The Reaping

The Hunger Games: It is the day of the Reaping. You go to the square with your friends and family. When the moment comes, is it your name which is drawn, or someone else's? Describe what happens and how you feel.


I walk slowly towards the central plaza with my parents. In the tree-lined avenue, the sidewalk is dappled with sunlight filtering through the ancient oaks, and everything appears peaceful, in total contrast to my emotions. Mum and Dad say nothing as we walk: there is nothing they can say. This is the one day of the year when even in District 3, we can't escape the unpalatable fact that our government is planning to kill some of us for something done by other people, at another time in Panem's history: it is the day of the Reaping.

Our District is lucky, really. We are close to the Capitol, and we know that they value our contribution: we make the computers, mobiles, tablets - all the technology on which they depend. We are well-educated to be able to produce the sophisticated products they need, and our parents work in clean offices and factories, surrounded by green parks. I've heard the rumours about life in the outer districts, how they struggle to survive and feed their families.

When we arrive at the plaza, I clasp my parents' hands briefly and then make my way past the younger ones to stand with the other sixteens from my technical college. Behind us, the line of seventeens is clearly divided into two groups: the geeks and the Careers. The geeks, like me, clearly want this whole thing to be over; their strained faces fail to conceal their desperate hope that they can survive one last Reaping before their eighteenth birthday. The Careers are desperate for another reason: they have trained all their lives for this, in the hope of winning the Hunger Games and having wealth and luxury for the rest of their lives. Idiots. Of the 24 Tributes who go into that Arena, only one will emerge alive.

The well-known ritual of the Reaping Ceremony unfolds like a dream, the Mayor telling us the history of the Dark Days and the origin of the Hunger Games. He reads the list of the many District 3 winners and the crowd enthusiastically cheers those still alive and watching proudly from the podium. After what seems like an eternity, District 3's escort, Farran Cotter, finally moves forward to draw the name of the female tribute from the right-hand bin. There is a breathless hush as she reads the name: "Anna Parker."

That is my name.

That is my name she is now repeating. I am frozen in place and the girls on each side of me are holding my arms and propelling me forward. I am going to die. I stumble and almost fall. Some Career fourteens snigger, and one jeers, "Loser! You are pathetic, geek!" I avoid their eyes and make my way to the podium steps. I am going to die. 

Sound is disappearing and I feel like I am going to faint, or maybe throw up. I focus and hear Farran Cotter announce, "Give Anna a big hand, folks!" The crowd applauds dutifully, but you can tell they are disappointed in this reluctant computer-tech geek. I swallow and look at my feet, concentrating on my breathing. I am going to die.

The next minute, Cotter turns to the microphone again. "Well, folks, we have our female Tribute, but you know I have a big question to ask," she pauses dramatically, "Do we have any courageous young ladies who would like to volunteer as Tribute for District 3?"
In my horror at being chosen, I have forgotten this part. Clutching the side of the lectern with trembling fingers, I now realise that my life depends on those very idiots I despise. Will anyone volunteer?
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