The Story of a Career

The Reaping

My name is Blair Ward, and I live in district 1. I am 15 years old, so I am kind of young to be volunteering for the hunger games. But I am doing it for the glory, and the younger you are, the better it looks when you win. I don't need the riches that come with it. Almost everyone here is wealthy or filthy stinking rich. I happen to be on the filthy stinking rich side. And let me be the first to tell you that it is boring. The only thing I have done my whole life is train for the games. What fun!

Lets cut to the chase. Today is the reaping, and my mother has put me in a dress down to my knees with a lace pattern from the waist down. It has no sleeves to show off my arms and back muscles. If I get picked I need to start intimidating the competition right away. I have the skill. I just have to get the presentation right, and before I know it I'll be wearing the victors crown.

After the ordeal of styling my long blond hair, putting on many pieces of diamond jewelry, and 10 minutes staring at the mirror working on my " I'm gonna kill you easily" look, we head to the square. The sun is beating down on our heads, but there is a slight breeze to make it feel delightful. I hate coming here because the justice building is always looming over your head. I like to be the biggest and badest thing around me. I try to distract myself by wondering if I'll get picked.

Volunteering works the same ways here as it does in district 2. There are so many of us that volunteer that they do the registering for volunteers before the reaping, and then they just put all the volunteers in the reaping. My parents are rather high in society so that improves my chances. My father is actually the mayor.

I walk over to the roped off section for 15 year old and wave to a few of my friends who are also hoping to get reaped. All the sudden, the sound of our escort's 13" high heels quite the crowd. Her name is Ptawny Maynard, but all the kids in training with me usually just refer to her as Pissy the clown, because one year she flipped out on some kid in the middle of the reaping for who knows why.

She welcomes us all and beckons for my father to begin his speech. He goes on about the last war and the rebels losing and blah blah blah. Let's get on to the tributes all ready! I don't listen to half his speech anyways because I am too perplexed by Ptawny's hair. It looks like a beehive that has been puked on and then been plastered with dead grass.

I'm snapped back to reality when Ptawny's high piched voice starts ringing in my ears telling everyone It's time to pick the girl tribute or as Ptawny refers to us as "the future women of Panem". She reaches into the bowl and I can feel the crowd holding their breath and so am I. My name is on one of those sheets of paper. She just has to pick it up. After swirling her hand in the bowl for what seems like an eternity she jently plucks a small strip of paper from the rest. She walks up to the microphone and slowly, carefully opens up the strip and I start to shake but quickly stop myself. That's not how a victor should act. And she speaks the name into the microphone. "Blair Ward, you are one of this years district One tributes in the hunger games". A wave of relief and exitement washes over me, and with my shoulders back I walk up to the stage and climb the stairs and take my spot on the stage next to our many victors.

Ptawny walks over to the boy's bowl and quickly pulls out a name. She proudly says the name into the microphone. "Tullius Slade". Oh no, this is not good. So much for being the biggest and badest thing around.

_____________________________________________________________________________This is short and I'm not really good at this stuff you guys call "writing". So if you don't like it poop on you. Oh yeah and the Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins and blah blah blah copyright.