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You spent weeks ignoring the stone growing in the pit of your stomach. Each day that crept closer and closer until you could no longer ignore the fact that you were destined to die. The moment your eyes opened and welcomed the new day, you could smell your mother’s “special” stew. You couldn’t understand why she called it that, other than her claim that it’ll “bring good luck” on days like these. It was Reaping Day, and you knew your name had been cast almost fifteen times.
You almost wish you hadn’t woken up, or that you had slept through the day and missed the Reaping. Save your mother the heartache of watching her daughter fight for her life, or save yourself the pain you would inevitably undergo. Still, your mother’s an early riser, and you have a job to help put food on the table. You couldn’t risk missing a day's work. Eventually, you left the comforts of your cot, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen, where you knew your mother was putting together a bowl for herself and you.
“Good morning, sweetie,” your mother said over her shoulder as she ladled what was remaining from the pot into your bowl. Her bowl was smaller than yours, something you try not to think about at mealtime. You always promise yourself you will get her a better one, so she doesn’t have to ration her meals to keep you fed. But things pile up, needing an extra pot for laundry, needing thread to repair or make clothes, or just getting through the day.
Once you’re seated at the table, she places your bowl down and gives your shoulder a squeeze and a kiss on your head. You weren’t sure why she kept calling it “special” stew. You will be 17 in a few weeks, and there wasn’t much about the stew that made it “special” than any other. The stew mostly consisted of vegetables, celery, green onions, carrots, and maybe some potatoes if you were lucky and saved enough. Working in a bakery, you were able to bring home flour. It wasn’t enough to make bread with, but your mother would sometimes add it to the stew—something to keep the meal filling.
“So,” your mother starts as she sits down on her end of the table, “have you thought about what you wanted to do for your birthday?”
“You don’t need to get me anything, Mom.”
“I want to get you something! You only turn 17 once.” If my name doesn’t get called. If I make it through the Reaping.
You envy your mother’s ability to keep positive in situations like this. If you managed to grow to her age, build a family, and it was their turn to go through the Reaping, you weren’t sure you could be as optimistic.
But you knew your mother. Once she had her mind set on something, she wouldn’t let it go. Thinking for a moment, you thought back to your friends, Caleb, Zayne, and little Miss Hunter. You remember the day she earned that nickname when she followed Caleb to the forest one day. He went out hunting, hoping to sell or trade some pelts to earn extra money for his grandma and her, and told her to stay and help grandma before leaving. An electric fence blocked out the forest to keep people within their district. The Capitol must have thought that was enough and never thought to position Peacekeepers around to ensure no one attempts to sneak to the other side of the fence. However, Caleb somehow found a way over without getting electrocuted. He never taught you or Zayne how he knew when the electric fence timed out, something you often tease him about. As a peace offering, he promised to help out by supplying meat whenever he can, or take you with him whenever he decides to leave for the forest.
Being the clever and sneaky little thing she was, little Miss Hunter followed Caleb to the other side of the fence and joined him in his hunting. There, he taught her how to hunt and set up snares, where she eventually caught two rabbits. From then on, you opt to call her “little Miss Hunter,” a nickname she took with pride.
You thought about one of your visits to the forest. How green and lush the trees were, the chirping and singing of birds, and the occasional sight of wildlife. You remember feeling at peace and wishing to stay in that moment.
“Can we go on a picnic?” You asked your mother.
Your mother’s eyes softened at the request. There wasn’t much in District 12, but there was a small park you could go to. You can ask for bread from the bakery, and see if Caleb can scrounge up some meat while you work on saving for fabric to make a quilt. You could use one of your blankets, but it wouldn’t be the same.
After your meal, you left for the bakery to help Ada Wheatthorn. Around this time of year, many tend to overindulge, as a way of coping, you suppose. Some in celebration of being safe for another year, or to drown their sorrows, as a family member was chosen as a Tribute in the Games. Most of the time, you work in the back, Ada, prepping and baking, but today she had you man the counter and handle payments. This year, the Wheatthorns were booked out for a week. Most clients schedule their orders for pickup either the day of the Reaping or days beforehand. This would be the first year Ada’s child, Rhye, would be participating in the Reaping, and you figured she needed a distraction. Or some time alone. You wonder if you would be like Ada during your child’s first Reaping.
You didn’t want to think about it.
Searching for a distraction, your eyes land on Zayne as he enters the bakery. His family always ordered carrot cake because chocolate was rare and difficult to come by. And Zayne hates carrots. Not that you can afford to be picky here. When he is safe another year from the Reaping, he always excuses himself, either saying he has homework that needs to be taken care of, or that he made plans with Caleb, little Miss Hunter, or you.
Now that I think about it, Zayne is a year older. If he survives this year's Reaping, he wouldn’t need to place his name in the lot anymore. Lucky bastard.
Zayne grimaces at the package beside you on the counter, knowing precisely what's inside. Once payment is handled, he turns to leave with the cake, but not before you slip a small tart inside the paper bag. He looks at the small box with furrowed brows. “What’s this?”
“A small present. After this year, you won’t need to be placed in the lot anymore, so… an early congratulations.” His gaze softens a bit at that—a small reminder of being so close to a bittersweet victory.
“Thank you,” he says after some time. “I hope we can celebrate together.”
You gave him a small smile and a nod back. You didn’t trust yourself to respond verbally, unless you wanted to turn the moment into something more depressing than it already was.
After some time, little Miss Hunter arrived at the bakery. You knew, once you saw Josephine’s name on the order, that she would most likely send little Miss Hunter to collect the cake. Sometimes, Ada would fulfill custom orders if the customers could provide the ingredients. This time, Josephine ordered honey cakes.
“Hey, little Miss! Whatcha doing here?” She scrunches her nose at the nickname. She preferred “little Miss Hunter” more. ‘It's more grown up that way,’ she said at the time.
“Grandma Josephine ordered a cake for today. Caleb had already gone out so he couldn’t pick it up.” What she didn’t say was clear. He probably needed a distraction, too.
You gave her the brightest smile you could muster. “Well, once this is all over, you’ll have this lovely cake waiting for you.”
“Kinda wish Caleb was here, though,” she muttered. You didn’t know much about their past. Just that Josephine had adopted the two when they were found around the town center, both were covered in dirt and holding hands while waiting for someone. Since adoption, they were as close as siblings. Caleb made sure to take care of her and watch over her when he could. Though sometimes a bit overbearing, you figured it had to do with their past and how they found each other. You like to think you may be the same if you were in his shoes.
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He usually doesn’t take long. When did he leave?”
“I’m not sure. Grandma said he was already out when I woke up.”
Your eyebrows furrowed at that, and you looked at the clock on the wall. Though it's best to get hunting done as early as possible, Caleb usually returns before noon; sometimes sooner during school days. The clock read thirty minutes past twelve. The Reaping will be starting soon.
“Let me handle the rest of these orders, and then we’ll go look for him. How does that sound?” Her eyes lit up at that. You urge her to send the cake back to Josephine, and that when she returns, you’ll be finished with your shift and can help her find Caleb. It shouldn’t take more than another hour or so, and the Reaping doesn’t begin until close to evening.
Hopefully, he’s not too deep in the forest. You know he wouldn’t stray too far, as not to anger the Peacekeepers, but a part of you wonders. If you had Caleb’s knowledge of the forest and the rotation of the electric fence, would you leave? Leave your mother to fend for herself? Leave your friends? You didn’t want to think about it. Though you wouldn’t blame Caleb for leaving, you hope you don’t become that kind of person.
By the time little Miss Hunter returned, you were already leaving the bakery. You didn’t expect her to return so late, but Josephine must have assigned her more errands to run to occupy her time. And as much as you’d like to respect Caleb’s wishes and leave him alone to his thoughts, it was five minutes past two in the afternoon. The Reaping will start in less than two hours.
“Hey, you’ve been gone for a while? Did he turn up yet?” Little Miss Hunter shook her head. You chewed the edge of your lip. What kind of trouble did he get himself into this time?
Little Miss Hunter noticed your worried look, unsure of what to do or where to start. You tried to think of where he could be, but there were only a handful of places he would frequent. In both areas, you shouldn’t bring little Miss Hunter, especially not today.
“Could you do me a favor?” You took hold of the cinnamon bread you made for your mother. The cinnamon was a gift from Caleb. You remember holding the small glass jar and asking him where he got it from. When he feigned mystery and replied with “It’s a secret,” but you knew he must have gotten it from the Hob. “Could you take this to my mother? She should be on her way home from the clinic.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m just finishing up here really quick, and I’ll help you find Caleb.” Little Miss Hunter gave you an unimpressed look, but knew better than to call you out on it. At least not today. She took the bread and left the bakery.
You gave it some time before leaving, too, and headed straight towards the barbed wire fence. Though no Peacekeepers were stationed around the fence, you knew there was some form of surveillance around the area, and you tried your best to avoid them as much as possible. Once you were close enough to the barbed wire, you ran a blade of grass along it to test whether it was still active. Confirming there was nothing there, no humming or buzzing sensation, you carefully slid between the opening and made your way deeper into the forest.
It didn’t take you long to find him. In the clearing, a wooden table sat with benches on either side, with Caleb sitting on top of the table. His bow lay on the ground, one of the arrows broken and bent in half, while the others, still intact, remained in the quiver on his back. His hands fiddled with a knife, which he brought with him on his hunts. But there was no game with him. No rabbit, squirrel, or bird beside him. He just stared into the dirt, thinking.
You knew better than to sneak up on someone, especially when armed, so you stomped as you approached the bench. Caleb’s body jerked towards the noise, then relaxed when he realized it was you.
“Whatcha doing out here, Soldier?” He scoffed at your nickname.
“What are you doing out here?” He shuffled to the side to make some room for you on the table and reholstered his knife.
“Little Miss was worried,” you said, sitting beside him. “Josephine told her that you left early. You took longer than normal.” His eyes soften at the mention of his sister. “What's on your mind?”
He stayed quiet for a moment. Despite the urgency, you didn’t push and just leaned back on your arms, enjoying the scenery. Caleb had always been the one to hold so much and keep what he truly thinks and feels close to his chest. In moments of hesitation, you choose patience.
“Do you think,” he began slowly, still unsure if he should be bringing his thoughts to the surface, “the Games will ever be over?”
You thought for a moment, considering his words. You always wondered why the Games had to happen. You learned in school that there was a war, that the Capitol won, and that the traitors were formed into twelve separate districts. But why were the Games created? Why did twenty-three children have to die, and there be only one sole victor? You didn’t know. You probably won’t live to see the end of the Games.
“I don’t know.” Just the way it turned out, you supposed, but it didn’t feel great to say it out loud. Because it shouldn’t be that way.
“What if we just go?”
“Go,” you shot him a look. “Where would we go?”
“I don’t know.” He looked back towards the ground. “I could teach you and Zayne how to hunt. Pips already has some experience, so she can learn how to do the dressing. We could find water and build a shelter with all this wood. And Zayne is learning medicine from the clinic. Plus, your mom is experienced too.”
“With what equipment?” You tried to keep your voice neutral. You shifted until you sat on the bench instead, facing him fully. “You may have better luck convincing Josephine, but she’s getting there in age, Caleb. That’s not fair to her! And Zayne has his family depending on him, too! And my mom,…” You stared down at the table, eyes spotting the initials “H+LD” with a heart around them.
“They can come with us!”
“That’s not the point, Caleb!”
His eyes flickered with guilt, maybe shame, or even embarrassment for letting his emotions get that far.
“I’m sorry,” he said, finally. “It’s not fair to ask.”
“Where’s all this coming from?”
Caleb sighs and takes a step down, so you’re both sitting shoulder to shoulder. He doesn’t look at you, just stares into the groove of the wooden table and traces the pattern. His brows furrowed, his lips set to a grimace, as if the thoughts in his head were harrowing.
He exhales shakily. “She’s only thirteen.”
You didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. You grabbed his hand and ran small circles around his knuckle. You considered yourself lucky enough to be born a single child, but growing up with the three of them, you began to see them as family, too. “Nothing will happen to her.” Caleb’s hand gripped yours just as tightly. “She survived last year’s lot. Her name will appear only twice this year. The likelihood of her being picked is low. I’m more likely to get picked than her.” His head snapped up, eyes widened.
“How many?” You took your hand away, following Caleb’s example from earlier. Staring into the groove of the wood and tracing the pattern or whatever graffiti was left behind.
You didn’t want to think about it. Since your father’s passing, it was just you and your mother. Your mother did the best she could to support you, learning medicine from the clinic to bring home some herbs in case you got sick, taking the time to do laundry for your neighbors, and even sometimes taking up babysitting when you were young. That’s how you got to know Caleb, Zayne, and the little Miss. When you first turned twelve, you began taking on tesserae to help with supplies.
“About 10, I think,” you shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “It’s just my mom and me, so there’ll only be two more this year.”
“I thought you were managing.”
“We are. The tesserae help us manage.”
“You could have come to me for help.”
“You have Josephine and the little Miss to worry about. It can’t be easy, spreading yourself so thin. You gotta take care of you, too.” You stood up from the bench, patting whatever dust or wood chips may be on your clothes. You doubt there was any, but it gives your hands and eyes something to do. You didn’t want to look at Caleb. Just thinking about it brings back the hollow dread you felt earlier. But there was no choice; time was wasting. “Speaking of which, we should get going.” You didn’t wait for Caleb to follow, but your ears perked to the sound of shuffling and the clanking of wood.
You both returned with an hour to spare, enough time to change into something more formal. Briefly, you wondered whether, if you were chosen for the Games and came back as a body, your funeral clothes would be this. A faded sundress with pockets sewn on the front, with mismatched socks pulled up to your mid calf, and worn-out dress shoes. You’d hoped the Capitol would provide something nicer to show their “generosity” to the fallen Tributes. But you would be asking for too much.
Your mother gave you a once-over to make sure everything was in place before she gathered you with shaking hands and planted a kiss on your temple—another good luck ritual.
“Everything will be fine,” you told her, gathering her face in your hands. “My name has not been drawn yet, so I doubt it’ll start now.” Her nod was steadier than her hands, and her eyes watered as she gave a smile.
“Whatever happens,” she gathers you in her arms for a hug. “Just know that I love you, my girl.”
You break from your mother. Being in her arms for too long would make you cry, and you needed to be strong for her. You glare as you walk past the posters glued to some of the shops. The posters read: NO PEACEKEEPERS, NO PEACE. Even Ada’s bakery wasn’t free from them. You thought about the families being separated, about the brutality Peacekeepers would bring about innocent townfolk, or even if someone did commit a crime, how their punishment would be too severe. You remember a child, a little older than little Miss Hunter, snagging a little bag of hard candy from the sweetshop, and being confined in isolation for nearly a week. When he was released, his face was bloodied and bruised. A little ironic how their name and presence bring the exact opposite.
You reunited with your friends just before entering the town center, where the Reaping will take place. Little Miss Hunter wore the same dress you wore when you were younger. You weren’t sure whether your mother donated the dress or if Josephine somehow found one similar. It seemed to fit her just fine, perhaps a tad bit larger. She’ll grow into it.
You turn to the boys. Both were dressed similarly, plain faded button-up shirts and jeans. Zayne’s family owned the clinic and had opened another near the mines. So many accidents happened within the mines. That’s probably how his family was able to afford a nicer shirt. Caleb’s shirt, on the other hand, was missing some buttons towards the hem, and one of the sleeves was missing a cuff-link.
You gestured for Caleb to roll his sleeves and provided one of the safety pins you could afford to lose. You fixed little Miss Hunter’s dress by removing the ribbon from your own, so that her dress looked less baggy. At the moment, you wished you had a purse or a wallet, something you could keep a comb hidden in instead of carrying it out in the open. You did your best with your fingers, styling their hair as best as you could. By then, it was already five minutes before broadcasting started, and the Peacekeepers were herding the remaining children into their designated pens.
“Whatever happens,” Caleb said suddenly, looking at all of you. “Look out for each other.”
With that, the group disbursed. The pens were separated by gender; the boys went to the left, and the girls went to the right. Due to your age, you were placed further back in the pen, which prevented you from keeping little Miss Hunter in your line of sight.
With clammy hands, you fisted the fabric of your dress and tried the breathing techniques Zayne taught you when you got nervous. It wasn’t as effective as you’d hoped. Once the Capitol anthem started, it was too late to turn back. Not that you could. You’ve seen what happened to Trilly when she tried to leave. You remembered the Peacekeepers gunning her down. She was unarmed and scared.
You kept your eyes closed until they began drawing names. Your eyes found the stage where Allio, this year’s District 12 host, stood. Allio was new to hosting and unique in that he wanted to try something different. Instead of the “ladies first” as previous hosts, Allio went to draw the lots for the boys. You turn to find Zayne and Caleb some rows away from each other. If Zayne is safe from the drawing, he would not have to participate again. If Caleb is safe, being younger than you and Zayne, he will only have another two to three years before he is opted out of the drawing. You weren’t religious by any means, but you began praying that neither were chosen.
Of course, that was asking too much for the traitorous districts. The moment Caleb’s name was called, you felt your stomach drop, and your blood turn to ice. You looked to Zayne, who was just as pale, and turned back to Caleb. From your position, you could not see his face. Without any hesitation, he moved from his place and walked up towards the stage, right beside Allio.
The Reaping required all district residents to be present, so you know somewhere out there, Josephine was watching. You couldn’t imagine what’s going on in her head right now.
“Now,” Allio began as he sauntered towards the box that held all the girls' names. All names from age twelve through eighteen. “Last but not least, the ladies!” He twirls his hand before pulling out the name listed on the slip.
It was little Miss Hunter.
Your hands shook as you let out a gasp. The girl beside you placed a hand on your shoulder, to steady you or to hold you back, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t realize you were moving until you shouted.
“I volunteer!”
The town center remained quiet; you could hear the sound of your blood rushing through your ears. You were almost sure you could hear your mother’s gasp, even from this distance.
“Who said that?” Allio looked around the pen to find the source. His excitement was not lost on you. You could count on one hand the number of tributes from District 12 who volunteered their lives. It has been years since the last volunteer. They didn’t last long in the games. Barely two days in, and they fell to mutts in the shape of butterflies.
You moved further away from the pen and began walking towards the stage. “I volunteer as Tribute.”
“Oh my, how brave,” Allio praised. “And what is your name, my dear?” He spun you around so you were facing both the crowd and the camera crew. Your face must be placed on the large screen hovering over the stage. You didn’t dare to look to confirm. It was better not to look at anything but the ground. You can still feel eyes on you, and that just churned your stomach further. You wanted to look for your mother within the crowd. You knew she was looking at you, too. But you couldn’t trust yourself not to cry or make a fool of yourself in front of all the Districts and the Capitol.
Everything else happened so quickly. You and Caleb were whisked away to separate waiting rooms, where family members and friends can say their “goodbyes” before you’re sent away. You never had the chance to visit this room. Despite District 12 being likened to a “small town,” you never knew any of the past tributes personally to pay them a visit when they were reaped. You haven’t put much thought into what this room would look like, but you suppose it made sense for it to be bare of any decorations or any other furniture besides a small table, a couch, and two chairs. You gripped the chair nearest to you until your knuckles turned white and closed your eyes to focus on steadying your breathing. You expected your mother to be the first visitor, and you didn’t want her last image of you to be you scared and a mess. But there were no windows in the room, and the dingy light overhead just made the room haunting and small and hard to breathe.
By the time the first knock came at the door, you were able to straighten yourself up a bit to be steadier on your feet. Two Peacekeepers entered and surveyed the room before settling their gaze on you. You bit the inside of your cheek. They escorted you here, so there was no way you could sneak anyone or anything inside.
“You have two minutes.” One of the Peacekeepers reached behind her and hauled Zayne into the room with you. You rushed to steady him as the door slammed shut.
“Zayne? Where’s my mom? Is she okay? Is everyone okay?” You gave Zayne a once-over, not seeing any bruises or scrapes, and despite the rough treatment from the Peacekeepers, everything seemed to be in order from when you last saw him. No signs of a riot breaking out like the year before, when Harquin had hosted the Games before Allio.
Zayne gathered you in his arms and sighed. “Everyone is okay. Your mother is on her way.” You exhaled in relief and sagged against him. “What you did was foolish and impulsive. What were you thinking?”
“Don’t. Not right now, Zayne.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“She’s only thirteen. She won’t survive out there.”
“And you will?” No, you thought. No, I don’t think I will.
You’re not a fool. You don’t have the hunting skills Caleb has, and you’ve never had to fight a day in your life. All your strengths lie in areas that won’t be useful in a survival sense. At best, you can live past three days, maybe a week if you dedicate yourself to training before arriving at the arena.
Instead, you say, “Yes.” Zayne made a disapproving sound, and you knew he caught the lie. You scoffed and ducked under his arms. “Do not lecture me.” You poked at his chest. “You would have done the same. Both you and Caleb. So don’t lecture me about being foolish!” You feel your eyes sting, but you can’t shed tears now. You’ll allow yourself time to cry when you’re alone—looking at Zayne and whatever pained expression he had wouldn’t help you either, so you just glared at the side of the room.
He just sighed and guided you to look back at him, thumb brushing under your eye to wipe away whatever tears that managed to slip through. Zayne’s eyes weren’t any better. The redness of unshed tears made his hazel eyes more brown, and his lips were pressed into a line, holding back whatever sob may come out. Truthfully, you were not sure what you would have done in his position. Having two friends selected in the Reaping to fight in the Games. One of them volunteered to be a Tribute. You would probably do the same. Judge, think them foolish, and chastise them. You’d be utterly heartbroken. You’d hope both would survive, but in all the years the Games have taken place, there has only been one Victor.
You could barely keep your voice steady as you said, “Look after my mother.” Like you, he couldn’t stop the tears that slipped through.
The two of you jolted as the door slammed open. You couldn’t tell if the Peacekeepers were the same as before, but before they could reach Zayne, you gripped his wrists. “Promise! Promise you’ll look after my mom!”
Just as the Peacekeepers took either side of his arms and began dragging him out, Zayne nodded and said, “I will!” before the doors slammed closed, leaving you alone once more.
Some more time had passed before the door opened again. You hoped this time was your mother, and you hoped you were able to wipe your face clean, just enough for her not to see your moment of weakness. You thought you heard her on the other side, but more Peacekeepers came in. With the sliver that was left open, you could hear her more clearly, calling out to you and shouting at the Peacekeepers outside to let her through.
“What’s going on? Let me see my mother!” You tried to peer over their shoulder, but their armor and height made an effective barrier.
“Your time is up. Allio is instructing everyone to be at the station now.” One of the Peacekeepers gestured towards the others. One held cuffs to bind your wrists, while the other loomed over you, attempting to intimidate you from making any rash decisions.
If it wasn’t for your mother, you might have complied, not wanting to make the situation worse. But the moment your mother screamed, your blood ran cold, thinking nothing but the worse. You tried to dodge them, ducking under their arms to reach your mother. You only get partway through the door before you feel heavy metal slam against your leg, causing you to stumble to the ground. The Peacekeeper behind you hauled you back to your feet by the collar of your dress. “Let me go!” Another strike was made, the back of the rifle slammed against your abdomen, stealing your breath as you sank to the ground.
Cuffs were places on your wrists, and you were yanked to your feet again as the Peacekeepers escorted you out towards the station. The Peacekeepers standing guard herded your mother away from the door as you moved past her. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she wailed and called out to you. You tried your best to console her, saying “I’m okay,” “I’ll be back,” “Please stay safe,” but you weren’t sure they came out properly. You were still trying to catch your breath, and with your injured leg and abdomen, you could barely stand upright.
By the time you arrived at the train, you were shoved into the main car and left alone. You could only assume they went to retrieve Caleb and kept you cuffed so as not to cause more trouble while unattended. You didn’t care. You were tired and hollow and only had enough strength to move towards the nearest couch to rest before you felt yourself slipping into darkness.