The 122nd Annual Hunger Games: The Anti-Careers

Disrict 10 Reaping

X - Lacy Francen

The old lady remained asleep as I waltzed in. I glanced over to her as I set the flowers-handpicked from my backyard-on the bedside table. She was ill and not good enough to attend the reaping ceremony that day; she was excused. I had only wished I would get to see her awake again before the reaping as she hadn't woken up in two days. For a minute, I sat down at the chair in the corner of the room, admiring her age.

"I hope I get to live as long as you," I whispered. "I only have three more reapings to go."

I was already dressed for the ceremony and I let myself out of the house to hurry on to the town square. My two brothers and sister and would meet me there, all eligible for The Hunger Games as well. I was among the last few people to show up but I was just in time to watch the same flashy lady show her face, the District 10 escort.

"District 10, it is my pleasure to select you tributes for the 122nd Annual Hunger Games!" she exclaimed. "And I'm happy to announce that this is my twenty-fifth anniversary of being a district escort!" she cheered, giving herself a few claps as everyone else remained silent. "Well, ladies first!" She strutted with pride to the bowl, making sure to show off her intricate heels. "Ahem," she began. "Lacy Francen," she announced with breaks in between my names, like just about all district escorts.

For a second I looked around gently, looking for Lacy Francen. Then, I realized, you are Lacy Francen, you dummy! I let a tiny gasp escape my lips; I threw my hand over my mouth. I was revealed in the gargantuan sea of teenagers.

"Lacy?" the escort questioned, looking over to me as the other girls around me figured out who I was. "Come on up, if that's you!"

I was forced to throw myself onstage and be present. I wanted to scream, really loud, extraneously, but I didn't let it happen. I remained calm but I couldn't stop myself from letting some tears flow.

"Welcome, dear, and how old are you?"

"Sixteen," I muttered.

"Great, and now to draw our lucky boy!" She searched for a few seconds in the boys' bowl for that unlucky person. "Lentin Quince!"

The boy tribute was much stronger emotionally than I was, at least in how he looked. Instead of freaking out for a second, he walked up to the stage without being prompted to.

"And your age?"

"T-twelve," he spouted nervous.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Lacy Francen and Lentin Quince!" she announced delighted.