Rated T because it's the Hunger Games
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games
I woke up and stared at the ceiling. This was it. The reaping. I was a mentor for the second time. Last time, I had been a little excited. I was positive I could bring one of my tributes back home. But being in the arena is different from being in the control room. The girl didn't even make it past the bloodbath. She went straight in acting like a career. She didn't end up like one. I hope the tributes this year have some brains.
The 68th Hunger Games. I mentored last year, but I won the 64th. I guess I needed some time to recover from my games, like watching the 65th and 66th on television made a difference. That's why I mentor now. So maybe somehow, I can help some unfortunate kid make it through.
I live in District 11. I'm 20 years old. I won my Hunger Games when I was 17. I will never forget the horror of my Hunger Games. "You up, Maggie?" Chaff says, banging on my door and using my nickname, short for Magnolia. He's mentoring with me this year. "Yeah!" I call from inside. "Well, you better start getting ready, because we don't get none of those pretty stylists for Reaping Day," he continues. "I'll be out soon," I promise.
After I shower, get dressed, and do my hair and makeup, I head to my porch. Nobody's out in the Victor's Village. I head over to the square. It's packed as always. They haven't started yet though, so I run up the stage stairs and sit next to Chaff. Seeder is sitting on his other side and our one other living victor is next to her. Chaff and I are the only ones mentoring this year. I hope we can get our victor count up to five.
The district escort, Silvie, walks up to the stage. She's from the capital, so she's pretty stupid, but she's pleasant enough to talk to. She was the escort for my Games. Too soon, the Peacekeepers block the stairways and someone signals us to start.
Silvie starts talking about how excited she is, then the mayor makes his speech. Silvie walks over to the bowl of girl's names. My tribute. "Daisy Queens." I look out into the group of kids. A girl steps out from the fifteen year section. She looks strong enough. And she hasn't fainted, so that's a plus. Silvie calls the boy, a frail twelve year old named Quinton. The tributes shake hands and head to the visiting rooms.
Not bad, I think, not bad at all.
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