The Fourth Quarter Quell

Reaping Day: District Five

Isabella Tanner's Perspective

I stared myself down through my mirror. My blonde hair was curled and in a ponytail, my light blue dress free of wrinkles and creases, my feet shoved into the dainty black slippers. I looked ready to go the Reaping, I just wasn't mentally prepared.

Behind me, my television blared on with the Capitol Update. I take a quick glance at my clock and decide I have time to quickly watch the update. I take a seat on my bed and watch silently.

"Well, Favonious, I think we have a stellar group of tributes so far." One of the official hosts of the Hunger Games, Alistair Ackerman, said.

"Yes, Alistair. The tributes from Districts One through Four seem to be an interesting mix." Favonious agrees. "For those of you who missed the televised Reapings, here are the tributes so far."

They are as follows, I make note of.

From District One, Paisley Rae and Eli Johnson. From District Two, Crystal Barrett and Daniel Carpenter. From District Three, Alissa Osman and Dominic Dare. And from District Four, Annalise Reynolds and Mike Samuel.

The two hosts begin to babble on about how the Games will be exceptional this year and that's when I have enough.

"Oh, shut up." I scoffed towards the images. Pressing the power button on the television I look once more into my mirror. I still didn't look prepared.

I was shaken out of my thoughts by a knock on the door. "Bella, c'mon, we've got to go."

"Coming, dad!" I shouted towards the door. My father is one of the more wealthier District Five citizens but that doesn't protect his children, my little seven year old brother and I, from the Hunger Games.

With a final look at my reflection, I tried to prepare myself for the Reaping.

•

I stood waiting in the midst of the other fourteen year old girls. Five isn't a career district so chances are, whoever's name is called, that's who will be stuck on a pedestal in the arena. My fingers twiddled around the hem of my dress, nerves running through my whole body.

Soon, the microphone tapped to life. Our district escort, Anastasia Arrison, smiled at us brightly. Her green hair was flowing down her back, matching her emerald outfit.

"Welcome, welcome, District Five! I am so excited to see who will have the honor of repressing this incredible district in this years Hunger Games. So let's waste no time in choosing this names!" She said melodiously, her voice echoing across the town square.

She strides over to the bowl for the girls, plucks a name, and walks back to the mic. As she unfolds the slip of paper, the butterflies of anxiety and dress begin to multiply.

Anastasia clears her throat and reads the unfortunate souls name. "Isabella Tanner!"

Me. The unfortunate soul is me.

My feet were cinder blocks refusing to budge but I trudged towards the stage. My father was probably somewhere in the crowd of adults, mortified at my name being chosen. Eventually, I joined Anastasia on the stage.

"How old are you, dear?" Anastasia asked.

That's when I caught glimpse of myself in the jumbo screens. My skin was drained of color, my once ocean blue eyes were faded to a misty shade, and my face was threatening to turn into a cherry.

"Fourteen," I muttered into the microphone. "I'm fourteen."

"Excellent!" Anastasia chirped. "Now for the boys!" She walks past me to the bowl for the boys and repeats the selection process.

My thoughts were buzzing wildly but cleared entirely when my district partners name was called.

"Logan Pike!" Anastasia exclaimed.

No...not Logan. As I watch him walk up to stage, our eyes meet and sympathy is telepathically transmitted between us.

As he shares his age, 17, with Anastasia and the rest of the country, I can't begin to think how this will work. Logan is my neighbor and he's practically my older brother. How am I supposed to watch him get killed?

"There they are! District Five's tributes! Isabella Tanner and Logan Pike!" Anastasia said finally.

The two of us are led into the Justice Building by Peacekeepers into separate rooms. As I await my family to be admitted in, I spot a mirror on the wall. As I look at myself, I wipe away a tear.

When I got here, I was unprepared. But now, as my motive is now to stay alive, I sure will be prepared by the time I step foot into the Capitol.