The 65th Hunger Games - EDITING

Chapter one

When I wake up, I find my mother sitting on the end of my bed, looking at me. She's been crying, again. I sit straight on my bed and take her hand.

"Don't worry mom, I've never had to take any tessera, I don't have that many entries. The careers will probably volunteer anyway" I say, a fake smile on my face.

She too, makes a small fake smile. We both know it's not true. No one will volunteer this year. When I see she's about to start crying again, I offer to make breakfast. She accepts. She sits quietly at the table while I cook a little something. My father wakes up because of all the noise I make and drag himself in the kitchen. He would usually tell me to be silent or even growl at me for disrupting his sleep so early on a Saturday morning, but not today. He sits beside my mother and just like I did when I woke up, he takes her hand, a sad smile on his face. They both look at me making a mess in the kitchen. They're scared. I'm scared. We're all scared.

After breakfast, I get dressed. Since today is a special day, I get to wear something different than usual. My white t-shirt is replaced by one of my dad's old clean shirt that he used to wear on the reaping day. I put on the black pants that go with it, trying to imagine my father do the same twenty years ago. Of course, his name never got out of the big glass ball. I hope that in a way, those clothes will bring me luck and mine will stay inside it, for this year at least. I can hear my mom crying in the other room and my father trying to comfort her. He keeps telling her that I can't be the unlucky one, that I have only 3 entries since it's my third reaping and that some of the other kids have three times, sometimes four times as many entries. I'm almost safe. Except, no one really is.

I look at my own reflection. My sea-green eyes seem almost strange on my face that the fear and hunger made older. I still look like a young teenager and the skin still seems soft, but the expression on my face and the look in my eyes makes me look like I've been through some centuries. Of course, I'm the only one who notices it, it's the kind of thing I always notice. I run my hand through my bronze hair; the color looks brighter against my tanned skin. I have my mother's eyes and her hair color too, but the rest comes from my father; my height, skin color, face and good looks. I'm not even sure I look good. Everyone says I do and I'm pretty popular with the girls at school, but am I really? I take a deep breath and get out of my room. My parents are waiting for me besides the door. Together, we exit the house and start walking slowly towards the square, along with other families. We can hear some people crying, some father comforting their kids. Today, no children are running around, no children are smiling, no children are playing. Today is the day of the reaping.

At the square, I stand in the hot mid-July sun with the other boys my age. All the kids from twelve to eighteen are here, divided by sex and age, the youngest at the front and the oldest ones at the back. There are so many people all clogged up in such a small space that the heat is unbearable, everyone is sweating. Then, after the national anthem and the historical video that they play every year, a strange man appears on the scene. It's not the usual one. He is clearly waiting for applause that will never come. His bright orange hair and his whitened skin is far from being the oddest thing about him; something weird emanates from him. Of course, everyone from the Capitol is weird, but he's just... worse. He is smiling, clearly enjoying the moment. In less than an hour, the two tributes will be saying their last goodbyes. The man does a speech, introducing himself as Ionel Octavian, district four's new escort. Again, he is waiting for applause that will never come. Ignoring everyone's despair, fear and anger, he continues his speech and then, the moment arrives.

"Ladies first"

He walks towards the two big glass bowls filled with pieces of paper on which are written the names of every child from district four, aged from 12 to 18. One contains only girls names and the other one, only boys names. My name is on three of those papers. Most of us have our names written more than once, since the number of entries can only go up as you age. He grabs one of them as all the girls and their families hold their breaths.

"Viviana Cerne"

I hear a collective gasp as the mayor's daughter walks towards the stage. Well, that's a first. A mayor's child has been reaped. Her face is white, drained from blood. Her eyes are filled with water as she looks up to her father, sitting in his chair on the stage, probably waiting for him to help her out. But he doesn't. He can't. He just sits there, as his daughter reach the stage, as lost and as sad as her.

"And now, the boys" says Ionel in a high pitched voice with a stupid accent.

Again, the crowd holds their breaths. I look around me. A lot of people have closed their eyes, probably waiting to wake up from this horrible nightmare, probably hoping that someone else's name is going to be reaped. As our escort read the two words on the piece of paper, I know there is no waking up from this. The nightmare is real and it just hit me right in the face. On this piece of paper is written my name.

"Finnick Odair"