Then I was being chased around last year’s arena by an enormous pair of red lips that screamed at me to wake up, baring its sharp white teeth.
District One
My dreams were terrible, awful phantasms of black fog and aquamarine Grim Reapers, scythes carving an enormous number one in my chest. Then I was being chased around last year’s arena sejak an enormous pair of red lips that screamed at me to wake up, baring its sharp white teeth. Finally I tripped on some rocks and tumbled to the ground, and the red lips gripped me between sharp teeth and began to devour me.
“Shanti, get out of katil this second! Wake up! It’s Reaping Day, remember?”
And then I was pitched out of my nightmares to take my place in this nightmarish reality. My first Reaping Day. My mother was thrilled, her attractive features contorted into a sort of deranged joy. My mother, melati, jasmine Sultana, the victor of the fifty-eighth Hunger Games, had survived the hellish experience and now couldn’t wait to send me into it.
My mother is what some might call ‘a variation of the norm,’ and is also what some might call ‘a dangerous psychopath.’ Although most Victors prefer to avoid the Hunger Games after winning them, some even forging addictions to substances that helped them forget, my mother became obsessed with the games. And although most parents do not want their children sent to death in the Hunger Games, my participation in the Games is the entire reason I was born.
I’ve been told this fact so many times I roll my eyes every time she says it, like she does right now.
“Get out of bed,” she hissed, pulling my blankets and pillows away from me and tossing them about like a small child who isn’t getting her way. “The whole reason I gave birth to and raised anda is this day, and I will not let those twelve miserable years be wasted!” She yanked me out of the katil as she screamed at me, gripping into my flesh with her manicured nails. “So shower, put this on, and be quick about it!” She grabbed my training clothes from the dresser and shoved them at me, then strode out of the room muttering hateful words.
The clothing, propelled sejak her fists, knocked me to the ground as I surrendered as I always did to her hate-fueled parenting. I nodded mutely as I trudged into the pristine bathroom and shut the door behind me, then pulling my bedclothes off of my small, bruised and abused body. I was rather small for my age, looking ten rather than twelve, and my mother used this as another reason to scream at me, saying that midgets didn’t win the Hunger Games. Midgets also didn’t win fistfights with their mothers, as evidenced sejak the fresh row of bruises that had materialized over my scrawny brown rib cage overnight.
I stepped away from the mirror and into the luxurious shower, unable to look at my bruise-speckled body any longer. After I’d showered I dressed in my training clothes, which was what I wore when my mother gave me lessons in how to take a beating. Not that I hadn’t learned fighting skills from her, because I had, but these training sessions inevitably ending with her fist slamming into my face. People often remarked on my mother’s fiery temper, but anda didn’t know her temper until it had broken your jaw, as it had when I was seven.
Now dressed in the stretchy black pants and T-shirt, I bolted downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to sneak some Makanan before I had to begin training.
No such luck. My mother was waiting in the velvet-upholstered sofa sejak the stairs, and she called out at me as I headed for the kitchen. “Where do anda think you’re going? If anda want any chance of winning the Games, anda need to train with me as much as anda can before anda leave.”
Wow, she spoke as though I’d already been reaped. My mother grabbed me and dragged me into the training room, just because she enjoyed dragging me around like a rag doll, enjoyed the chance to dig her nails into my flesh. “Now,” she commanded, loosing me as we entered the room. “Prove to me anda aren’t a complete waste of human resources.”
The training room was an airy space, containing weapons and dummies and mats for fighting on that we never used because my mother prefered to shove me into the cold hard linoleum. If my mother had her way, I would be what some called a Career Tribute. And my mother always had her way. She instructed me to practice with a dagger, and I did, stabbing and jabbing at her but not wounding her because she was wearing armor. She insulted my stance, the fact my eyebrows were not shaved, and many other arbitrary things, and I responded sejak fighting with such ferocity I might as well have been in the actual arena.
This continued for several interminable hours, the growling of my stomach growing ever louder, as I fought my armor-covered mother. sejak the time we were finished, it was past one, and we would need to hurry if we wanted to be at the Reaping on time. “Why didn’t anda tell me what time it was?” my mother screeched at me, slapping in my face. But it was a softer slap than usual. Most likely she wanted me to look good on camera if I was chosen as tribute.
Once again I was dragged sejak my mother, back up into my room to dress for the Reaping. For some reason, I’d been expecting my mother to dress me in something elaborate, to look good on camera, but instead she tied my wispy black hair back with two purple ribbons, and slipped a rather child-like silky merah jambu gaun over my battered body. Then my mother smiled at me, as if proud of her handiwork. “You look quite nice, Shanti,” she said, and for the first time in twelve years I felt an almost motherly bond towards my mother. “Well, actually you’re a stupid ugly failure, but at least anda look nice,” she couldn’t help but adding.
Boy, that motherly bond sure dissipates fast.
After my mother changes into a pretty sparkly blue dress, she begins to drag me to the square for the Reaping. My mother’s demonic smile has returned.
And the Grim Reaper is hovering over me.
link
*I hope anda liked Chapter One, hopefully it wasn't too terrible, and I'll get better!*
“Well, actually you’re a stupid ugly failure, but at least you LOOK nice,” she couldn’t help but adding.
“It’s me, surprise, surprise!”
