Waking up, I roll over to see the hollow emptiness of the side of the bed that was once occupied by Prim’s warmth. The nightmares must have consumed her dreams again, which means she probably went to sleep with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.
I prop myself up using my bruised elbow which never offered much support anyways but today especially. I saw my little sister, Prim, curled up to my mother, who once actually appreciated her company. In sleep, my mother looks fair, young, and simply beautiful, and Prim as if she had never even learned the true meaning of living in District 12.
Sitting at Prim’s knees, sat a cat as beaten down as cats can get without really dying. The world’s ugliest cat is the only acceptable description for the being who sat, protecting Prim as if he even had a chance at offering her protection. Prim named him Buttercup, a rather cute name for a rather evil animal, but I’m not complaining. He hates me, probably because I tried to drown him in a bucket when Prim first brought him home. Another mouth to feed wasn’t ideal for my family, and so I told Prim that he had to go, she cried, begged even, and I caved.
I swing my legs off of the side of the musty bed, throwing my cold feet into my hunting boots faster than I could turn to check on Prim one more time. I pulled my pants on, threw my hair into a braid, and slipped out quietly, hoping not to wake up the other inhabitants of our beaten-down house.
Our part of District 12, given the nickname of “The Seam,” is usually crawling with coal miners going to their morning shift in the morning. But today, the streets are empty. Shutters on the squat grey houses are closed. The reaping doesn’t start for a few hours, may as well sleep in. If you can.
Our house is almost at the edge of The Seam, so I usually don’t run into many people on my way to the Meadow. Separating the Meadow from the woods, sits a high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire loops. In theory, it is supposed to be constantly live, meaning it’s always supposed to be electric to keep the animals and predators out of our district. But since we are lucky enough to only have it live for about three hours in the night, it is usually safe to touch. Although this fact would make anyone certain that they could go through it without dying a somewhat “electric” death, I still always listen for the hum. It was silent. Tightening my body as flat as it could get, I squeeze myself through a two-feet stretch that has been loose for years.
Once in the trees, I retrieve my bow and arrow that I conceal in a hollow log deep in the woods. There are many bad things that roam free in these woods, but there is also food if you know how to find it properly. My father taught me how to hunt before he was blown to pieces in the mines. I was eleven then. I still wake up screaming for him to run and it’s been five years.
Although trespassing is illegal and poaching carries the severest of punishments, more people would risk it if they had weapons. Most aren’t brave or bold enough to venture out with just a knife in hand, though. My bow is crafted by my father, who could have made quite the living off of selling them if the punishment hadn’t been and wasn’t a public execution for enticing a rebellion. A few peacekeepers turn a blind eye at the ones who hunt, as they know how it feels to be starving, like us. In fact, they’re among our best customers, which is ironic isn’t it. But the idea that someone would ever let the Seam become armed, is ridiculous. “District 12, where you can starve to death in safety,” I mutter, always hoping nobody would hear me.
When I was younger, I would scare my mother half to death when I would blurt out things about the country we live in, and the regime in which we live. Panem, from the far off city called the Capitol. Eventually, I learned how much trouble I could bring to my family if I kept talking like I did. So, I learned to keep my mouth shut and hold my tongue. Do my work in school, Make only polite small talk when in public places, and discuss exchanges in the Hob, which is where I get my money.
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