the 19th Hunger Games

Chapter 1

It was a foggy morning, the morning of the reaping. It was cold too, a harsh spring filled with icy leftover winds from winter. Normally this would be one of my better days. I was always at my best on cold mornings. The meadows were so beautiful, covered in clouds of white, dew on the tip of every blade of grass, silhouettes of ranchers and herds, sometimes dogs sprinting through the bushes… Life in ten wasn’t all that bad. But it wasn’t like that for everyone. It wasn’t like that for the parents of lost tributes. It wasn’t like that for the tribute’s sisters, brothers, grandparents… It wasn’t like that for those who had lost someone. But I tried not to think about that too much. My life was pretty much okay and my chances of being reaped where minor. I was 18, my last year in the reaping. Okay, my name was in there 28 times, as all the 18-year-olds had, but it could’ve been worse. My name could’ve been in there many more times if I’d gone for the tesserae. But I didn’t need it, since my rancher parents managed to take a little meat here and sell some horn-carvings there… It wasn’t all that bad for my parents and I.

   So that morning I dressed in silence but I wasn’t that grave. I had no younger siblings, only a 20-year-old brother who was out of the grasp of the Hunger Games. Everyone was safe. I wouldn’t be picked and I had no friends except for 6-years-old Millie. And it would take another 6 years for her to be in the reaping. My day was going to be fine.

   I pulled on my brown-and-red plaid dress and slipped into my olive cowboy boots. Then I took my leather jacket, threw it over my shoulder and hopped downstairs.

“Morning!” I called as I saw my mother and father sit around the table. They were munching on freshly baked bread and each had a small cup of real coffee.

“Morning darling,” dad said. My parents had no more worries than I. They knew as much as I did that the chance of me being reaped was as small as a cow being drowned by a chicken.

“Good morning dear, want a cup?” my mom asked, raising hers. I nodded. She danced off into the kitchen and as I sat down, came back with a plate and a steaming cup.

“Yumcoffeethanks!” I breathed and gulped the hot liquid down. My parents stared at me for a second, than looked at each other and shook their heads.

“That kid,”

“Will never learn.” They laughed simultaneously and continued eating. My parents where the coolest people I ever knew. They were made for each other, finished each other’s sentences and they were always happy, no matter what. I’d never ever in my whole life seen either of them cry.

“So you’re both gonna head out today?” I asked as I tore off some bread from the loaf on the middle of the table and started chewing without putting even butter on it.

“Hmmhmm,” dad managed to get out, nearly choking on a piece of bread way to big for his mouth.

“Your dad and I,” mom decided to continue, “are probably going to need to help some cows deliver.”

“Oh my goodness that is so awesome!” I yelled. I could still get so excited about cow-birth, even though I’d seen it a million times before. “After the reaping I’ll join you immediately. Leave some preggers for me will you?”

“Sure honey,” mom laughed. “You look lovely, by the way.” I shrugged.

“Might as well look awesome on the stupidest day of the year, right?” My parents and I were in no way afraid of speaking our mind. Our farm was pretty much outside of town, like a few others. The only other houses outside of town where the big pretty ones in the Victors Village and those where miles away. We had no fear at all of our house being wired whatsoever so as long as we were not in town, we’d speak our mind, feeling free as the birds.