Named

A Chapter by Annie

Light flickered through the filmsy curtains. We may be some of the richest in District 2, but that doesn't mean that we get the luxuries of District 1.
I sigh and turn over in bed, my heavy eyelids wishing to be closed again. No sleep usually leads to me being more tired than anyone could consider possible. Father usually calls me the walking dead when I get down to breakfast like this.
"Clove! Get up, reaping day!" I almost groan when I hear Lisbeth's voice call down the hall. My little sister may be adorable, but she acts way too much like she owns the house.
"I'm coming, give me a second!" I yell back, scrunching up my eyes as I drag the covers back. I pull on a blouse which Mother has left out for me, and match it with a tight, dark red skirt. The family colour. I brush it down and pull my hair into something resembling a bun, then grab a simple necklace from the dresser and nestle it into my blouse. After peering into the mirror, I get out a little make-up that Mother once treated me to when she came back from District 1.
There. I don't look like some sort of nightmare any more.

"Good morning, Clove." My Father's usual monotone voice has somehow been replaced with his excited, reaping day tone. In some ways, it's worse.
"Good morning, Father." I take my seat beside Lisbeth at the breakfast table and pick out some toast. I take a bite, but it doesn't take me long to discover that I have no appetite.
"Big day. Clove, you're nearly 18, and I think that you should at least take a shot and volunteer as the female tribute, don't you think that too, Saffra?" He turns to Mother with questioning eyes, and I feel the stress kick in. The same thing happens every year. Father asks me to volunteer and I never do.
Mother simply nods once at his question, then turns back to her cooking, an audible hum of annoyance slipping from her lips.
"Look, Clove, we only want what's best for you. You work hard at training all the time, you should at least try. I'm sure you'd win." I frown when he finishes his sentence, the hesitance in his words doesn't really bring confidence and a boost of esteem.
"I think she'd die straight away." Lisbeth smiles, a cruel, twisted smile that I know she inherited from me. It's sarcastic and mean, and that's just how our family like to be seen.
"Well thank you, Lisbeth," I smirk and stand up, clearing the table slowly, "but I think that you underestimate me." My fingers find their way to a table knife, and before anyone knows it, I've thrown it and it's rammed into the handle of the window which Lisbeth was about to open.
"Clove! I've told you, no knives indoors!"

The crowd is jostling this way and that; my hair has long since been ripped from it's bun, probably by some Slum child who wanted my grips to trade for a cracker. I almost retch at the thought of my pretty hair clip being in the hands of some grimy, filthy little scum from the outskirts.
I look around. District 2 is all in black and white, very smart and sensible. I feel very out of place with a red skirt, but I keep the snarl on my face so no-one notices my embarrassment. The Mayor's Daughter. What a great title. I sigh and walk with the rest of the 16 year old girls, over to the registry. We sign our names and skirt around the rather aggressive looking Peacekeepers, and soon I find myself with Lisbeth. At just 13, she spent the morning in a hyped, giggly mood. She uses her excitement to conceal her nerves, and it works. I pat her on her head, her dark hair rippling beneath my touch.
"Will you volunteer, Clove?" She asks, and I sense pain in her voice, something I wasn't expecting.
"Maybe. I don't know." I feel a lump of bile rise in my throat. I didn't want to, but Father might beat Lisbeth and me , like he did last year.
"Well then, welcome to the reaping of the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" A shrill voice bounces through the crowd, snapping me into reality. Pentha Orkett, the bubbly escort for District 2, is stood on the stage, her bright blue hair cascading down her shoulders and almost blinding me with the intense light it was managing to reflect. Her stupid orange tweed suit is fitted to her petite frame, just like it is every year. She smiles widely and our District falls silent.
"Welcome all of you. We have been having slight issues with the technology today," The irritated mumble in her voice as she glares at the mechanic almost makes me chuckle, "so we'll get right to the tributes, shall we not?" She strides over to the large bowl of names and I feel Lisbeth's hand slip into mine. I squeeze it gently in reassurance. We don't have to put our names in for Tesserae, we have enough food as it is, so the chance of us being reaped is extremely slim.
"And our female tribute for this year's game is..." Her stubby fingers grasp a piece of paper and she unfolds it slowly. The tension builds, but it just annoys me.
"Our female tribute is Clove Roxen!"

That’s not me, surely not. There has to have been a mistake.
Snap yourself out of it, Clove, this is what you’ve always wanted.
My feet shuffle and people part in front of me, making a path for me to walk to the stage. I take my time, but try to look confident and ready. Someone whispers, “She’ll lose, she’s the Mayor’s Daughter.” and I stop.
“Who said that?” My voice is clear and collected, which is surprising. Several people back up, and a few point to a young boy of about 14, who looks terrified. I tower over him, the two year age gap making me the stronger one. I spit in his face, to the disgust of many women, then move on.
“Clove Roxen, is it? Are you not the Mayor’s Daughter?” Pentha giggles and drags me up to the microphone.
“Yes I am.” I smile a little to myself; yet again, I sound stern and pleased, not the crazy, muddled and jumbled feelings thundering through my stomach.
“Well then, there’s our female tribute! And now, onto the boys!” She moves away, leaving me stranded by the microphone. I glare into the crowd, picking out faces I know and staring at them. My hands are rested by my sides, there’s nothing else I can do but stand and look awkward. I barely notice Pentha grab another piece of paper and read out another name, until she’s asking me to shake hands with the male tribute of District 2.
Cato Kaeron.

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