Deep in the Meadow

A Hunger for Knowledge

The next day, Rye and I get up early and head to school. It’s Monday. We probably look like a pair of child zombies walking down the dirt path, but everyone else looks exactly the same.

I drop Rye off at the preschool room and trudge on to my seventh grade history class. Three words are written on the chalkboard: The Hunger Games. I know those words. My parents have something to do with them, but they’ve never told me exactly what they were. Others have dropped little hints, but I still don’t really know what happened. I assume that The Hunger Games were a good thing, given that they were games, but today I guess I’ll learn.

I plop into my wooden desk and it creaks loudly. After a few minutes of sitting quietly, my teacher steps up to the front of the classroom. She looks out of place today; not her usual peppy self. Something is wrong. She takes a deep breath, and then introduces the subject we will be learning about.

“Today, boys and girls we are learning about The Hunger Games.” She gestures halfheartedly to the chalkboard. “Take notes.” Desks creak and papers rustle as my class grabs their notebooks and pencils. Then, we look up expectantly at our teacher. “From the Treaty of the Treason…” she says while copying the words onto the blackboard. “In penance for their uprising…” We learned about The Uprising last unit. There was a time when The Capitol treated us as if we were all slaves, so we started a rebellion. It didn’t work out very well for us, considering that District 13 was destroyed.

“Each district shall offer up, a male and female between the ages of 12 and 18, at a public ‘Reaping.’” Wait, what are they offered up as? I raise my hand to ask the question. “Not until the end, Miss Mellark,” my teacher snaps, her eyes avoiding mine. Embarrassed, I slowly put my hand back down and continue to write. What was that all about?

“These Tributes shall be delivered into the custody of The Capitol, and transferred to a public arena, where they will fight to the death, until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forever more, this pageant shall be known as, The Hunger Games.” When she finishes writing, my teacher sets down the chalk.

            “This was written right after the rebellion, so the districts would be reminded that we cannot defeat The Capitol, and that they are our rulers. The Hunger Games showed us that The Capitol owned us, and that we could not do anything about it. Each year they would draw out of a glass bowl, a boy and a girl’s name from each district, and send them off to The Capitol. They would be pampered and interviewed until they were forced into an arena with all the other tributes. The Capitol would film them fighting each other to the death. Twenty-four went in, only one came out.

            “Make sure you are writing this down, class.

“Each year, the arena would be changed. The Gamemaker would design it, position all the cameras, and create the mutations we called ‘mutts.’ The Capitol would recite a popular saying: ‘May the odds be ever in your favor’ right before the games. Those odds never seemed to be. The lone victor of The Hunger Games would be rewarded with a nice house in Victor’s Village, and their district would be given food. The games continued for seventy-five years. Seventy-five years of pain, torture, and misery. All The Capitol thought of it was entertainment; a fun TV show that premiered every year for their enjoyment. Two of the most popular tributes who won the 74th Hunger Games and were loved by The Capitol as well as the districts, started a second more successful rebellion. They were Katniss Everdeen, and Peeta Mellark.”

A collective gasp arises from my classmates, and all eyes dart in my direction. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and stare straight ahead, a blush creeping onto my face. So this was The Hunger Games, and what my parents had to do with them. How could they have kept this secret from me, with all of the people who know, like Uncle Haymitch, Grandma, and Annie? The older students, they surely learned last year? They couldn’t have told me of all people, that my parents had to kill kids their own age in order to survive?

The rest of the lesson blows by, and I just become more and more confused. The bell rings, but my teacher tells us to stay in our seats. “You are not aloud to discuss this with anyone outside of this classroom, except your parents. I beg you not to share this with younger children, do you understand?” she says. We all say yes ma’am, and go to our next class.