Max: District 4

District 4: Reaping Day (Part 1)

I hear a woman's shrill, girly voice, calling out the name of the male tribute from District Four. "Maxwell Chase" No, it can't be me. It can't be me. Then I am running through a forest, sprinting away from a pack of mutts. I hear their howls, and I look back, only to see their slobbery mouths, ready to tear me to shreds. I jerk awake, breathing hard from the terror of my nightmare. it's only a dream, Max. I tell myself. It's not me. I only have my name in the reaping ball one time. Only one time. I won't get picked. I shiver. But what if I do get picked? will someone volunteer for me? I'm only twelve! if I go into the arena, I'll die. Stop thinking like that, Max! I take a deep breath. "Max! get down here and eat before your sister devours everything!" My mom calls. "coming!" I say. Today is reaping day for the 74th annual hunger games. I'm nervous, but I'm most likely not going to get chosen. When I'm older, I'll probably have to volunteer for the games, once I'm better at using a sword, my chosen weapon, because this is District 4, where it is an honor to enter the games. We are trained for them from the time we are twelve years old, to the time we are no longer eligible for the games, eighteen years old. In districts 1 and 2, the kids are trained from ages 8 to 18, so by the time they volunteer for the games, they are almost unstoppable. But I'm starting to get hungry, so I'll leave you there, and go eat breakfast.

I walk through the door and into the kitchen. It's a small one, but clean and well-stocked. District 4 is one of the wealthier districts, so we have enough to live on, but only just. Mia is sitting at the worn wooden table, eating pieces of the signature district 4 bread: a salty, fish-shaped loaf, tinted by seaweed. I sit down across from her and take a piece of bread. "hey!" she exclaims "that's mine!" Mom turns to look at us, " Mia, that's not your bread. I bought it at the market for both you and Max." she says. I take a bite of the bread, then grab my jacket and head out the door. "Max, be back from the center by nine thirty, so you can clean up for the reaping at ten." Mom calls after me. "Okay, bye mom!".

Five minutes later, I'm at the training center next to the ocean. I pull open the front door and see my best friend Jackson standing there, waiting for me. "Hi, max! ready for training?" he asks. "yeah!" I say enthusiastically. we head into the gym and over to the weapon rack. I grab a small sword, and Jackson takes his trident. We walk to one of the mats and begin sparring. Jackson's way better than I am. He knocks the sword out of my hand, and pokes me with the tips of his trident. "nice one!" I say, laughing. We spar until we're both exhausted, Jackson beating me most of the time. I glance at my watch, checking to make sure it's not nine thirty yet. I grimace. Mom's going to kill me. It's nine forty-five. "sorry, Jackson, I gotta go," I say, then rush to put my sword back on the rack and sprint out the door into the cold morning air. I sprint down the street, heading for home when I remember I left my jacket at the training center. Oh well, I think, I'll get it after the reaping.

When I get home, Mia has already washed up and is wearing a yellow dress and light green tights and flats. I suppress a snort. She looks like a dandelion. "what are you laughing at, dork head?" mia snaps, seeing the amused look on my face. "Mia, don't call your brother that!" mom scolds. "Max, I told you to be here fifteen minutes ago! you're going to make us late. Go up to your room and change. We have to be in the square in ten minutes." When I reach my room, my smile falls. I see the clothes mom laid out for the reaping, and the whole thing becomes real to me. It's not likely since I only have my name in once, but still, I could be in the arena, dead, in two weeks. Max, stop thinking like that! I tell myself. your name won't get picked! The odds are in your favor. Even if you do get picked, maybe you can win. I'll bet some of the other district's tributes have never even seen a weapon before. After scolding myself for thinking like that, I change into the shirt and trousers my mom laid out for me, I go into the kitchen and find mom and mia waiting for me. Mom reassures me, telling me I'll be okay, that I won't get picked. Far from making me feel better, it makes this thing seem so much more real.

I part with mom and Mia, and swallowing my fear, I walk down the dusty street to sign in. I take my place at the end of the line and wait my turn. after signing in, I walk to the place reserved for the twelve-year-olds. I stand in the back, next to a boy in stained overalls. He says " good luck. I hope she chooses someone who can actually win this thing." I smile. "Good luck to you, too. how many times do you have your name in?" "Six." he replies, shrugging "how about you?" My eyes widen in surprise. "Six? I only have mine in once!" I feel bad for this kid, who has a larger chance of getting picked than me. "I'm lucky, " the boy says "My Older sister has her name in thirty-seven times. We need a lot of tesserae to have enough food. I have two older siblings and three younger." My only response before we both fall silent is "oh. I'm sorry." Then the reaping propaganda begins.

"War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard-fought, sorely won. A people rose up from the ashes, and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost. When the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation that we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed that each year the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice. The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of our generosity and of our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."

As it finishes, I am reminded that even though we are one of the better-treated districts, we still hate the capitol for all of its arrogance and insolence. Then the district four guide clears her throat. "Happy hunger games! and may the odds be ever in your favor." My fear floods back into me as she walks over to the girl's bowl and announces "Ladies first!" she reaches a long bony hand into the bowl and pulls out a paper slip. She unfolds the slip, and reads out "Maria Donovan"

The section for sixteen-year-olds shifts around to create a path for a girl with brown eyes and hair. She walks up to the stage, smirking at the audience. She is a strong tribute, I've seen her at the training center. she's really good with a serrated sword, ripping the stuffing out of the dummies like it could save her life. It will, actually. I forget my fear as I analyze this girl, wondering if she's good enough to win. She probably is.  Then the woman glides over to the boy's bowl, and my fear rushes back full force. Not me I pray not me, please, not me.

She rustles around in the clear glass bowl before choosing a slip and unfolding it. "Maxwell Chase" I'm frozen. I can't move. All my nightmares came true. I will be dead in two weeks. Unless... I listen hard, hoping for an older, stronger tribute to volunteer. But no one does. The crowd parts around me, and as if in a daze, I slowly walk up to the stage, climb the steps and take my place beside the district 4 escort. I see my mom cradling a screaming Mia, tears pooling in her eyes. I look away from them, afraid I will start to weep myself, and I know I can't do that. I need to be confident, brave, and strong. I need to win these games for Mia and my Mom. So, for them, I give a confident smile. When our escort, Mirakal whispers to us "shake hands, you two" we awkwardly shake hands, letting go quickly, and Mirakal shouts out in that dumb capitol accent "Happy hunger games! and may the odds be ever in your favor" But I know, as I stand there, that the odds are not in my favor. And they never will be.