☞︎ℍ𝕦𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝔾𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 ~ 𝔸𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕪𝕤𝕥'𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 ☜︎

~The Reaping~

(Dedicated to @ShadowBookworm11 for reading and voting on every chapter! I really appreciate it, ty!)

Also, disclaimer: this book does not have any smut (they're literally like 14), and barely any swearing, if at all. However it does have large themes of death, gore, and suicide, so if any of those trigger you I'd suggest not reading this. 

Though I guess if u were triggered by death + gore you probably wouldn't've read the hunger games in the first place. 

anyways, 90% of the credits to Suzanne Collins and enjoy my book!

I'm standing in a crowd of other fourteen-year-olds. My name's Amethyst Greenwood, and I belong to district seven. 

Today's the reaping, the one day of the year when an overexcited announcer picks children's names from a bowl. Then those children go off to fight each other to the death. 

I know, I don't like it either. In fact, I hate it. But there's nothing I can do. I'm just one girl, I can't change a seventy-three year old tradition.

My name's in the reaping jar eight times this year. I took two tesserae out when I was twelve, and then again when I was thirteen. One each for me and my mother. But now I'm fourteen, and I took only one tesserae. Just for me. My mother doesn't need them anyways. She can find some other way to survive. Plus, then I have a lower chance of being chosen for the arena. That could save my life. Isn't that a good cause?

I examine the city center, ignoring the history of Panem flashing on the huge screens that will soon broadcast the Hunger Games. Groups of children are lined up in an orderly fashion, all frozen as if they'd already been picked. 

Adults stand in their own crowd next to the children. They're the parents, watching the ceremony and hoping their kids won't get picked. I don't bother to pick out my own mother.

Shops ring the border of the square, selling many things, from wood carvings to candy. Trees are noticeable in the distance, rising tall towards the sun, as they always were. You could see trees practically everywhere from District Seven. 

I fidget with the hem of my purple shirt. I'm wearing this and brown pants, which is a lot less fancy than the other children in their dresses and suits. But my family doesn't have much, and I don't really care anyways.

No one would notice me unless I'm actually picked. Which I'm not going to be. There's thousands of names in that glass jar.

"...Welcome to the 72nd hunger games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" The announcer hobbles over to the glass jar that I know holds my name. Her heels seem slightly too tall for her, and her long blonde hair flows behind her.

"Ladies first!" She announces, then stuffs her hand into the jar. I find myself watching intently, almost nervously. I stop myself. I'm not going to get picked. That's impossible. 

The capitol woman picks a slip of paper and lifts it up, opening it softly. She stands still for a second, reading the name, then looks up. 

The whole crowd seems to be holding its breath. 

"Amethyst Greenwood!" She says.

I take a deep breath in.

And out. 

This can't be happening. 

I walk up to the stage, feeling as stiff as a plank of wood. My smile seems fake as I take my place on the announcer's left side, next to the girls' jar.

"Are you Amethyst, dear?" She asks. I nod. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. 

I feel the pressure of every single person in District Seven's stares on me, and fight the urge to run off the stage and into the forest. 

They tell you that people don't think about you as much as you think about you, but right now that doesn't seem like it applies.

"And next, for the boys!" The announcer finds her way over to the other glass jar, on the right. She roots around in it for a second, picking out a slip of paper and opening it. I feel a slight twinge of annoyance at her--she just walked away from my obvious discomfort like it didn't matter. Well, I guess it probably doesn't. She sees this every year. She's used to it. 

My eyes find my mother. She looks distraught, which I'm happy about, but avoids my gaze.

I scowl.

"Adair Lapu!" she calls, and a dark-haired boy walks onto the stage. We ignore each other.

The announcer smiles. 

"Would anyone like to volunteer?" She asks, turning her head to look around at everyone. 

The only sound I can hear is the wind blowing through the trees. I hang my head.

"Now, shake hands!" The capitol woman squeals, and I turn towards the boy and shake his hand. He smiles at me. I don't return the gesture.

The woman smiles at the crowd one last time, then gracefully walks into the Justice Building behind her. 

After a moment, me and Adair follow her, and the doors slam shut behind us. 

I'm led into a small room with no windows by two peacekeepers in outfits as white as snow.

They shut the heavy door behind me, and I wait. 

And wait. 

But no one comes.