Two Sides of a Coin

Chapter 2:

I stand inspecting myself in the mirror before me, tweaking my headband marginally to the left. I am not beautiful, not stunning by any measures, but I am pretty. Prettier than most girls my age, which makes sense as I am not starving nor overworked. I am dressed in a knee-length cotton dress from the market, hues of blue and green whirling in spirals to depict one pattern. Plain pumps, and a headband in the same colour that complement my jade green eyes complete the outfit. My shoulder-length copper hair moulds to my face in flowing waves. I feel like an animal prepared for slaughter.

I walk out to my family.

My mother greets me, and tucks a stray wisp of hair behind my ears. McKayla stands flawlessly, willowy figure secreted in a pale blue dress and impeccably straight hair. She reminds me of the clouds that inhabit the vast sky, with her white-blond hair and translucent skin.

No need to ask which one of us got the looks. I guess it's lucky that trivial things like appearance have no hold over me.

"Ready?" She asks.

"Ready for anything," I reply. She has a sorrowful gleam in her silvery blue orbs, and I get a feeling in the pit of my stomach that she knows what I am about to do.

When the gargantuan horn blows, all three of us rise, and begin the 2-kilometre trek to our District's main gathering place; a huge clearing the size of our biggest field. Our population of roughly 15,000 is too big for the clearing to hold, so only possible tributes and their family will be permitted to attend. We have 30 minutes until mandatory attendance is in place, and peacekeepers will be sent to round up any lost sheep. These unfortunates will be shot on sight.

Zach is needed to be with his father, and naturally my father has to be on stage too, as he is the only male Victor from our District. He is sat with Lydia Omitri, the only living female Victor who won 13 years ago. District 9's only other Victor has been deceased for several years.

We pass huge fields full of wheat and grain, what my District produces, the hums of several factories built next to the wall buzzing in the background. Soon it will be time for harvest, and anyone that can bare to work in the sweltering heat will be needed to load huge sacks of grain, and great bales of hay onto trains, where they will be transported to the greedy citizens of the Capitol. Our workers do not have much choice.

Mayor Bromine begins the standard speech, droning on about how much we owe the Capitol, how the Games are a reminder of the Capitol's strength, and so forth. At last, he reads the list of previous Victors. As we have only had 3, this takes all of 5 seconds.

In some districts, such as 1 or 2, they have a lot more. District 2 holds the Victor record, with 10 victors in all 38 years of the hunger games. However, we are better than some, like district 12 who only have one Victor. Ironically enough, this victor won the first quarter quell, which are harder.

Every 25 years, as yet another reminder to the districts, the capitol adds another horrible twist to the way things are ordinarily run. On the first quell, the districts were forced to vote on who was reaped. I think that would be the worst way to be reaped than any way else, watching neighbours turn on neighbours in a futile attempt to protect their own children. But that is the way the capitol want it, so there is no chance of people coming together and sparking another rebellion.

And we wouldn't want that, would we?

Finally, our hideously dressed, made completely in the capitol escort prances excitably onto the stage, crimson heels clacking as she comes.

Xanthe Zailor, beams a garish smile so wide it looks like she'd just seen her greatest wish come true. This year she comes sporting a bright magenta dress, that comes in tightly at her almost non-existent waist, before sprouting into a voluminous skirt. As if this exuberance wasn't enough, it is decorated with ornamental pink butterflies all over the bodice, and swirling patterns on the skirt in the same shade. Her hair is coordinated with her shoes, and comes tumbling down her shoulders in a torrent of scarlet curls, and neon yellow highlights. I honestly don't know how that can be perceived as fashion, but Xanthe seems to think she is the most beautiful person alive. Only in the capitol.