Today was the day of the reaping.
Not exactly my favourite day of the year, if I’m being completely honest. It’s the same each time; a whimpering, scrawny kid between the ages of 12 and 14 gets picked, snivelling on their way to the stage and then an older, more experienced, trained kid of around 18 eagerly volunteers. I didn’t see the attraction in the Games, yet most of the people in my district seemed to love them. My father, especially. He signed me up for the CareerAcademy when I was just 10 years old, and I had been put through years of intense training for the Games. I was skilled, and fast, and stronger than I appeared. My forte was a bow and I struck targets with accuracy every time.
My name is Ariana Leven and I’m 16 years old, living in District 2 of Panem. My father was a Victor and now, in the 74th Annual Hunger Games, he’s expecting me to volunteer. Not that I was going to, I didn’t quite fancy being killed for entertainment. Of course, I didn’t voice my opinions to anyone in my District, as I would most likely be punished by the Peacekeepers. I didn’t have a lot of friends; not that I was undesirable, but because people were too scared to approach me. I guess I was intimidating; tall, with long, wavy blonde hair down to my ribs and smoky blue eyes, able to hit practically anything with an arrow.
I had Cato though. He was two years older than me, and at 18 he was one of the strongest and, not going to lie, most attractive boys at the Academy. His father had also signed him up for training when he was very young, and we became best friends after I impressed him with my skills. He had many girls lusting after him, and he definitely took advantage of that fact. His forte was the infamous one night stands I so often heard about, whispers through the Academy. Apparently he was quite good…though I would never think of him in that way. Cato felt the same way about the Games as I did, though trained nonetheless. We both did, to please our bloodthirsty and brutal fathers I suppose.
In no time, I was walking to Cato’s house in a short, buttoned up dusty pink dress. I took pride in my appearance, and boys stared at me as I walked past. I ignored them, walking up the steps to the door of Cato’s house and knocking twice. After about a minute, the door opened and Cato stood there, in a linen white shirt and grey trousers. He smirked at me and I rolled my eyes. Nice.
“Ready to go, Blondie?” he asked, shutting the door behind him as he walked out.
“Let’s go,” I replied and we walked together to the reaping, in a comfortable silence. We reached the area where girls and boys had to separate, and here was where we didn’t try concealing our nerves. I exhaled deeply and turned to Cato, hugging him tightly. We broke apart, and he bit his lip as he looked down at me. We said nothing more and I turned around, walking away.
“Hey Blondie?” Cato called. I spun around.
“May the odds be ever in your favour!” Cato exclaimed and I smiled at him, as he was obviously taking the piss.
The whole group of teenagers and in the 12 year olds case, pre-teens, stood quietly and nervously as Pippa Rambin took to the stage, ready to read out the ‘lucky’ tributes.
“Ladies first!” She said and strode over to the glass ball, filled with folded slips of paper. I felt my heart thudding against my ribs and my hands clutched behind my back, sweaty and clammy. I frantically searched the crowd for a glimpse of Cato, and, finally, my eyes found him. He mouthed “It’s okay” at me and I smiled weakly, bringing my attention back to the stage.
Calm down, Ariana. They’re not going to pick you.
“Ariana Leven!”
Shit. I walked out of the crowd, refusing to cry, trying to look brave and strong. At least I was skilled, maybe I had a chance in this. I took to the stage and immediately sought out Cato again, who was staring at me in disbelief. He himself had tears threatening to erupt, his mouth dropped open in surprise and fear. Fear for me. I had to come back for him. I didn’t smile, but instead settled my mouth in a hard line and glared at the people below me, trying to look even more intimidating than I was.
“Tyler Mark!” A boy of around 12 wandered up to the stage, not even trying to hide his tears. Pathetic. Going to be an easy kill, I thought. I then internally scolded myself for thinking like that. I looked down at my feet, waiting for him to reach the stage.
“I volunteer!” A familiar voice made me snap my head back up. Cato. He was pushing through the crowd frantically, pushing other boys aside. No. Please no. I was in shock. I was never going to forgive him for this. He came up onto the stage, refusing to answer my angry glare.
“What’s your name?” asked Pippa brightly.
“Cato Everlark,” he answered shortly.
“Lovely! Well, shake hands then.” I shook Cato’s hand, digging my nails into his hand. Bastard. He still refused to look into my eyes.
“District 2, your Tributes for the Annual 74th Hunger Games!” Pippa took our hands and thrust them into the air. This was fucked.
