The 65th Hunger Games - EDITING

Introduction

I hear the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks and the beach. The seagulls are circling over my head, probably waiting for me to throw a fish at them. I can smell the salty water surrounding me. The cold water running through my fingers makes me shiver. In front of me, the ocean is all I can see. A weird taste of salt mixed with blood brings me back to reality. Once again, I've bitten my tongue so hard that it's bleeding. I spit the blood out of my mouth into the water and watch the reddish substance mix with the ocean until I can't see it anymore. The ocean has always been my second home; it's the only place where I feel comfortable enough to be myself. The ocean is the only place on earth where I feel truly happy. Unfortunately, no matter how strong the link that ties me to it is strong, I could be taken from it definitely as soon as tomorrow, the day of the reaping. Some kids are playing on the beach; I can hear them from where I'm standing. They're still too young to be fishing, too young to go to school, still too young to be reaped. They play and laugh and smile, forgetting the fate of the two tributes that will be chosen tomorrow, a fate that could be theirs one day. A terrible, gruesome, violent fate. Every year, two children are ripped from their home, from their families, from their lives, to go fight to the death into an arena to please the Capitol's citizens as a reminder of how weak the districts are. Two unlucky children from each one of the twelve districts, 24 tributes, 23 deaths. Every single year. Only one of them comes back, the victor.

Tomorrow is going to be my third reaping, but the amount of fear you feel never gets better. I still remember my first one. I had just turned 12. I was the youngest one of those eligible. I was scared, everyone was. I was hoping that my name would not come out of the bowl, I was hoping that another child was going to an almost certain death. Anyone but me. When the girl heard her name, she fell on the ground, crying. The peacekeepers dragged her on stage. When the boy heard his name, he smiled. He was one of the careers. He was one of the strongest. Even if it's illegal, careers tributes are trained before the games. He had signed up for tessera so he would be more likely to be reaped. It was his last one, as he was 18. It was his last chance of being viewed as a hero. As if killing other children was a good thing. As soon as he arrived on stage, his smile disappeared from his face. Another one of the career had volunteered. They started fighting and continued while three peacekeepers were trying to break the fight. My second one looked a lot like this, except two careers volunteered. A boy and a girl. They both died the third day. They both had a horrible and slow death. They both never came home. I'm pretty sure no one will volunteer this year. No one wants to die like them. Next year, everyone will have forgotten about them and the careers will start volunteering again, as if nothing ever happened.

The loud siren announcing the end of the working hours resonate. I decide to go home. If it was a normal day, my mom would have reprimanded me for not going to school, but today is a special day and she knows I wouldn't have been able to sit straight and listen to the teacher. Just in case she's angry at me, I try to catch as many fish as possible while walking in the water on my way home. I can see the kids are looking at me; they seem to enjoy the view. I hate them for that. Killing should never be viewed as a show, otherwise, you end up with events such as the Hunger Games. I throw my trident one last time, catching a fourth fish, before getting out of the water.I take a look at the ocean, at the waves, at the birds circling over the water one last time. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds, smell the recognizable scent of the ocean as if it was the last time I'd ever be able to do so, because after all, it may be true.