The 200th Annual Hunger Games

Disrict 11 Reaping

District 11- Willow Till

The juice from the sweet peach dribbles down my chin, so I wipe it up with the back of my hand before turning to look at Mazie. She looks back at me and gives me a toothy grin before bitting into her peach again.

“This is my favourite season of the year you know” She says through a mouthful of fruit.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” I ask her.

“Well it’s hot but not too hot, and the fruit is great this time of the year!” She exclaims while fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist.

I laugh at her enthusiasm before adding, “Yeah well my hay fever is a real pain this time of the year!”

This time she’s laughing at my misfortune. It’s true, I get really bad hay fever and have allergic reactions to lots of different plants at this time of the year. One day not too long ago, I was walking to the orchard when a funny looking plant brushed my leg, while I didn’t think much of it then, the next thing I remember was waking up in the small hospital with a pipe pumping something into my body via my arm. The nurse said they had to inject me with a special pen that helped me breath again. I got told that the plant that caused the deathly reaction was called Vorsage.

“Hey Willow we better get going to the Reaping” Mazie says snapping me out of my thoughts.

I nod as we climb down from our spots up in the trees. We joke about meaningless things while walking to the town square which today is done up in bright banners and flags, quite a contrast to the dull and bleak building that sits behind the rickety old stage. Our joking comes to a stop when it’s my turn to have my finger pricked by the Capitol lady.

“I’ll see you after the reaping Mazie!” I call out over my shoulder as we go separate ways, me into the 16 year old pen and her into the 15 year old.

The one year age difference has never mattered to us, she’s my best friend and I’m hers.

I mentally zone out while the mayor reads his speech, it’s the same as every year. Even he must get bored of reading the same thing over and over every year. The mayor is a middle aged man with a round belly. He says how after the great rebellion our ancestors rose up and lived in harmony with the introduction of the annual event known as the Hunger Games which brings us together and reminds us what’s right and who’s in control. The President and all his little watch dogs.

The mayor finishes his speech and introduces our escort who didn’t bother to mention her name, although we all know her because she’s been our escort for the last 4 or so years. She’s wearing a crazy dress but shows no enthusiasm as she welcomes everyone. She probably doesn’t see the point in trying when she’s stuck with District 11. What hope do any of us have of winning the games? We haven’t had a winner in over 30 years.

“Girls first” She says in a monotone voice before snatching the first slip that her fingers touch.

“Arya Botcher”

My blood turns cold as the harsh realization hits me. That’s Mazie’s sister. Mazie’s little sister who has never heard the birds sing in the trees or heard the satisfying crunch of an apple, because she’s deaf.

My mind feels foggy but I know what I have to do. If I don’t volunteer for her, Mazie will and that can’t happen. I look down at my arms. My thin arms.

I won’t stand a chance.

But neither will Mazie. I have to do this.

I raise my hand before speaking those two words which I can’t help but feel is my death wish, “I volunteer”

“Oh great, a quick volunteer how exciting” The escort says in a unenthused voice.

I can feel my heart drumming in my ears as I try to take steady steps up the stage. The escort crosses over to the boys bowl without asking me what my name is. I can’t believe that I’ve just volunteered myself to go into the Hunger Games and she can’t be bothered to give me a chance to tell everyone watching who I am. I pull the microphone up to my height before saying, “I’m Willow Till, 16”

I shoot the escort a look to which I receive a dramatic roll of her eyes before I collapse into my designated chair before my knees buckle. I can’t believe this is happening.

A chocked sob comes from the back of the pens. I squint my eyes and I see Mazie clinging to her Dad and sobbing violently into his shirt. A tear drips down my cheek before I can stop it and I wonder whether it’s in remorse for seeing Mazie so upset or in fear of what lays ahead of me. Probably both.

I turn my attention to our escort to see her read out the name on the boys slip. From where I’m sitting, I can see that it says Collin Rye. A yelp comes from the 12 year old pen before a small boy with mousy brown hair raises his small hand. I can’t help but gasp. He’s tiny, and so innocent looking. This isn’t right, No one that young should have to enter the games, be it be volunteering or being reaped.

“Vinny no, don’t do this. You can’t do this. You’re my brother!” A devastated boy cries.

The two are strikingly alike and I feel my heart rip in two when a quite whisper comes from backstage informing our escort that the two boys are in fact twins.

“Vinny Rye, I turned 12 last week” He says while standing on his tip toes because the microphone is much too high for him to speak into.

“District 11 here are your tributes. Happy Hunger Games” Our escort finishes as she leads us of stage, and away from all of the sad faces that fill the town square.

 *     *     *     *     *

Inside the justice building I share a few moments with my family. My Mum, Dad and older brother Seb.

“You know I would’ve volunteered for you if it was allowed, Willow” He tells me before they are all whisked out of the room.

A final person with a tear stained face runs into the room. Mazie.

She squeezes me in a hug before taking the thin weaved bracelet off her wrist and tying it on mine. Her eyes say all the words that she isn’t able to say.

Thank you. Why were you so stupid to volunteer? That should’ve been me. I’ll miss you so much. You will always be my best friend. I know you can do this.

She speaks one more time before she is ripped from my embrace by a peacekeeper.

“Come home Willow”

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