Shallow: The 21st Hunger Games

District 3 Reaping

DISCLAIMER: I do not own THG. Suzanne Collins does.

Prong Harddrop, 15

District 3 boy

I wake up, coughing. I look over at the clock my dad made for me. 6:53. This is an average time to wake up for me. I get up from my tiny bed and step out of my bedroom. It is the day of the Reaping. The worst day of the year, in my opinion. What if I get picked?

We live right next to a small forest, so I usually take walks there, even though it is illegal. I need to clear my head right now, so I head outside and slip under the fence in our backyard.

The night breeze is cool. The animals will be out soon. I walk over to the hollow tree where I keep my spear and my knives. I pick up my spear and examine it. Something feels off. I turn it over and my eyes burn. It breaks in half in my hands. A stupid woodpecker or something nibbled a bunch of tiny holes in it.

I don't know how to make a spear, is the issue. I found this one, with my knives, the first time I was in the woods. They were old, but I cleaned them off and started throwing them. It turns out I was a natural. I didn't have any use for them, though. I thought about training for the Games, but I reminded myself that 3 was a larger district, and I would probably not get Reaped. So I sat them aside and finished my walk.

But one day, the butcher shop had a big crash, and my family was very hungry for a while. Well, hungrier than we usually are. You're never full in District Three. My stomach never stops growling, it probably hasn't ever stopped in my life. I took my walk in the woods that day, wincing as my stomach growled. I was lying down in the woods, coughing, when I noticed the old spear and knives lying on the ground next to me. I smiled. That was when I started illegally hunting.

It turns out that I was definitely a natural at them. They are totally my choice weapons if something bad happens to me. I can kill almost anything with them. Almost. I wouldn't hurt a person. No way. Unless I was in the arena. I wouldn't have the heart to kill anything but game in District Three, that's for sure.

I think of the day I started hunting for my food as I slowly, quietly, drift unconscious.

I wake up, and panic. This normally happens sometimes, about once a day, for like, half an hour or something like that. I know I have a disease, I have had it all my life, but today is different. I can't be late to the Reaping, of all things!

I hurry back to my house, and check the time. 8:32. I can definitely make it to the Reaping at 10:00. I change and brush my black hair. 9:10. I head out the door, feeling sad for the poor kids who have to go in this year. I don't know how Casca Highbottom lived with himself, having created the idea for the Hunger Games.

I walk down the dirt path to the Reaping, sweating miserably in my stuffy Reaping outfit. July 4th in District 3 is really hot and miserable, if it wasn't miserable enough with the Reaping. I just feel bad for the poor District 10 kids. From what I've heard, 10 is the southernmost District, therefore the hottest. They get to spend a lot of time outside tending for the farm animals, probably, so I guess it isn't that bad. Still pretty bad, though. At least, I think so. I've never been there. Nobody in 3 has, since we don't have a Victor to go on a Victory Tour.

I reach the Reaping square and line up to get my finger pricked. I look at my best friend, Spruce Lockpettal. She's already in her designated section, with all of the other 16 year-old girls. Her brown-gray ponytail blows in the summer breeze. She looks really scared today. Well, I probably don't look that calm, either.

A grumpy-looking Peacekeeper pricks my finger and sends me to the 15 year-old boys section. I worry for myself, and Spruce. That's understandable. Both our lives are at stake here. Well, I guess a victory does happen. There's a first time for everything.