The 55th Hunger Games

Chapter 2

        When I eventually get home, I am not-so-sternly told off for not leaving behind a note explaining my whereabouts. I had thought I would be back before anybody else rose, but it seems I was not the only restless sleeper.

        Emmaline's eyes are dark from her lack of sleep as she explains to our parents that she does not have any clothes to wear to the reaping. My mother quickly soothes her worries with a smile and brings out a delicately crafted skirt and blouse from her room.

        "This skirt was part of my first reaping outfit." She explains to her. "As for the blouse, I purchased it a month ago for you today. I hope they will fit."

        Emmaline's face lights up as she runs her fingers over the fine fabric. I doubt she had ever felt such nice material in her life. She plainly looks like she would like to try them on, but then seems to think better of it. The reaping is not for hours yet, and I don't think she'll risk getting them dirty. Instead of taking the clothes in her small hands she wraps her arms around our mother's neck and holds on tight.

        The hours until the reaping seem to tick by unreasonably slowly. They are spent in anxious silence, waiting. I mentally confirm that in fact this is the worst part of reaping day. Even perhaps worse than that still silence in the audience before the names of the boy and girl tributes are read out by the rather flamboyant Capitol escort, Krissy Pigmus.

        Three hours from the reaping hour, dad leaves us to purchase food for when we return from the reaping. Families usually share a special meal on reaping day after they return home. It is to celebrate their children's safety for one more year.

        We do celebrate like the Capitol wants us to, but not at all for the same reasons. The Capitol celebrate that another year of the exciting Hunger Games have come around. We celebrate that we are not those poor kids forced to fight to the death in the arena. But usually our celebrations are low key and only last for one night before our misery sets in again.

        Dad returns and we are stunned when we see what he brings back. A large puffy loaf of fine bread and five apples are in his arms when he comes through the door. The apples look small and sweet and deliciously wizened. It is a wonder to me how he could have afforded them. Fruit in the market costs plenty, especially fruit like apples.

        "I thought it was a special occasion." He said to our questioning gazes.

        Now I really wanted the reaping to be over, and not just so I know that I am safe for another year, but to eat one of those apples.

        Finally, it is time for us to dress. I pull on my usual reaping outfit- brown pants and a cream collared shirt. They seem to have shrunk since last year. You can see my socks beneath my pants. They are probably just passible for this year, but next year I suspect I will need new ones. I hope we can afford them.

        We leave the house and head to the square, Emmaline looking lovely in her new reaping clothes, which do fit her quite well.

        We reach the square. The banners I had seen the peacekeepers hanging yesterday are strung up everywhere. Enormous television screens are set up at the heads of the adjacent streets for the late comers. Camera crews line the roofs of nearby buildings and move through the crowd. Betting stalls are set up around the square with odds given on who will be reaped. The odds are based on the age of the kid and whether they are a child of merchants or plantation workers. A wave of excited terror ripples through the crowds pouring into the square as we move through it.