Before the Rebellion
Heather
It was the reaping day. I trembled in fear. It was my third reaping, but I was still just as frightened as I was during my first, when I was twelve. Even though my name was only entered into the drawing three times (therefore making me one of the least likely to be chosen), I still feared that the odds were not in my favor. I was a District 11 kid, after all.
“Heather!” my father yelled.
“Coming!” I yelled back.
I opened my jewelry box. All that was in it was feathers. Feathers of all sizes and colors. I chose the prettiest one I owned. It was neon pink around the edges, but then it turned into a variety of colors that lined it; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, black, and then a white center. The bird it was from was called a flamhummingo. It was a muttation of a flamingo and a humming bird. I never truly understood how it got the lively colors that it had, but it did. It was beautiful, too.
I had tied a white piece of string around the base of the feather, and quickly tied it into my hair.
“Heather!”
“Coming!”
“You said that five minutes ago!”
“This time I mean it!” I said as I walked down the steps.
“It’s about time. The reaping’s about to start,” my father said.
He was a man with dark hair that was beginning to gray, and a fit figure. His blue-gray eyes were the same as mine, and that was the only feature we shared. For a man of about fifty years, he looked great.
“I’m thinking of mixing up the speech this time,” he said. “How does this sound: It’s always a great honor—”
“Don’t spoil it for me, dad,” I said, desperate not to hear his speech.
“Right,” he said, nodding. “I’ll just surprise you, then, princess.”
Incase you’re wondering why my dad would be giving a speech, let me fill you in: He’s the mayor. Tinker Noble was mayor of District 11.
He kissed my forehead, and led me out of our home. We went to the town square, where they took our fingerprints and names. This was how they kept track of the population. Then I was sent to where the other fifteen year-old girls to wait for a name to be drawn.
It was a good half an hour later before everyone had gathered. Then my father gave a speech, and then Cheshire Waller gave his speech.
Cheshire Waller was a man in his late twenties. He had bright pink and purple striped hair, and neon pink eyes. His powdered white face contrasted to his full bright purple lips. He was about six and a half feet tall, and bulky with muscles.
“Ladies first, of course,” Cheshire said. He waddled over to the orb in his pink leather pants. Then he stuck his hand in, and pulled out the slip. “Peach Overtoom,” he announced.
I gasped. Peach Overtoom had just turned twelve today. She didn’t deserve to die. She was too young.
Peach had chestnut brown hair, and baby blue eyes. She was tanned, like most of the District, from working outside all the time. She was barely five feet tall, probably 4’9” to be exact.
I felt sick, and I looked around to see that nobody was looking at little Peach. She was being escorted up the steps when I finally found my voice.
“I volunteer!” I yelled.
“Well, look at that! A volunteer!” Cheshire said as I was escorted up the steps.
I could see the panicked look in my father’s eyes, but mostly, there was respect.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Cheshire asked.
“Heather. Heather Noble,” I replied.
“The mayor’s daughter?” he asked with raised eyebrows. I gave a crisp nod.
“Well, time for the gentlemen!” Cheshire Waller said. He waddled over to the other orb. “And the lucky fella is… Thor Hare!”
No. Anybody but him. Anyone but the boy who mocked and ridiculed me, who shoved me down and beat me up. Anybody else!
“Well, may the odds be ever in your favor!”
Obviously, they weren’t.
Then I was escorted into the place where my father worked by bulky guys in brightly colored uniforms. Capitol guards, I guess. I was left in a room all by myself, that was until my father barged in, furious.
“What were you thinking, Heather?” he demanded angrily.
“Peach is only twelve. She doesn’t deserve to die!” I defended.
“Nobody deserves to die,” he said, more calmly. “But you’re not that much older than her, princess. And I can’t bare to lose you, too.”
There were tears in his eyes as he embraced me. I started crying, too. How would my father go on without me? He already lost my mother to starvation, and now he was going to lose me to the Games.
“Promise me you’ll try to win. You’ll try with all your heart to win.”
I nodded. “I swear, dad.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl.”
“Time’s up.” One of the bulky men ripped my father away from me.
The next guest was Peach. “Why’d you do it?” she asked, sniffling.
“Because you don’t deserve to die,” I replied.
“But neither do you!” she cried. “You could’ve gotten married, had children, done everything that I’ll probably never do.”
“But now you have the chance to,” I said. “I’m gonna win, kid. For you.”
She sniffled. “You better come back alive.”
“Heather!” my father yelled.
“Coming!” I yelled back.
I opened my jewelry box. All that was in it was feathers. Feathers of all sizes and colors. I chose the prettiest one I owned. It was neon pink around the edges, but then it turned into a variety of colors that lined it; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, black, and then a white center. The bird it was from was called a flamhummingo. It was a muttation of a flamingo and a humming bird. I never truly understood how it got the lively colors that it had, but it did. It was beautiful, too.
I had tied a white piece of string around the base of the feather, and quickly tied it into my hair.
“Heather!”
“Coming!”
“You said that five minutes ago!”
“This time I mean it!” I said as I walked down the steps.
“It’s about time. The reaping’s about to start,” my father said.
He was a man with dark hair that was beginning to gray, and a fit figure. His blue-gray eyes were the same as mine, and that was the only feature we shared. For a man of about fifty years, he looked great.
“I’m thinking of mixing up the speech this time,” he said. “How does this sound: It’s always a great honor—”
“Don’t spoil it for me, dad,” I said, desperate not to hear his speech.
“Right,” he said, nodding. “I’ll just surprise you, then, princess.”
Incase you’re wondering why my dad would be giving a speech, let me fill you in: He’s the mayor. Tinker Noble was mayor of District 11.
He kissed my forehead, and led me out of our home. We went to the town square, where they took our fingerprints and names. This was how they kept track of the population. Then I was sent to where the other fifteen year-old girls to wait for a name to be drawn.
It was a good half an hour later before everyone had gathered. Then my father gave a speech, and then Cheshire Waller gave his speech.
Cheshire Waller was a man in his late twenties. He had bright pink and purple striped hair, and neon pink eyes. His powdered white face contrasted to his full bright purple lips. He was about six and a half feet tall, and bulky with muscles.
“Ladies first, of course,” Cheshire said. He waddled over to the orb in his pink leather pants. Then he stuck his hand in, and pulled out the slip. “Peach Overtoom,” he announced.
I gasped. Peach Overtoom had just turned twelve today. She didn’t deserve to die. She was too young.
Peach had chestnut brown hair, and baby blue eyes. She was tanned, like most of the District, from working outside all the time. She was barely five feet tall, probably 4’9” to be exact.
I felt sick, and I looked around to see that nobody was looking at little Peach. She was being escorted up the steps when I finally found my voice.
“I volunteer!” I yelled.
“Well, look at that! A volunteer!” Cheshire said as I was escorted up the steps.
I could see the panicked look in my father’s eyes, but mostly, there was respect.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Cheshire asked.
“Heather. Heather Noble,” I replied.
“The mayor’s daughter?” he asked with raised eyebrows. I gave a crisp nod.
“Well, time for the gentlemen!” Cheshire Waller said. He waddled over to the other orb. “And the lucky fella is… Thor Hare!”
No. Anybody but him. Anyone but the boy who mocked and ridiculed me, who shoved me down and beat me up. Anybody else!
“Well, may the odds be ever in your favor!”
Obviously, they weren’t.
Then I was escorted into the place where my father worked by bulky guys in brightly colored uniforms. Capitol guards, I guess. I was left in a room all by myself, that was until my father barged in, furious.
“What were you thinking, Heather?” he demanded angrily.
“Peach is only twelve. She doesn’t deserve to die!” I defended.
“Nobody deserves to die,” he said, more calmly. “But you’re not that much older than her, princess. And I can’t bare to lose you, too.”
There were tears in his eyes as he embraced me. I started crying, too. How would my father go on without me? He already lost my mother to starvation, and now he was going to lose me to the Games.
“Promise me you’ll try to win. You’ll try with all your heart to win.”
I nodded. “I swear, dad.”
He smiled. “That’s my girl.”
“Time’s up.” One of the bulky men ripped my father away from me.
The next guest was Peach. “Why’d you do it?” she asked, sniffling.
“Because you don’t deserve to die,” I replied.
“But neither do you!” she cried. “You could’ve gotten married, had children, done everything that I’ll probably never do.”
“But now you have the chance to,” I said. “I’m gonna win, kid. For you.”
She sniffled. “You better come back alive.”