The 250th Hunger Games.

Chapter 3.

As soon as I step out of the front door, I can feel the blistering hot sun radiating down onto my already burnt skin, in which is still slightly tender to the touch. We all hesitantly start walking down the pathway surrounded by parched grass, none of us wanting to leave the comfort of our small, but cozy, home into the unknown. All of the houses we pass by as we head in the direction of the town centre are vacant as no one dares risk staying in their house or anywhere other than the reaping on reaping day as this clear act of defiance results in severe and unjust retaliation from our superiors. The penalty for these rare occasions usually varies from a 12 slash whipping, if the peacekeepers are feeling exceptionally humane, to death in the most brutal way they can think of. There are no exceptions.

Some time ago, a middle aged man in evidently a poor state of health was unable to travel the distance from his home where he was bedridden to the town centre where the reaping is held annually. The consequences of his 'rebellion' were mortifying. He was sentenced 5 peacekeepers to beat him to death. I do believe that they were feeling particularly ruthless that day. I wasn't there to witness this distressing event, thankfully, as my parents had rightfully forbidden me and Kevin from going into town after the reaping, knowing about the torture that the man would have to endure later on. Even if seeing one more death could be avoided, then one more death we would not see. Despite my parents effort, nothing could've withheld the talk of the town from getting to us as this outrageous event had struck one nerve too far on numerous people; so the heinous details where pencilled in whether we wanted them to or not. It was then I realized how dangerous the world was. However, fear would never stand in my way if I needed to stand my ground for my beliefs, or anyone else's beliefs for that matter.

It was before we had reached the town centre, that I noticed the lack of noise. Usually, heartfelt words would be spoken to comfort, for good luck-but I couldn't hear a thing. Once we rounded the corner, we saw it. Rows of age divided children were stood bowing, holding hands with each other in complete and utter silence and families replicated this wall of strength created by the bonds of one another. Not a single cry could be heard, not one mother calling out to her child. Silence consumed the entire centre. I turn to embrace each member of my family and try to emulate my feelings I hope they know I have for them; I think they understood. The ambiance of the crowds further confirmed the love I have for them, for the people I spend my days with. As I walk to join the sign in, I note that the marble stage in front of the justice building before us was the only thing that wasn't littered with people. 3 people currently occupied the space, later to be joined by one unlucky boy and girl, and to be honest I don't consider them to be people at all. They're animals at the top of the food chain, surrounded by the luxuries they have in excess whilst we learn to love the bread we eat day after day, year after year, life after life. It's an ongoing cycle that seems to be held with immaculate silver bonds never to be broken.

I hardly regard the finger prick anymore. It's more of an irritation than a pain now after 4 years of having it done- it still does't stop me from wincing; a needle is a needle. After they stab me three times because they couldn't get the blood for the sample two times in a row, I take myself and my slightly stinging finger to the 16 years section for girls. I don't have that many friends, but as soon as I join the other girls in the section I spot my best friend's messy blonde hair from a mile away. She notices the disturbance I create as I take my place and turns around. We both recognize that speaking wouldn't be appropriate, so we both nod with sad smiles to acknowledge each other and turn to face the front. Then all there's left to do is to wait.