EDITING CURRENTLY The Dinosaur Games | An Alternative 3rd Quarter Quell

The Reaping : Friend or Foe

Fawne, District 7

'Look on the brightside, there's a small chance I'll get picked.'

'The odds aren't exactly in my favour'

As her stomach flipped over and over again, Fawne sat on her bed with her head between her knees.

She was struck by repetitive pains and aches across her abdomen.

It churned and flipped again. She felt her eyes welling up and becoming heavy.

She had suffered terribly with nerves and anxiety since she was little but, on Reaping day, in a heightened state of emotion, she was a nervous wreck.

"Fawne," Her father called from the front door. "Are you ready? Sylvie's here."

Fawne slowly approached the door, keeping her eyes fixed on the creaky floorboards. But she could not help but force a small smile on the sight of her closest friend.

Sylvie put on a similar smile as she waited on the step, brushing the creases out of her beige dress.

The two girls joined arms and exited the cabin. The homely smell of pine plague their nostrils and the cold air chilled them to the bone.

Fawne hurried back to her dad, hugging him tightly as he whispered in her ear. "You'll be fine. I'll catch up later. Make sure you register and look for my face in the crowd."

"Love you dad" Fawne murmured into his shoulder.

He replied with the same and held her shoulders at arms length gripping them tightly. "Remember be brave no matter what."

Fawne rejoined arms with her friend and continued through the growing stream of teenagers towards the square.

Tearful parents waved from the verandas of cabins which lined the roads scattered with sorry looking children.

The centre of District 7 was not far away from the closest settlement where Fawne and Sylvie lived and could be easily reached on foot. Because of its size, most of the citizens travelled in by train, sleek silver snakes sliding through the landscape at 200mph.

As another train pulled into the station, streams of kids trudged onto the road from the worn concrete platform.

Then the girls approached Fawne's most dreaded part.

The Registry Injection.

Sylvie tucked her hair behind her ears and gently pushed in front of Fawne who gave a thankful smile.

The needle took a momental jab and her finger was pressed to the book, scanned and the womans white glove was outstretched, demanding her next victim.

Fawne could feel her breaths becoming more laboured. She walked, without thinking, up to the table, gave her hand and looked away.

The stab of the needle made her wretch, a sickening churn deep in her gut.

As soon as it was finished, she ran to catch up with Sylvie, holding the back of her hand to her mouth.

Her cheeks felt flushed and frail and she could help but feel thousands of eyes glaring into the back of her skull.

Every move watched, commented on and documented by Capitol commentators and hundreds of thousands of Panem citizens.

But the sight of her friend made that all go away.

They filed into a gap in the crowd of girls to their right, ushered ino the middle of the crowd according to their ages.

A metallic screech signalled the beginning of the Reaping. The Mayor of 7 had taken his place in a chair on the stage joined by his wife and several other important district citizens.

"Hello everyone!" Cried an over enthusiastic voice in distinct Capitol tones.

It was Savannah Latimer, the District 7 escort.

In her late twenties, Savannah had been an escort as long has Fawne's name had been entered in the draw. Like all Capitol residents, she was know for her distinctive dress sense and her huge appreciation for the Games.

Today, in honour of the districts main industry Lumber, she work a dress covered in several paper fans decorated with gems and painted blue tips to the fans, accessorised with a pair of baby blue high heels and a hand held fan.

Fluttering both her eyeslashes and the fan, she began her usual speech.

Then she started. "Today, we have a special film brought to you all the way from the Capitol!".

"War. Terrible War." The voice on the screen bellowed.

Both Fawne and Sylvie tutted frustratedly. They had seen this film three times every year.

Fawne searched for her dad in the crowd of outlying parents, scanning with eager eyes. Children too young for the Games lingered between coats and legs, hoping for the best on their siblings.

On the last line of the film, she could see Savannah mouth it word for word as of she'd heard as many times before as the tribute- to-be.

"Doesn't it give you chills?" The escort cried giving a small shake of her hips.

"Now lets choose this years tributes as usual, ladies first ..."

Fawne held her breath and grasped the hem of her shirt to stop her hands shaking.

Up on the stage, Savannah shuffled across to, what appeared to be, an upturned fish bowl filled with name slips.

Swaying on her heels, she held the slip infront of her, pinkie fingers outstretched.

"Fawne Livingstone!"