The 4th Quarter Quell : A Hunger Games Story

Chapter 3 : District 02

Ginger Steelforge

"Ginny! Hurry up!" Briar said, tugging on my skirt as our boots clicked along the cobblestones. I reluctantly tilt my head up from my book and see what Briar is so interested in. It was one of Bry's favorite days of the year. One of the days where they shut off the endlessly manned machinery. One of the days or parents would actually get to be awake when we were home.

Our family was in the poorer part of District 2. Our parents always had to work harder to get enough money to feed Briar and I. Unfortunately, the higher paying shifts were in the nighttime, when the better workers were deployed. It was easier to make mistakes when you couldn't see. So every night we'd go to bed before our parents left and they'd return to wake us up then immediately go to bed. Bry barely knew them. She wouldn't have remembered the time before they had to work so hard.

I had been a quiet girl, and never complained that I went to bed every night starving. When Bry was born and we needed to eat even less food, my body snapped. I almost died. For a year, we were indebted to the doctor who had saved my life. After that, it was impossible for my parents to get back on top of the money and food situation. So I was the one who parented Briar. Who else would?

I followed right behind Briar, her hand still grabbing mine, yanking me forward. In my other hand, I clutched my most prized possession, my leather-bound book documenting every tribute and every Hunger Games ever to exist prior. In the winter, I'd take a break from reading it. But once the first flower bloomed, I was back to rereading it. I needed any extra help I could get if I got reaped. Briar had barely drug me over to the hill overlooking the factory when the whir of engines started dying down. The clanking of chains trying to halt gears. Then silence. Pure, blissful silence. I loved watching the factories shut off with Bry. But I liked the circumstances significantly less. Usually, the factories would only shut off three days a year. On reaping day, the day the victors returned, and the day of the Victory Tour. The Hunger Games were our culture. At least that's what the Capitol wanted. But in District 2, we were resourceful people. Something that most people didn't even care about. I knew it though. From experience, and from my book. Almost all of the victors from my district had to do something incredibly resourceful to save their lives, or their allies. Bry had that resourcefulness. But with my lack of plain brown hair, I obviously lacked that resourcefulness as well. And with my eternally tight lungs, I knew deep down that all the knowledge in the world wouldn't be enough to save me if I was reaped.

By the time I got back to the house with Briar, I practically collapsed on the floor. "Ginny?" Briar said, plonking down on the floor next to me. My lungs quivered as they expanded and collapsed back in on themselves. "I'm- I'm okay," I spluttered out. Briar just rubbed my back gently until my lungs could hold air again.
"Thank you for coming with me," Briar said. It was dumb really, I wouldn't have let her go herself. What she meant was "Thank you for coming with me even though it meant you couldn't breathe." Briar was always so sweet, such a precious thing that didn't deserve the hand of the Hunger Games meddling in her life. She shouldn't have to know what it's like to have parents who are always out working, just so that you can get the bare minimum for survival. "Ginny! It's on!" I forced myself to my feet as I walked toward the television. Fear struck my heart as President Snow calmly explained that there would be a Hunger Games for each District. 13 in total. 12 times as likely to be reaped. And if you were reaped, there was twice as many opportunities for you to die. I knew from my book that the Quarter Quell arenas were always terrible. Filled with poison, or a clock with 12 different types of death. I was glad though. Glad beyond belief that Briar was too young to be in these Hunger Games. Because if my little sister was reaped, I don't know what I would do.

About half an hour later, my parents returned. My mom with her brown hair and blue eyes. My dad with his light brown hair and brown eyes. They didn't really look like me or Bry. Of course, we didn't look like anyone with Bry's blonde hair and blue eyes and my red hair and blue eyes. "Are you excited for the Hunger Games this year, Ginger?" Mom said. She was way too excited. In fact, I didn't see my parents enough to know their stance on the Hunger Games. I didn't know if she was pretending to be excited, or genuinely loved the thought of children dying.  "Of course not," I said quietly. My Dad looked ready to throw something at me. Instinctively, I grabbed Briar and stormed off to my room. "What's wrong, Ginny?" Bry asked, her tiny hand clasping mine. How did one explain to an innocent little girl that you could disagree with your parents and entire community when what they believed was wrong? I hadn't let Bry watch the Hunger Games, so she hadn't seen the torture and pain they went through. But I would always rewatch them at night. I felt so disconnected without the constant reminder of the Capitol. So that's all I said. "Bry, the Capitol, the Hunger Games. They're corrupt, evil. Terrible." She just looked at me, with her wide blue eyes. Then her arms were around me and I felt my fear melting away. We could share this burden. We shared everything.