Chapter 2

2.

You see, the Hunger Games were just a cruel way in which the Capitol reminds us that they are in complete control. They are the ones in control ever since the uprising.

The history of Panem is a difficult one to explain. The country practically rose up out of the ashes of a place once called North America. Droughts, storms, fires, and the encroaching seas swallowed up so much of the land, leaving barely anything left to rise from. But still from what little sustenance remained, Panem was created. Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens or at least that’s what history tells us. The Capitol was looking out for us. And as some historians may tell you, “Don’t always believe what you read.”

Soon came the uprising of the districts against the Capitol, known as the Dark Days, the war that put us in our place; ‘us’ meaning the districts. Twelve were defeated, and the thirteenth was completely obliterated. New laws were made to  guarantee peace. These laws were known as the Treaty of Treason. Our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, is the even called the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Hunger Games were made to be simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy to participate. They would be called tributes. Quite a barbaric name for my thinking.

Then the twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert or a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.

this is the Capitol’s way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy –taking  the kids from our districts, and forcing them to kill one another while the whole nation watches on television . They made it clear that we would stand little chance of surviving another rebellion.

 “Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there’s nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did in District Thirteen.”

You could look at it anyway you want. But no matter what words they gave us, this is the message that they give us. To behave, like pets. Not even like pets. Like slaves.

The Hunger Games are to be celebrated as a festivity as humiliating as it sounds. To the Capitol it was viewed as a sporting event pitting every district against the others. And just to show their ‘appreciation’ the last tribute alive receives a life of ease back home, and their district will be showered with prizes, largely consisting of food. All year the Capitol will show the winning district gifts of grain and oil and even delicacies like sugar while the rest of the Districts continue to battle starvation.

This was the first year I would be entered into the Hunger Games reaping list, for I just turned twelve. You become eligible for the reaping the day you turn twelve, even if your birthday was a few short days before the process. That year, your name is entered once. When you turn thirteen, twice. And so on and so on until you reach the age of eighteen, the final year of eligibility, when your name goes into the pool seven times. That’s true for every citizen in all twelve districts in the entire country of Panem.

We exit the orchard and enter the high end of the District. This is where the few rich people of our District live, right on the edge of the orchard. They are the ones that hold all the power in the city. The mayor and his family. The Peacekeepers. The high end merchants. It’s because they can afford to live there. They can afford a lot of things that we can’t. Like food and water.

I smile to myself as I think of the few berries that I hid in my pockets when I was working. I would get in a lot of trouble if any of the Peacekeepers found out about it, for it’s against the law to take food back with you, no matter if you’re on the brink of starvation. Most people were put in the stalks, whipped until they’re senseless, some were put into jail, and then the very misfortunate ones were even put to death. Something about the whole danger of the aspect of me stealing these berries was adventurous to me. It’s not that I laugh in the face of danger; I just find it fun to hide underneath it sometimes.

My father must have sensed me thinking about them for he warns, “Keep those in your pocket until we get home. If anybody here catches you here, you’ll be whipped and then for sure be put in the Games.”

Lamium gives a little chuckle as I’m sure he has a few berries hidden on the inside of his jacket as well. I see him glance towards the windows of the mayor’s house and my eyes follow his as well.

Inside we can see the mayor and his family getting ready for the reaping ceremony already. The mayor is dressed in his suit and tie adjusting the fake hair on top his head as he stands in front of the mirror. His wife sits on one of the plump velvet couches dressed in a silky white dress that flows from her shoulders to her knees. Her daughter stands in front of her playing with the strands of her blonde hair as her mother adjusts the ribbon on the back of her dress.

“Bet you she’s not going to be picked,” Lamium states glumly as he continues to watch. My father lightly smacks the back of his head yelling at him it’s ill-polite to stare into other people’s houses.

We turn the corner and walk down the pathway to our house just at the end of the block.

I can’t help but to laugh. Of course she’s not going to be picked. The mayor’s daughter is only 13 years old so her name is only entered twice. And with a family like hers of course she doesn’t have to worry about starving to death, so her name will never be entered more than the required amount by age.

The one thing about the reaping system that was completely unfair, especially to the poor. Say you are poor and starving as my whole family was. Any kid can choose whether or not to add your name more times in exchange for tesserae. Each tessera is worth a meager year’s supply of grain and oil for one person. You may do this for each of your family members as well. So, last week, the moment I turned  twelve, I had my name entered nine times. Once, because I had to, once again to receive the tessera for myself, five more times for my siblings who were all still too young to put their name in for tessera, and two more times for my parents. My parents initially refused to let me put my name in, but once my younger sister Amaryllis got sick, they eventually succumbed. They weren’t going to let her deteriorate and starve to death. So when my brother stared into the mayor’s house, he couldn’t help but to feel a twinge of jealously. It’s hard not to resent those who don’t have to sign up for tesserae, and even I feel some resentment towards those who are older than me, but yet have less entries to be picked than I do.

Before we know it, my father is pushing open the door to our home. It’s not much at all, but it’s all that we have. A two bedroom, kitchen and one bathroom apartment. The twins and the baby, Luzula, would sleep with my parents in one bedroom while Lamium, Amaryllis, and myself would share the other room. But since Amaryllis got sick, my parents gave her their room to herself and know the twins sleep in my room, while my parents and Luzula sleep in the kitchen on makeshift beds of the few sheets we own.

I see my mother cradling Luzula as she stirs something at the stove that smells absolutely wonderful. This is quite a change for usually we just have some oats or mush potatoes. Lamium and I retrieve the berries from our pockets and place it on the stove for her.

“Thank you,” she says barely audible than a whisper as she attempts to smile at us. My mother. My poor sweet mother, who would sacrifice anything in the world for us can’t even look at me right now. She hardly has anything to sacrifice but I’m sure she feels horrible guilt inside that I had to sign up for tesserae so many times. I hear her cry to my father many times at night when I stay up to make sure my sibling have fallen asleep.

I offer to take Luzula from her, but she insists that I go with my father to get my reaping outfit on. Oh. I forgot about that. Everyone is supposed to be dressed to impress at the reaping. I should have noticed that my mother was already dressed differently than usual. She wore a deep brown dress that almost matched her skin tone, with a white ribbon tied around her waist that made her look slimmer than what she already was. Her black hair was tied back into a small bun on the back of her head. She looked stunning.

I turn to see that my father has already wrestled Pyrus and Prunus into matching outfits. Pyrus dressed in a little white dress with a black ribbon and Prunus was dressed in dress shirt and pants with a white tie. Lamium was behind them already fixing the tie around his neck. It was astonishing to me how much he looked like father who stood only inches behind him by my bedroom door.

“Come on Rue Rue,” he said. “Let’s get you ready.”

He steps inside and I follow him within seconds. I gasp as I enter the room at the dress lain out for me on my bed. It was a new dress by the looks of it and my father only confirmed my suspicions when he nodded and told me that they had bought it for a good price at the market.

It was a black dress with a white stripe going across the waistline. Very slimming I thought. What is there to slim though? I hardly have enough to eat as it is. I let my father pull my dress over my head and I sit at the foot of the bed as I let him comb my hair.

Taking one strand of my hair with his callused hands, but you could never tell they were. For he took each strand of hair so delicately and combed my hair with such precision I could hardly feel that he was touching me.

“You’ll be ok, Rue Rue,” he whispers into my ear. I don’t want to look around in the fear that my dad was crying. I’ve only see him cry twice in my life. Once when my grandmother died and the other when Amaryllis was diagnosed with her disease.

“Don’t be surprised when I’m picked,” I say back to him once again. Although this time I do not mean it as a joke. I’ve been preparing myself for this for days. I know the chances of me going into the games was almost slim to none with my name only entered nine times. There were kids in our district who had their name in twenty, thirty, or fifty times. And there were easily over five thousand kids in our District.

As soon as my dad finishes my hair I turn and I hug him. We hold the hug for several minutes until my mother calls us for lunch.

Lamb stew. A rarity in my household. I don’t remember the last time we had it actually. I sit and wait as my parents help Amaryllis to her seat so she can eat with us. When she was healthy, people would tell us that we look exactly the same.

Looking at her now it’s hard to see how people could compare us. Her once brown skin was almost yellow now. Her brown eyes once filled with innocence and purity, were now almost black as death and filled with dread and sadness. Her once brilliant black locks that flowed from her head had almost completely fallen out and left nothing but a few stringy curls.

She attempts a smile at me, but I can see the pain in her face. And it kills me.

I can’t stand to see any of my family in pain. And everyone at the table at such pain in their face. They all knew what I had done to keep food on our plates, except the twins and Luzula for they were still too young to understand what exactly what could happen for it.

We sit and try to enjoy the small meal prepared for us. When I look to my left I see that Lamium has already eaten his whole entire bowl, so when my parents aren’t looking I spill some into his bowl. He smiles at me as he wolfs down the remainder before our parents know what we did. Again the danger of getting in trouble with my parents just thrills me.

Before we know it though, it’s one o’clock. Time to head out.

We head for the square. Attendance is mandatory unless you are on death’s door, but Amaryllis absolutely refused to stay home. So mother had dressed her up as best as she could and my father carries her to the square. This evening, officials will come around and check to see if anyone is skipping out by pretending to be sick. If they are, they’ll be imprisoned.

The square’s surrounded by shops, and on public market days, especially if there’s good weather, it has a holiday feel to it. Bright banners hanging on the buildings today ‘celebrating’ the reaping, but there’s an air of grimness. The camera crews, surrounding us like a pack of crows, only add to the effect.

After the reaping, everyone is supposed to celebrate, and most people will, only out of relief that their children have been spared. At least for another year. But at least two families will hide themselves in their homes, pulling their shutters, locking their doors, and trying to figure out how they will survive the painful weeks to come without their son or daughter.

My parents give me a quick hug as do Amaryllis and Lamium. I kiss Pyrus and Prunus on the forehead and kiss Luzula’s hand before I turn and walk my way to the center of the square.

People file in silently and sign in. The reaping is a good opportunity for the Capitol to keep tabs on the population as well, especially considering the massive size of our District. Twelve-though eighteen-year-olds are herded like sheep into designated marked off areas sorted by ages, the oldest in the front, the young ones, like me, toward the back. Family members line up around the perimenter, holding tightly to one another’s hands and I can see my mother and father standing there with my sibling desperately looking on.

The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic as kids arrive. And families struggle to find an open space to stand to watch as their children face their horrible fate. The square’s quite large, but not enough to hold District 11’s population of about fifteen thousand. The adjacent streets are used for latecomers, where they can watch the even on screens as its televised live by the state, as it is in every district.

I turn my head and look at the well-dressed kids as they take their place in the age-separated sections. I can see siblings kissing each other goodbye as they take their respective places. Hardly anyone is talking so everyone notices when the mayor steps up on the stage centered in the middle of the square for everyone to see. A huge hush falls over the crowd as he they take their seats as they wait for clock.

Situated right at the front of the stage is a microphone where he’ll come up to address the crowd. And on either side of the microphone are two huge bowls filled with tiny slips of paper folded up to hide the name of the possible tribute.

I stare at the crystal ball that holds the tiny slips of paper with all the names of the possible female entrants for the hunger games. Nine of those slips have my name written on them, but only nine. There’s easily thousands of those slips. Mine won’t be picked for sure.

Just as the clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It’s the same story every year of the history of Panem and the beginning of the Hunger Games and blah blah blah. I’ve heard it so many times that I really don’t pay attention.

“It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks,” intones the mayor. Then he reads the list of past District 11 victors. Out of seventy-three past games, District 11 has only had five victors. Four of which are still alive.

The oldest, her name I believe, was Cacti? She hasn’t shown up for the past four years. Probably because she was the winner of the second hunger games and is ninety years old now or something so everyone is waiting for the day that falls over dead. But this year she sits right next to the mayor. Her fluffy white hair is curled and matted on top of her olive toned skin. She’s dressed in a green outfit that almost makes her look like a cactus herself. I find it kind of funny.

Then the mayor describes Chaff, the winner of the 45^th Hunger Games. And who could forget that year. He volunteered for a complete stranger that year, one of the few times someone has volunteered over being forced to compete. Even sitting down you can tell that the man was at least six feet tall. His stump of an arm, he had lost his arm in his games, sat beside him with as much life that showed in his eyes. He was obviously drunk, but was attempting his best to hide it.

Then the mayor gave a brief recount of his win in the 48^th Hunger Games but is quick to change it to the last living victor. Everyone in the District knows that he is still haunted to the day about his Games and no one gives him grief about it.

Seeder, the last living victor, sits beside Chaff. She was a winner of the 27^th Hunger Games.  She looked like a woman of nobility how she carried herself on stage. She held back straight letting the straight black hair fall to her hips. Her olive skin glimmered with the green dress that Seeder wore. Her eyes were intent and you could tell that the smile upon her somewhat round of a face was forced.

The mayor plays the anthem of the Capitol and we all listen to the last sound of music before the most stressing activity. The mayor switches places with the bizarrely dressed man on the end. From the Capitol sent to facilitate the reaping of District 11. His name was Marcel Canver.  Every time I looked at the guy, I couldn’t help but to giggle. Just something dressed about a grown man wearing a bright pink suit with matching flaming pink hair. His giant blue eyes viewed the crowd as if he already knows who is going to be picked and is excited about his secret.  He smiles at us with more enthusiasm than I see in the squirrels in the orchards after finding a new nut.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!” Marcel exclaims. “It is indeed an honor! A privilege! To be chosen to be the Capitol representative for District 11 in the 45^th annual Hunger Games!”

I kind of tuned out the rest of what he was saying. All I could focus on were the girls around me crying in fear for the oncoming event. I couldn’t help but to think of Amaryllis and Pyrus standing right next to me and that’s what made me nervous. I couldn’t stand to see them that upset or nervous.

It’s time for the drawing. Macel yells to the boys, “Calm yourselves down gentlemen! I do believe that the saying says, ‘ladies first’ doesn’t it?” He crosses to the glass ball with the girls’ names written on the tiny sips of paper. He reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. You could hear a pin drop as the silence in the crowd doubles as it was before.

Thousands of eyes watch as the Capitol loon unfolds the slip of paper and forms the name on his lips.

I turn to look at my parents. My mom’s eyes are closed but the tears continue to flow. Lamium, Amaryllis, Prunus, and Pyrus are standing close as my father begins shaking his head.

Marcel crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice.

My father knew it was me before I even heard my name.