put my boots back on and slid down the tree. I would have plenty of time to get to the Hob before Mother's cinnamon bread finished baking. If I wasn't back in my room with my knife and money hidden before her bread was finished, I would be in very, very big trouble. Fortunately, I had never experienced such trouble before, nor did I plan to. By the time I reached The Hob, the sun was beating down upon the whole of District 12, and I was sweating. Fortunately, The Hob offered a fresh breath of cool, stale air. This place felt more like home than my own house. I walked with confidence over to the butcher's table and dumped out the contents of my game bag. Then it was time to haggle for prices. The butcher wouldn't haggle much at all, but I could get her to raise my price by a few coins. Then I sold my feathers to the seamstress, who gave me a few pieces of gold for it.