The Survivor (Book 1)

Reaping

"Ouch! Jesus!" I exclaimed as the lady pricked my finger really hard.

She smirked, pressed my finger to a paper and scanned the blood that stayed there. "Ah, Freya. The forest dweller."

I placed my finger into my mouth to stop the scarlet substance from flowing. Without another word, I walked away, just in time for Cassia to catch up to me. I grabbed her hand for reassurance and held it tight as we walked to the sixteen-year-old section.

I took a deep breath exactly when the town bell chimed twelve times. The sound shook me to the core, even though the bell was relatively far. All my insides churned uncomfortably. This is it.

The reaping had begun.

A lady with pastel purple hair, pastel purple eyelashes, pastel purple lips, and a pastel purple dress walked on stage. "Hello!" she greeted enthusiastically. "As most of you surely know, I am Pamela, District 9's escort! Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!" She might have expected an applause. No one clapped. She didn't show signs of discouragement.

"Now we have a film for you all brought to you by the capitol!" She went silent as the big screen started up. "War, terrible war..." it started out. Cassia turned to me, grinning nervously. "By the way, that dress looks lovely on you, Freya."

"Thanks," I replied, smiling.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Morgan. She was twisting her ring wildly on her skinny finger. When she caught me staring she smiled sheepishly.

I attempted to look comforting. "'You okay?" I mouthed. She frowned, so I repeated myself. She shook her head 'no'. I gave her a soft smile. "It'll be okay," I mouthed. I watched her sigh and rotate in her seat, back to the front.

All I wanted to do right now was crush her in a hug. But I couldn't. And I knew that all too well.

The video finally ended and Pamela was the only one clapping. "Gosh, I just love that! Don't you?" she asked the crowd. You could hear a pin fall- it was so quiet. Pamela cleared her throat. "Okay then. This time we are doing boys first!" she announced and to make her point she walked over to a bowl and rummaged through, taking her time, adding to the tension and drama.

She pulled out a small piece of paper. She carefully opened it with her long and manicured fingers. "This year's male tribute is... drum roll please!" she called. Again, no one moved or said anything "Ugh. Fine then." She regained her posture. "This year's boy tribute is... Conner Hawthorn. Conner? Where are you? Come and join us," she said, looking expectantly into the crowd. Everyone's heads snapped around frantically, some happy they weren't chosen, some already mourning, some still anxious, and some not knowing who to look for.

I, on the other hand, knew exactly who he was. My first day here, I helped him carry groceries to his house, then when school started he helped me find my classes. We'd eat lunch together, well for two months, then he got a girlfriend, we never got close enough to be considered friends.

Finally, Conner came forth from the seventeen-year-olds section. He had wavy black hair and vibrant green eyes. He was rather skinny. And of course he was pretty cute. I saw a deathly skinny older lady reach out for him. She cried out. "No! Not my baby!" she wailed in agony.

He turned to her slowly, calmly walking towards her. "Moma, it will be okay," he promised, patting her fragile shoulder one last time. I recognized that undertone- keeping strong for everyone else, but breaking down when alone.

He walked up the steps, cherishing every single one he took like his life depended on them. Pamela held out her hand to help him up.

She smiled. "Now for the girls!" she called and plunged her hands into another bowl, noticeably quicker and more impatiently than before.