I open my eyes a tiny crack. Willing myself to go back to sleep. The sooner I’m awake, the sooner I have to face the day ahead. Reaping Day.
The birds are starting to sing, blissfully unaware of what today brings for the residents of District 12.
My sister Katniss is already absent from her bed. She must have gotten up at the crack of dawn to go hunting. I always experience conflicting feelings when she’s out there in those woods. It’s more than just illegal to leave the District, it’s punishable by death. I feel edgy right up until she’s back safely through the front door. But if she didn’t hunt, we wouldn’t eat. I’ve never known anyone to be so skilled with a bow and arrow, with the exception of our father.
I haul myself out of bed, accepting the fact that further sleep is inevitable.
Half my mind wonders what my sister might be up to. Stalking some innocent creature no doubt, I try not to think of dinner as the defenseless creatures they once were. The other half of my mind struggles to block out images of what’s going to unfold later this afternoon.
Once a year, the ugliness of our government is forced upon us. The Capitol citizens disperse themselves among the districts to flaunt their power. They revel in the entertainment of watching district children as they fight to the death. A sick reminder that they hold all the cards. That rebellion will not be tolerated. The Hunger Games haunts people all year round. You can see it in the worried faces of mothers, the fearful whispered conversations among children. Who will it be this year? A friend or a cousin perhaps? Somebody’s daughter or brother. The question hangs in the air like a poisonous gas.
Katniss stumbles into the kitchen, rosy-cheeked and windswept. The knot in my stomach loosens a little.
“How was the hunt?” My voice shakes with even the simplest of questions.
“Good haul, we’ll eat well tonight”, she replies. I can tell that her cheerful tone isn’t entirely genuine. I can sense her worry, just like mine, there’s no hiding it.
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