It’s Reaping Day, and I sit on the floor of my room, my whole body shaking with fright. This is the Twentieth year of the Fandom Games, and a girl and a boy will be reaped from every fandom.
I can only hope that they won’t choose me. If they do, I think I’ll die.
Now that sounds funny, doesn’t it! Of course I’ll die if they choose me! I’ll probably run off my pedestal before it’s time, and be blown up.
I get up, shaking off the bad thoughts. They might not choose us. There are lots of characters in our fandom! Perhaps the odds will be in my favor today.
I dress myself as nicely as possible. My older sister Dora knocks on the door of my room. She’s frightened, too. I think she’s as scared as I am, maybe more so. Her name’s in there twice as many times as mine.
“You okay, Alice?” she asks me. I give her a hug. “Yup. We’ll be fine. They’re not going to pick you.” She struggles. “Yeah, but they might pick you.”
I shake my head. “Don’t say that! Go and get some tea or something. I’ll be right there.”
She leaves the room, and I look at myself in a small mirror on my wall. I don’t look perfect, but I will do. I head downstairs, where my sister is at the table, drinking her tea. Our four brothers are fiddling about with their teacups, awkwardly wondering what to do.
Eventually we head to the square, where everyone from our books are assembled. Everyone is nervous, especially Daisy. She comes over to me and holds my hand. I grasp hers tightly. Oswald is trying to look noble, and Noel is obviously thinking up a piece of poetry. He’s been working on a piece called, “The Terror of the Games and Why they should be Abolished”. Dora told him that the name was a bit long, and he started to snivel. But now he’s just fidgeting around.
The “Grim Reaper” as Dicky affectionately named our equivalent of Effie Trinket, ascends the stage, and she looks around. She smiles lightly. “Happy Fandom Games!” she says. She picks out a slip from the girl’s bowl. “Daisy Foulkes”
I look over at Daisy. She is white as snow, she's still got a death-grip on Dora's hand, and she looks like she’s about to faint. I wouldn’t put it past her, actually. At the moment, however, all I can think of is how I will lose my friend. Even if she is slightly white-rattish, she’s never going to survive the Games.
I didn’t even realize it was my voice until later, but I heard someone cry out that they volunteered as tribute. Suddenly I hear the lady call out “Horus Octavius”, and I start when I realize that it’s our own H.O that’s been reaped. Dora bursts into loud tears, and I feel myself being dragged up to the stage with H.O. It’s over , I think.
I know that I’m no warrior queen. But, you know, I can always imagine.