Chapter Text
My finger is pricked, and I move down the line, standing in rows upon rows of other nervous girls, waiting to see who is chosen to compete in the Hunger Games this year. Just like every year, my name is doubled, the promise of more food too good for my parents to resist. The plain colours of each girl’s dress surround me, the pale blue of my own blending in with the rest, making me just another paper in the glass jar. The presenter steps out onto the stage, and starts her usual speech of encouragement, sounding far too happy to be talking about the murder of children.
“Welcome! Welcome, welcome. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour,” she says, already reaching her hand into the female jar.
“For the female tribute of this year, Allie Stevens! Where are you dear? Come on up, don’t be shy!”
A small, brunette girl walks up, looking back at her older sister in terror. Her sister screams, pleading to let her sister live, begging her to come back, to not go, that this isn’t real. Allie, whom I didn’t know existed before this day, walks up towards the podium, looking down at her feet, as peacemakers follow behind her.
Anger spills through my body, blood curdles in my ears, and my breathing becomes ragged and hard, the unfairness that this tiny 12-year-old had to compete in the games swallows me, and before I know it, I’m stepping forward.
“I Volunteer!” I yell, “I volunteer as tribute!”
I don’t know what made me do it, maybe it was the screams of her sister, maybe it was because I couldn’t bear another 12-year-old getting murdered, maybe, probably, it was the look on her face when her name got called out, the look of utter shock, of fear.
My words echo around the pavilion of District 12, and everyone's eyes turn to me,
‘I volunteer,’ I say again, quieter this time, staring the presenter right in the eyes. The girl, the original reaped name, stares at me too, halfway up the tall stairs, yet even from here I can see the tears welling up in her eyes.
I feel coarse arms grabbing me and look up to see the Peacemakers white masks, they pull me forward, until I’m up the stairs, standing next to the presenter, Effie Trinket.
“Well, isn’t this odd, a volunteer! We haven’t had one of those in 12 years! Tell me, what is your name?” She says, gesturing to me to speak.
“Shauna,” I reply, staring at the ground, any previous courage dissipating as I stand up here.
“And why? Shauna, did you volunteer for this girl?” she says, pointing vaguely at the screen, showing the image of the girl before me.
“I just didn’t want to watch her get hurt,” I answered, looking up at the crowd, seeing various nods of agreement.
“Well, I think that’s a very noble thing to do, Shauna,” she says, lightly touching my arm, her long fingernails scraping my skin, making me shiver.
“Now onto the male tribute!” Effie says, reaching her arm into the glass jar that held the boy’s names. Standing so close to it, I can see the small black writing on each sheet.
She swishes her arm around, and delicately, clutches a small slip of paper between her nails. The paper warps slightly as she opens it, and the black writing is so small, she leans in closer to read it.
“Javi Martinez” Effie reads, looking up to the crowd.
It parts slowly, and a young boy with black hair suddenly becomes clear in the center of the crowd. He shakes his head in disbelief, looking frantically around him with his eyes wide. Someone pushes him forward, and the peacemakers grab his arm, and drag him up to the stage, on the other side of Effie, where I can see silent tears crawling down his face.
I know this kid, he was a few years younger than me in school, but his older brother, Travis, was in my class, and his father was my soccer coach. Guilt builds in my stomach, and I watch as Javi’s tears roll down his face. I look for Travis’s face in the crowd wondering if he will follow suit, and volunteer for his brother. I avoid looking at my parents, knowing that their disappointed faces will be the only thing to greet me.
They never did think I would amount to something in this world.
“May the odds be ever in your favour,” Effie is saying, I look at her, with her flashy, yellow clothing, layers upon layers of makeup, and her impossibly large wig, and wonder how she could say that, knowing that those odds are never in District 12’s favour. Knowing that no one has won The Hunger Games in over 30 years.
Javi and I are then dragged to the back room, and I watch as the heavy door shuts behind me, knowing my life is never going to be the same, knowing I may never see this district, my home, ever again.
Javi stares at me with wide eyes, still glassy, as if holding back tears, but before I can offer a single word of support, we are once again pushed to separate rooms.
I hear Javi’s family walk into the room and wait for my parents to enter, but they never do, so I sit and wait till it’s over.
The room grows smaller as I wait, and finally, the adrenaline has worn off, and I realise the full strength of what I’ve done, and what is destined to come. I volunteered for a girl I don’t even know, I could’ve stayed, I could’ve lived, but instead, I have sentenced myself to my death.
Yet what life would I have lived if I stayed, would I have been any happier staying and working at the market?
I hear footsteps outside the door and stand up, waiting to be dragged out again. The white of a mask greets me, and I get yanked out of the room, and once again see Javi’s face. We follow the peacemakers out and onto a train, the very train that will take us to the Capital, to take us to our doom.