hope in our eyes || 37th hunger games ✔️

Hazel Slivers

Hazel

My pillow is damp with sweat when I wake up, from one of my many nightmares, rapidly gasping for air. This is very typical for me, especially since I remember that today is Reaping Day. And it's not just Reaping Day that's bugging me, but the fact that this is the very first Reaping that I will attend, for I had just turned twelve years old. Therefore, there was a chance that I could be reaped for the Thirty-seventh Hunger Games.

At that thought, a shudder runs through me, and my breath quickens in panic. However, I steady my breathing and dismiss the dread and excitement in me. Well not dismiss, more like reduce. Don't worry. I scold myself. This is your first year, and your paper slip is only in the wretched glass bowl once. One paper slip among thousands. It won't be you.

I decide to worry about the Reaping in the afternoon, when it really happens. Rising up from my bed-or at least, the pile of sheets and pillows I call a bed-I head to the bathroom to wash myself and dress.

As I make my way down the long hallway, the wooden floor creaking with age under my feet, I bump into Poppy Branch, our two bodies colliding against each other's with the same amount of force.

"So sorry!" Poppy gasps. Her voice sounds more stranded and hysterical than usual, and now that I have a closer look at her, her usually cheerful blue eyes are red from crying.

"Hey, it's fine." I assure her. "What's wrong?" As soon as those words escape my mouth, I immediately give myself a mental facepalm. Of course I know what's wrong. All the orphans in this cabin do.

You see, I live in this huge house that's supposed to be a center for kids who are homeless, don't have parents because they died, or have some other cause that happened to them so they ended up here. For me, I'm not sure which option I'm under. I do remember having parents. I recall them feeding me, tucking me into bed, brushing my hair. However, I stopped having these memories when I turned seven years old, and that was when I found myself here at this orphanage instead. My hatred and anger points towards my mother and father who suddenly deserted me and left me to hunt and take care of myself. Luckily, the kids here at this cabin hunt together and share their kill.

"You know what's wrong." Poppy sniffles. "Hazel, what if I'm reaped? I'm only twelve, too. I'll stand no chance against all those people!" Her words turn into sobs, and she quickly wipes her eyes, only to have more tears stream down her cheeks.

I wrap my shoulders around her into an embrace. I don't enjoy getting into the middle of mushy events, so I'm not the first person expected to give anyone a hug. Poppy, however, really needed one right now so I let my disgust for lovey dovey things slip, and gave her one.

After I let her sob into my shoulder for a while, I wipe my dampened sleeve and say, "Hey, come on. Let's hit the baths, and just go ... chill."

Poppy nods, and we continue to scamper towards the washing room. Even though we're pretty early, there's still a line of girls as young as five and old as eighteen extending from the door towards the hallway. Probably feeling an urgency to bathe in order to look good for the Reaping. Although I still don't fully understand why you need to dress up and look the best for a day where your death may be announced in public.

Outside the window, a bunch of eight year old girls play some sort of hand slapping game in order to stay cheerful. And there are still many people who were still in our bedrooms, moping about this horrible day. Even though this wooden cabin isn't large, many inhabitants stay in it. Especially since we live in District Twelve, the poorest and most undeveloped of all districts. Here, it's typical for a child's father to die in a mining accident, or their family to starve to death because they couldn't manage to sell their belongings to other people who were careful to not spend a single cent if necessary, since they lived in poverty as well.