The Tournament of Life

Part 1

   My fingers slide down my blouse, straightening it out, as the reaping day was today. You had to look presentable or else they'd kill you on sight. My thirteen year old brother sat in the kitchen with my father, talking through a few things before we all had to leave for the pen area. I combed my hair with my fingers and quietly made an entrance in the living room. 

"Hey, kiddo," My father says, smiling. "Hey dad." I reply. "Are you ready? we need to be there in about three minutes." 

Unlike me, my father couldn't wait for his children to be thrown into a giant arena to fight to the death. He wanted people to honor him and respect him. He's not always the best person to be around. 

Long story short, without my mother here my father can do what he wants. She held him together, like sap in a tree. When she died, he fell apart. I clear my throat, nod, and grab my little brother's arm. "Lets go, Max." 

My father shuts the door behind us, and off we go to be delivered to our brutal deaths. Max gets choked up when he notices that we won't be together again this year, and I calm him down, saying that he'd be okay and that I'm right there with him. 

We split up after our fingers are pricked, and I suck on mine to stop the bleeding faster. 

I stand with the other 16 year olds, just like in every other district. I notice my best friend standing a few rows in front of me, and I take in her form. She became very ill over the past year, due to the grain they shipped to us. It was a very bright green color, and it smelt of mold. If we didn't eat it we would have died of starvation. A very common death cause in the whole of Panem. 

She contracted some type of deadly disease, yet they force her here anyway. District seven is so much more strict than what people see on the television. I shake my head, breathing in and out a few times to stop my anger from rising. I wouldn't dare have an anger blow up right now. That's basically a death wish.

Our escort this year, dressed in dark red and purple hops out on stage. She has a very bubbly personality, almost like last years escort, Effie Trinket. You'd swear they were twins by the way they acted and dressed. But nope, just a mere copy of one another. When She tells us to watch the video the Capitol has sent us, I roll my eyes and ignore the blood boiling voice of President Snow.

How a certain man can cause so much war and damage goes beyond me. When it's over, I tune out for a little while until she calls the first girls name. "Rosaline Dixie." My best friend. Who is sick, and dying. My head shoots straight up, and I push my way through the crowd until I'm out in the open. "Take me! Take me instead of her!" I cry, overwhelmed by the scary feeling that I might actually go into the Hunger Games and not make it out.

"I don't think that's how it works, Dear." Pamela, our escort, says. 

"Just let her go." I hear a familiar voice yell from behind me. My father, of course. Who else? I bow my head and start to walk towards the stage while others used hushed whispers to talk. Rosaline looks up at me sadly but most of all, gratefully. As I stand there on the stage I feel a rush of anger hit me, and I ball my hands into fists. This is how I help my anger fall back to normal, by digging my finger nails into the palms of my hands.

The boys are next, and I can feel the fine layer of sweat slowly seep into my hands. It burns the small cuts I have from previous injuries, but that doesn't matter now. I look around for Max, and I spot him with the thirteen-to-fourteen pen. He shakes his head and looks away from my gaze. 

"Maxwell Hunter," Pamela says, looking through the crowd and stopping at the fourteen pen where a path has been made to my brother. A tear slips down my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes shut to stop more from coming down. When he gets on stage we stand in front of everyone, their eyes glued to the pair of siblings that stood no chance to begin with.

Pamela asks me what my name is, and I don't answer. "Okay, then. Let's get on inside the Justice building, you two." She guides us in with her hands on our lower backs, in an almost comforting way. We're put into two different rooms. 

"I can't believe this is happening." I pace the room with my bottom lip between my teeth, in an attempt to stop the emptiness inside me to take over. About five minutes later there's a knock on the door and Rosaline enters, tears flowing from her blue eyes and a carved wooden box sitting in her hand. 

"Rose," I hug her, rubbing her back and holding her tightly against me. "I couldn't let you go in there like th- like this." My voice breaks as I speak the last words, and all restraint I had on my emotions burst open. "It's okay, Aspen. You and Max will get through this. I'll help you get every sponsor I can, and I'll make sure you're kept safe in the arena." She promises, and a new round of tears crawl down my cheeks. 

She wipes them and takes her thumb to place it on my chin. She lifts my head and gives me a sweet kiss on the cheek. "I love you. Try to win." She whispers before leaving. She's right. I shouldn't show them I'm weak. I wipe my face and my nose, and pull myself together before they pull me out of the room. 

The cameras stationed on the platform that takes us inside the train is thick, and I had the good insight to wipe my tears and fix myself up. But not my brother. His tears flow from his green eyes, and it really pains me to see him like that. 

We're led into the train, and I've never seen anything like it. Plush sofas, thousands of desserts to choose from, and a couple bottles of liquor in one corner.  I sit on one of the seats and stare out of the window, admiring nature before it turns into a blur. "Hey, Aspen right?" I hear from behind me. I turn around to face Johanna Mason, a victor from a few years back. "Yes, it's Aspen. What are you doing here?" I suddenly become curious, and she shakes her head. 

"I'm your mentor, silly."