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i hated reaping day, not necessarily because i'm afraid i'll be picked but because of the sad, desolate looks of children on their first reaping and families who are powerless against the capital. i can't imagine the pain of having to go through watching your child head to their possible death but today, at least two families will pull their shutters, lock their doors and try to figure out how they will survive the painful weeks to come.

my father is a man of few words, even now as we headed to the town square where the reaping will be held, he doesn't say anything and he doesn't have to. i know what he's feeling, immense worry that his only child will be picked. i want to ease his worries by telling him that i won't be picked and we'll go home and celebrate after but i can't because there's no way of knowing whether i'll be picked or not.

after we're signed in, we have to separate. he has to go stand with the other families that line up around the perimeter and i go with the other seventeen year olds. he gives me a hug and tells me, "i'll see you later."

our hug lasts longer than normal and when he finally lets me go all i can think about is i wish he hadn't. i give him a smile before turning away and going to my group.

i focus my attention on the temporary stage that is set up before the justice building. it holds three chairs, a podium, and two large glass balls, one for the boys and one for the girls. 7 paper slips have my name on it.

the tiniest pressure at my waist makes me spin, instinctively slapping the person before i realize it's isaac. his hand touches his cheek as he groans. "every time."

"you know not to sneak up on me," i say but instantly embrace him. he hugs back for no more than a few seconds before pulling away. i look at him in confusion but he doesn't seem to notice.

"do you have it with you? the reference book for plants and herbs? my mother would kill me if I'm picked today and she doesn't have her book back."

"my dad is holding onto it. he'll give it to her when he sees her."

he looks relieved. "that's a huge weight off my shoulders. i'll ask if she'll let you borrow it again after the reaping."

"i already finished it," i tell him. at first i think he'll be impressed that i read the whole thing in one night but when i see his eyebrows scrunch together i know he's not.

"shouldn't you have been preparing yourself for today?"

i start to tell him that the book could be useful if i'm picked and forced to go to the arena but he leaves before i could. "i should go back to my group. i love you, d." and he's gone in a second.

two of the three chairs fill with the mayor, who's a short, pudgy man, and vivian bloom , district 12's escort, fresh from the capital with her big lips, orange ponytail, and a dress covered in gold butterflies. i find it absurd but expected no less from someone of the capital.

and finally, haymitch abernathy, the only living victor in district 12. he won the 50th annual hunger games when he was sixteen, which was 3 years ago. his blue/grey eyes scan the crowd as he steps up onto the stage and takes his seat next to vivian. i watched his every move, finding him fascinating because he was a victor but haymitch's face was expressionless as if he was tired of having to go through the same thing every year, always losing the tributes he mentors.

after the mayor tells the history of panem and the rules of the hunger games are told, he introduced vivian bloom. she stepped up to the microphone and said, "ladies first."

i had never given much thought to how i would die because the answer seemed so obvious. starvation. district 12 is the smallest and poorest of the thirteen districts of panem, the majority die from hunger.

but as i'm standing in a sea of other 17 year olds and hearing my name being called, starvation isn't my biggest problem. not anymore.

AN:

I have so many exciting ideas for this story so thank you so much if you're reading! Don't forget to vote and maybe leave a comment?