I wake up to the sound of running water, knowing immediately what day it is. Today must be a very special occasion if we are allowed to use running water here in Area 11. Today is the day of the Reaping.
"Good morning, Emra," says my younger sister, Claie. She smiles toothily at me, displaying her missing two front teeth.
"What happened there?" I say. "You grew two windows while I was sleeping!" I grin as she giggles.
"I lost my teeth this morning at breakfast." I pull her into a hug, the bed creaking under our combined weight. I'm surprised. For a 17-year-old, I'm light. For a 5-year-old, she's heavy.
I know what will happen today, but I'm still scared. I know what these games do to people. I've seen footage.
Many years ago-- close to 200, for though we are at the 150th games, there was a 50 year pause-- the 12 Districts of Panem got into a horrible war with the Capitol. They rebelled after the 75th Hunger Games and killed our leader, President Snow. Now, we have President Undersee. She is a woman about 50. Her grandmother, Madge Undersee, was president until the day she died. Madge was a rebel that was thought to be dead, only to be found in the ruins of District 12 beaten, bloody... and ready to claim power and force her people's children to fight to the death.
Again.
In the Hunger Games.
A shudder runs through my body as I remember the rebellion videos I've seen too many times. They said thet wanted this war to end. So why start the problem up again?
I scowl. It's not fair. Not fair at all, to live in the 12 Areas of the Capitol and pretend to be Districts. Just kill 24 of us now. Don't make us kill each other.
"Emra?"
I look down at Claie and notice that her brown eyes, the same shade as mine, are watery. I put on a stern face.
"What?" I ask, half-expecting, half-dreading the answer I will hear. Because there is no way to comfort her. It's all up to the odds.
"It's..." Claie ducks her head and bobbles from the room, not finishing speaking.
Good, I try to convince myself. She doesn't need to talk about it. Neither do I.
With that, I rise from my bed, grab the knee-length black dress from the foot of my bed, and pull it on, barely making an effort to pull my long black hair into a ponytail.
***
"I'll be okay," I whisper to Claie. She has tears in her eyes, though they don't spill over. "Go find Mom," I plea, seeing her lower lip quiver. "Mom will stand with you. I'll be okay, alright? I love you." I push my little sister out to the swarm of adults and young children, awaiting the yowls of protest sure to come in a moment. But there are none. Even Claie is too worried to get attention.
"Are you Emra Deaper?" a man in a crisp black suit asks. I frown and nod, sticking out my hand in the process. I look behind me at the crowd of people that Claie and I have held up for the past five minutes.
"Thank you," he says in his light, airy Capitol accent. Only those from Areas 1, 2, 3, and 4 have them. "Next?"
I make my way up near the front, where all the other 17-year-old girls stand. I nod at one in particular-- her name is Savae, and she is in my class. I don't really have any close friends, but I know them enough.
"Hey," I say quietly. She inches closer to me as more kids file into our line.
"Hi," she says with a brisk smile. I nod again and turn my attention back towards the stage, thinking one horrible thought.
I really want it to be Savae instead.
