DIVESTED: A Hunger Games Story

CHAPTER 1

Every day seems to go slowly until the week of reaping— Until the games. I think their twisted minds don't truly understand what's happening. I mean, how could they? It's not their life or their kids that will be brutally taken from them. Every year, we're required to watch at least certain parts of it, but some people in my Academy go further than that. They binge it like it's their favorite movie series, watch compilations of everyone's death, and even make The Hunger Games marathons as they pull all-nighters with popcorn and candy to ensure their favorite tribute lives and their least favorite dies. Everyone at the Academy, parents and students, talk about it all year long. "I can't believe last year's game ended like that; I thought District 1 would win," or "I wonder who's competing this year? I can't wait to pick a favorite and see them tour." They are all sadistic. Even my father talks about it like it's an honor— He's even an escort. I can't quite remember what district he's working for, but I know he's the one who pulls the name out of the big glass bowl and then takes them where they need to go. The train, Hotel, Training center, and, if they're "lucky," a victory tour to every district and then the party at President Snow's mansion. Though, I don't understand. The games are certain death, not an honor. Every winner has luck and an extreme amount of it. Maybe my mom would've understood. I never heard anything about her, except that she died during childbirth. If she were here, perhaps I wouldn't be left alone with this painful burden of my thoughts. Maybe she would agree with me.

I shake these thoughts as I am walking home from the Academy. I walk for about 30 minutes through town until I get to the upper outskirts. Behind our small apartment building are lines of trees and wilderness. I go there often, but it is only a 20-minute walk. I have fruits and vegetables growing from seeds I've bought in the town center shop. I walk into my building and then up two flights of stairs to room 3C.

"Have fun at school kiddo?" My father tells me as I open the door. He is sitting on the couch with a small projector screen playing the news on the wall before him.

"Definitely. I love it when my friends talk about the slaughter games," I say sarcastically.

"Listen, kid. You need to give it up. Stop the act." He reiterated. I scoff at his ridiculous comment.

"How does it feel escorting children to their deaths? What if it was me? I exclaim.

I shake my head, then storm to my room and look for my mother's picture, the only one I have of her. Anger fills my body from head to toe as I replay his words over and over inside my mind. I throw everything in my closet to the other side of my room as I search for a picture I haven't seen in years. After every item in my closet was on my floor, I finally found it in a cracked picture frame. I look at the picture and frown, wishing for something that never was. I try to remove the image from the frame, but It's glued shut. I crack the glass more until it's completely shattered and take it out of the frame, giving myself a few cuts on my fingers in the process; I notice a crease on the edge of the photo. Why would my dad fold this?

I unfold the picture to see a justice building behind my pregnant mother to the right. There's something on the banner hanging from the building; it reads "District 6." What? The transportation district? She can't be from the districts that would be illegal... It's as if a lightbulb was lit above my head as everything came together. He wouldn't mention her because she's from the districts. He could be arrested or lose his job, but they would likely make him an avox. I take the now unfolded picture and run back into the living room. I hold the picture in front of my dad's face. "Were you going to lie to me forever?" I demanded. I felt my face getting hot from anger, from the lies that I've dealt with my whole life.

"IS SHE EVEN DEAD?" I scream at him. His expression is blank. Not an ounce of regret or compassion resides in his eyes. He takes a deep breath.

"Keep your voice down," He whispers. "I'm sorry, Persephone."