It is a very bright, sun-shiny day, the kind Daddy, my brother Gaylord, and I like so very much. I am 13 years old. I am dark haired, blue eyed, fair skinned. The women that come into the bakery call today Former Reaping Day. And they cry. And kiss Daddy's cheeks. I ask my father why. Daddy, He says it's a happy day. But then, he gets that look in his eyes, the look like when he sits in his rod-straight, bolt upright stance, gripping both sides of the chair.
"Then why does Mom cry?" I ask, as my mother walks around sniffing and touching the red patches on her skin.
Daddy thinks for a while and says, "Do you wanna hear a story, Nova?"
I nod. I've always loved my Daddy's stories. He used to tell me of a courageous queen named Nightlock and her king called Baker, and a little girl called Duckie. And one of a boy named Trident, who he says was beautiful. But, whenever I think of beautiful boys, I think of Aunt Annie's son, Finnick, who is 16. He likes to watch me paint. I never know why. But I like to paint him. From a strictly artistic standpoint, I'm interested in him. He calls my father and mother by name "Katniss and Peeta." He says.
This time, Daddy tells me a new spin on the story of the girl called Duckie.But, only he calls her by a different name, a prettier one. Primrose, I think he says. He says that a long, long time before Duckie was born, that very brave men and women stood up to the people who live in the big Candyland (or the capitol as Daddy calls it) and they were reclused into silence. But not after a big fight. "The first rebellion." He calls it. Well, everyone present and of their birth was punished for 76 years, by having their 12-18 year old children 'reaped' to fight in an arena to the death. 2 from every district. 12 discricts. 24 tributes. 1 victor. They called it the Hunger Games. But, they were saved by a girl called the Mockingjay, Queen Nightlock. A girl who used to be a tribute. Who ran away with her king, another tribute. "The Second rebellion." Lead by the queen, also known as The Girl on Fire! The name tugs on something...
I gasp. "Momma?"
He nods.
"So that means, you're-Baker?"
Again, Daddy nods.
"So you were reaped?" I asked.
"And we escaped."
That is why my mother cries. She sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night, scared I or Gaylord will be reaped.
But there aren't anymore Hunger Games. No one starves anymore.
We live in perfect world.
"But," Mom pipes up, kissing my head as she leads Finn in, carrying a canvas he bought. "There are worse games to play."
