Savannah Loriece: District 2, Female Tribute
My small eyes flickered open as dawn broke over district two. I could hear my many siblings rushing around outside of my room, and though I'd been trying to ignore them, I couldn't. Today was the day.
The reaping day.
It wasn't my first reaping. In fact it was the second that I was forced to attend. It was the Twenty-Fifth Annual Writer Games. In other words, it was hell made into a game.
I swiveled out of bed and put on my reaping outfit. It was a cute, frilly shirt with cropped brown trousers. I'd worn the same thing two years running. I hated it. Everyone hated it.
* * * * * * *
I stood in the district square, surrounded by my fellow twelve years olds, feeling my grow increasingly sweaty. The crowd went silent as our escort, Olivian Pennie, stood before the microphone.
"Welcome to the 25th Writer Games!" Her voice echoed towards us. She dug her hand into the female jar. She rustled around to choose the perfect name, then pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. The name was written in curled writting. The name was mine.
I couldn't move, so the crowd moved me instead. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream for my mother and father, brothers and sisters. But I didn't. I couldn't. I knew how the Games worked. The weak died first. I could at least pretent that I was strong.