My mother brushes my crimson hair roughly and puts a silver clip in it. A piece slowly slips out of the clip and falls in front of my face as I stare at myself in the mirror. I look at my mother’s face in the mirror. Tears run down her face and there is a deep crease between her eyebrows.
It is the very first Hunger Games and the pain from the rebellion is still fresh. District 8 didn’t have as many casualties than the other districts, but my father was killed, and our family is broken. I miss my father every day. And if I am chosen to fight in the games, I am going to win for him.
My mother and I stare at each other through the mirror and we both cry.
As we walk to the square together I think about my odds in this competition. Each person has their name in only once, and there are a lot of girls in district 8. I feel very confident, but I am also terrified deep down, not for myself, but that my mother will be left alone. I tuck my hair into the clip again, but I know it wont stay.
Right before we enter the square I turn and hug my mother, but then we are pushed along by the crowd. I find myself surrounded and roped off with all the other 13 year olds, near the back of the crowd of children. I can’t see anything.
I hear the anthem play, and then a lecture about why the Hunger Games was created, to show us, basically, that the Capitol is in control and that we need to stay subservient. It makes me mad but I bite my tongue.
I hear a person with the frothy capitol accent come up to the mic. Their accent is so heavy, I can’t tell if it is a boy or a girl.
“Hello district eight!” They say. “Welcome to the very first Hunger Games! May the odds, be ever in your favor! Ladies first?” There is a rustling of paper and then the capitol escort reads a name.
Title Borrowed From: Shaw Pro Photo (this is an AMAZING article)