Judgement - A Hunger Games fanfiction.

"Two tributes from each district must go into the arena, and they must all fight until death."

Emerald has always hated everything about the games, even though she is from the number one district of the 'Career Tributes', who are trained for the arena.
But when she gets drawn out of the pool of names at the Reaping, she decides to take on the challenge and play the terrible games fair.
- But can she do that without getting tempted to kill?

"Let the 65th annual Hunger Games begin!".

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3. The Reaping.

I am scared. That is the best way to put words on the way I feel, as soon as I step into the line of fifteen-year-olds. Around me, some girls talk enthusiastically about their chances on getting drawn. And when I turn my head to look at them, it is absolutely obvious that they have been trained for exactly that possible turn of events. They sound like exited gees. I stare into the ground and sigh. 

“What?!” one of the girls says angrily, and when I look up to meet the girl’s gaze I discover that not only that goose, but all of them are looking at me. I smile at them, trying to look calm. “Oh, I am sorry. I just think it’s pretty stupid, that you guys want to be in the games, rather than avoid getting killed.” I want to confront them, but at the same time I just want to turn away from them and stop being so incredibly rude. “Pft, you’re crazy!” one of the girls says, but in the second that she is about to step up to me and say something more, the line moves and I stumble up on the little platform in front of the tables where the sign-up forms lie. My throat tightens, as I write my name on a little piece of paper. Don’t worry, it’s only one piece. Not like some others with five or more in the pool. I wave at the girls as I walk down into the crowd again, and try to control my anxiety with a brilliant smile. I     am not just scared as usually; - I actually have a really bad feeling about this.

 

Trinch Marble. That man drives me nuts, I swear. As he steps on to the stage, the crowd instantly turns silent and the air feels charged with expectation. The only thing good about this day, is actually seeing whether or not Trinch has been cutting his hair this year. He is known because of his long hair that apparently grows faster from each time we see him. I am almost certain that if it wasn’t set in a thick ponytail now, it would drag along the ground behind him as he walked. His big mane seems to have a new color and effect every year; last year it was a matte green, and now he’s rocking a shimmering pink. Trinch is of course the official sending of the Capitol, and is devoted to bringing the chosen tributes safely to the big city, and helping them present themselves along the way. Ergo he’s here to help. But the way he talk about the games and smile down to us all, as if he hopes we’re all going to die in the arena -  that just makes me sick.

 

“Welcome everybody!” he smiles with his painted blue mouth, “Today we’re here to select the lucky two, who gets to be in the 65th annual Hunger Games.” His voice gives me chills, when he does his usual thing with saying ‘Hunger’ loud, and then only whispering ‘Games’.  Behind him there’s a table with three people sitting by it. The major of District 1, who I – as I always have – find incredibly non-important, the leader of the peacekeepers in our district, and then there’s the mentor of the new tributes and the last winner we’ve had of the games, Cashmere. Her game was two years ago, and I remember hiding under the couch in our living room after seeing her kill a young girl from District 12, by carving out her eyes with a mirror-splinter. Cashmere was my age back then, so she is not very old. But either way, I find her scary as hell.

Apparently I’ve been distracted by my thoughts for a moment, and when I now look up at the stage Trinch has his hands in the big pool of names. I look at the big glass bowl; it’s the girl’s pool. “Let’s see, what do we have…” he says, while digging further down into the pool with his hand “Aha!” he smiles at the crowd, and turns to look at us as he unfolds the little piece of paper. “The female tribute is,” I hold my breath as he starts to pronounce the name. “Emerald Canarie.”

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