One whole week they’ve left us to ponder over what exactly the Hunger Games could mean- apart from the certain death of those who lose. But this morning, we’ll finally know the rules and the players, assuming that that’s why they’ve summoned us to the square.

A reaping, that’s what they called it- an ominous word, one that I keep molding over and over in my head. Will they ‘reap’ me away from my family? Or even worse, will they take Britt?

I almost lost it when they announced the age ranges- but dad managed to calm me down with the assurance that the chances of Britt being chosen are slim.

Still though, that damning possibility never leaves my mind, not even in the nightmares I’ve had every night after hearing about it. It’s pathetic really, stressing over such an improbability, but as her brother, it’s my job to worry about her- a job I’m very committed to.

“Alec, I thought I told you to get ready?” mom says after rushing into my tiny room.

I sit up on my bed, “But I am?” I reply a little hesitantly, suddenly a lot less sure about my attire; a simple, and slightly worn out white blouse, and relatively baggy jeans. I’ve never really cared about my appearance, nor have I ever really put much effort in it. Today however, I actually kind of tried. In my defense though, it’s quite hard to look decent with a wardrobe such as mine. But I can’t complain, knowing I could have lost it all during the Dark Days, as so many have.

“Ooh.” mom drawls out as she takes in my outfit. With a hint of criticism in her gaze, which gets even more visible when her eyes land on my hair, she walks towards me, and with stretched out arms she says, “Let me at least do you hair then.”

“But I like my hair this way!” I begin to protest, and as she continues to reach for my dark brown, and admittedly messy hair, despite my complaint, I add, chuckling softly, as I try to whack off her hands, “We’re wasting precious time, mom! Leave my hair alone!”

She huffs in defeat, and drops her arms to her sides, “It’s even worse now.” she complains, but after a deep sigh, she orders, “Go get your sister then. You need to eat before we leave.”

“Yes ma’am.” I mutter, and slowly get up.

As mom heads downstairs, I walk to the room next to mine, trying to fix my assaulted hair as I go. My loud footsteps on the creaky wood must have caught Britt’s attention, because her head snaps in my direction.

 “Good morning, little sis.” I greet her as I enter the room.

“Hey bro.” she says softly, her dark eyes staring up at me. The small smile on her lips is fake, and so easy to distinguish from her warm, genuine one. For her sake though, I smile back, hoping my smile is more convincing than hers.

My stomach is in knots, and my body tense, but my nervousness will only rub off on her if I let it show, so I try to keep my nerves in check, asking casually, “Ready?”

Dressed in a faded red dress, I’d say yes, but you never know with girls- I at least don’t...

“Guess so.” she replies softly. She chews on her lip nervously, and looks down at her feet, trying to hide the tears from me, but I see them, slowly streaming down her cheeks.

At times like these I wish I was better with words, but here I stand, not knowing what to say to make her feel better. It kills me to see her like this, it makes me feel hopeless because there’s nothing I can do to make the worry go away, to keep her safe from the reaping.

“Hey,” I say, wrapping my arms around her small frame as she lets out a quiet sob, “It’s gonna be okay.” I tell her, but my words hold no meaning.

“You promise?” she asks me softly, pressing her head against my chest.

It’s a good thing she doesn’t look me in the eyes, because otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to say, “I promise.”

But why did I promise her that? It’s not something I can guarantee- no matter my efforts. So I backtrack a little, adding, “I promise I’ll try to make sure it is.”

“Thank you.” she murmurs, tightening her grip on me for a moment before letting go.

“Let’s go downstairs, little miss.” I mutter, and ruffle her hair, something I always do when she’s crying, or being annoying.

+++

Breakfast is quiet, as if not talking about it makes it easier to forget about the upcoming reaping, but I can’t forget, not when I can see people already heading to the square through the little kitchen window. I turn my attention back to my fried eggs, and quickly finish eating, even though the nerves have taken away my appetite.

My legs are restless- I am restless, so I get up and walk outside to get some fresh air, ignoring the questioning looks as I go. Normally, I’d take refuge in the big oak, but today I can’t. So I settle for the little field behind our house instead.

I sit down, the green still wet with dew, and start to pull out the humid grass absentmindedly, taking deep breaths of fresh air as I listen to the chirping of the passerines in the distance, a sound that calms me down and makes me forget about the depraved world for a little while.

My little moment of peace and quiet doesn’t last as long as I’d like though, because too soon, Britt comes to collect me, “We, uh, need to go.”

+++

The whole square is an organized mess; with peacekeepers herding everyone in roped areas marked of by ages, I lose sight of Britt and my parents in the process. My eyes dart around the square frantically, but all I see are backs and unfamiliar faces. As the space gets tighter, and more and more claustrophobic, I give up, and focus on controlling my heavy breathing instead.

I can’t really look past the group of boys in front of me, but there’s a big screen above the podium in front of the Justice Hall on which I can follow what’s happening.

As the clock strikes nine, major Abney- a balding man in his late thirties, walks up the recently build podium. He takes place in front of the microphone, wasting no time, “Welcome, Ladies and Gentleman.” he begins, “Today, a new tradition will commence. Today, one young man and woman will be chosen to participate in the first Hunger Games. But first, please welcome, coming all the way from the Capitol, our district escort, Maxfield Hutton!”

The square remains quiet as the towheaded, flamboyant man, dressed all in yellow, comes on stage. Once in front of the mic, seeming unaffected by the lack of enthusiasm for his arrival, he begins, way to cheerfully, “Welcome, welcome!” He pauses, probably for dramatic effect, but things are dramatic enough already. “It’s an honor to be here, and to be part of this historical event, the reaping for the very first annual Hunger Games!”

He’s way too cheerful, way too peppy for an event such as this- it makes me want to wipe that silly smile of his face. But the broad grin never leaves his lips, not even when the terrible propaganda clip he brought with him is shown on the big screen, if anything, he smiles even brighter as he watches it in awe.

“War, terrible war.” It begins, as skulls and destruction are being shown. Buildings completely in ruins, children dirty and alone...Maybe we in Two were just very lucky, but these images seem too dramatic to me. Of course, the Dark Days were terrible, of course there was death and decay, but not as shown here. Was it really this bad in the other districts? Apart from Thirteen, of course...

“Widows, orphans, a motherless child.” The same type of dark images continue to play on the screen, “This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them.”

I snort, and bite my tongue to keep me from spitting out things I’ll most definitely regret.

“Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost.”

Freedom?! This isn’t freedom! We’re like caged animals, trapped behind the electric fence that’s spread all around Two.

“When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed, that each year, the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future.”

The clip ends with a shot of the Capitol logo, and then Maxfield Hutton is projected on the big screen again, standing  in front of two glass bowls. “Wonderful.” he mutters, obviously impressed and fooled by the propaganda video. He claps his hands together, “It’s time for the drawing.” he announces solemnly. “Ladies first!” he says, before slowly reaching for the left bowl and pulling out a little piece of paper.

The crowd draws in a collective breath, and waits in dead silence for Hutton to read out the name of the unlucky girl already. Nerves course through my body, and I break out in a cold sweat. My throat however, is bone dry.

Please don’t let it be Britt. Please don’t let it be Britt, I pray over and over again.

Hutton takes his sweet time, smoothing the slip of paper painfully slow before finally speaking the liberating words, “Jasmin Saint-Thomas!”

I feel bad for the blonde, who’s slowly making her way up to the stage, escorted by two peacekeepers, but I’m too relieved that she isn’t Britt to really care about her doomed fate.

However,I do care about my fate. And six of those little pieces of paper hold my name, and my destiny...

Hotton moves to the other ball, the one that contains the boys names. My name...

“And now for the boys!” He grabs the first slip he encounters, and doesn’t keep us in suspense for long, “Alec Mercer!” he calls out, my name echoing through the square, and through my head.

I stand there, frozen in shock, glancing in front of me, but not seeing anything, not hearing anything apart from my loud breathing. I feel numb, but numb is good- better than terrified.

A light push brings me back to my senses, and sets my legs in motion. Slowly, clumsily, I pass all my peers, and walk the few steps up to the stage, with two peacekeepers flanking me.

Our district escort welcomes me on stage with open arms, laying down a hand on my shoulder, and his other on the girl’s. I steal a glance at her, trying to figure out why she looks familiar. And then I remember; I met her after the announcement, when I was on my way to the oak. She seemed nice, too nice to be send off to wherever we’re going anyway.

When her blue, watery eyes stare back at my grey ones, I quickly look away, afraid my own shock and terror are reflected in them.

“Do we have any volunteers?” Hotton asks the crowd. We have none.

“Here they are, then! The very first tributes from District Two!” Maxfield booms excitedly, but no one shares his enthusiasm. There’s no cheering, no clapping. There’s only the quiet whispers and occasional coughs.

Just as I think this whole ordeal is finally over, even though I know the real anguish hasn’t even begun yet, the major steps forward, a piece of paper clutched in his hand. After this past couple of minutes, I’m a little wary of small slips of paper, so my nerves start to play up again, dreading more bad news as he begins to read in a monotone tone, "In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and a female between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public ‘reaping’.”

This is old news, obviously, but he continues, and I force myself to listen.

“These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol. And then transferred to a public arena, where they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore, this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games."

He crumples the little piece of paper, and motions for Jasmin and I to shake hands, so we do. I almost apologize for my sweaty hands, but stop myself just in time.

As the anthem plays, we are led through the front door of the Justice building, and once inside, directed into separate rooms.

+++

The doors open, and in no time Britt’s arms are wrapped around me in a tight embrace. She’s shaking almost uncontrollably, and her breaths come out sharp and panicked. Taking a deep breath, I hug her back, and watch my mom and dad enter the room, shoulders slumped and a grave expression on their tear stained faces.

They join the hug, and together we stand in the middle of the room, their sobs the only noise filling the chamber. I have the urge to cover my ears to tune out the heart wrenching sound, but decide not to; I need to hear their whimpers to remind myself that they need me to come back, as motivation to fight my hardest to overcome whatever the Games have in store for me.

Surprisingly enough, I don’t join them in their cries, for some reason, the tears don’t come, and I’m grateful for that. I think it’s easier for them- easier to pretend that I’m tough enough to actually stand a chance.

After a few more moments, we let go of each other, but soon, Britt has her arms snaked around me again. Her crying hasn’t lessened, but she seems to have calmed down, a little at least.

At least she’s safe, I think to myself.

Dad’s the first to speak up, his voice hoarse from crying when he says,“Son, we may not have told you enough, but we’re so proud of you, and we love you so m-much.”

“I know, I love you too.” I say, sounding surprisingly calm and controlled, the exact oposite of how I feel.

Mom begins to cry again, more hysterically this time, but when dad takes her hand, and gives it a light squeeze, she composes herself a little. That small gesture shows that they’ll get through it together, I like to pretend it does at least.

I look down at Britt as she breaks out of the hug, and see her fidgeting at her fingers before holding her ring out to me, “H-here.”

A sad smile crosses my lips as I take the ring from her shaky hands. The ring is simple, just a silver band without engravings or a precious gem, but it’s pretty and, unfortunately, too small for my big hands, so I say as much.

She reaches out to take the ring back, the look of disappointment in her gaze, but mom hastily speaks up, “Wait.” she begins, fumbling at her necklace, “Here.” she says, handing me her silver necklace with a little silver heart as a pendant. It takes me a moment to figure out what she wants me to do with it, but as soon as I do, I slide the necklace through the hole of the ring.

My father clears his throat, making me look at him. He smiles weakly through his tears, “I guess I can’t stay behind.” he says, letting out either a sob or a muffled laugh. He takes my empty hand and hands me his signet ring.

I hang the necklace around my neck- dad’s ring added to it, and try to swallow the lumb in my throat,“Thanks,’ I mutter gratefully, “I’ll try to make sure it comes back to you.”

“You bring it back to us, son.” dad says, laying his hands on my shoulders.

“I-” The door bursts open, and a peacekeeper stands in the doorway, “Times up.” he announces curtly.

“N-no!” Britt cries out, clinging to me as if her life depends on it. She’d finally calmed down a bit, but now she’s more panicked than I’ve ever seen her.

As the peacekeeper now enters the room, and Britt holds me even tighter, I tell her, “You have to let me go, little sis.”

“No! They can’t just take you away!” she screams.

“Well, they clearly can.” I state bitterly.

She shakes her head, crying too hard to be able to speak. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her cheeks wet from all the tears that I softly wipe away.

The peacekeeper clears his throat, getting more impatient by the second. I cast a nervous glance in his direction, and then turn to Britt again, looking her straight in the eye, saying with conviction, “It’s going to be okay! You still have mom and dad, and you’re a strong girl.You’ll be fine, with or without me.”

“I won’t be. Y-you can’t leave!” she chokes out, my arguments clearly haven’t calmed her down.

“Britt-” dad begins, but the peacekeeper has had enough. He steps towards us, and roughly pulls Britt away from me.

“Hey! Stay off of her!” I scream, freeing Britt out of his grasp, pushing him a little. He raises a hand threateningly, so I take a step back, telling him cautiously, “She was just about to leave.”

“No, I wasn’t!”

My head snaps in her direction, and I don’t even try to hide the frustration in my tone when I say, “Britt, you’re not making this any easier.”

“We need to go honey.” mom chimes in sadly, as she lays a hand on her shoulder.

I quickly steal a glance at the peacekeeper, afraid that he’ll take drastic measures if this goodbye takes any longer, but he must feel sympathetic, because he motions his hand dismissively, allowing us a few more minutes. I offer him a grateful smile, and direct my attention back to Britt, who thankfully seems to have recovered from her fit.

“I love you, little girl” I tell her, smiling weakly, “You be strong for me, okay?”

She nods, tears streaming freely down her face. I ruffle her hair, earning me the smallest smile, but it’s a smile nevertheless.

After one last hug, and after one last ‘I love you’, I’m left alone. Completely alone.