The Halfbood Games

When I wake up, the other side of my bed is cold. I stretch my legs, enjoying what little peace I can manage at this point. I look over and see my brother Tyson lying with his blanket on the floor by me. he must have had bad dreams and climbed in here. of course he did. today is the day of the reaping.
I prop myself up on my elbow, looking at my brother. he wasn't like any other kid his age. his hair was messier, and he was taller. and one of his eyes was totally useless.
Sitting at Tyson's feet is the scariest little dog in the world. it looked as though it was made to be a huge dog, but it is the size of a chihuahua. it looks like a shrunken Doberman-whatever-it's-called. Tyson named her Mrs. O' Leary, insisting that 'A nice puppy needs a nice name'. the only problem is that I actually kinda' like the dog.
I swing my legs off the bed and slide into my shorts. I pull on a stretchy shirt and run a hand through my black hair, grabbing my net and a pen that I always keep with me. it's an ordinary pen, but I somehow feel safer when it's with me.
Our part of District 4, nicknamed the Scale, is usually crawling with fishermen at this early hour. men and women with hunched shoulders, dreading another day of hard work and fish. but today I find the streets empty. the reaping isn't until 2:00. might as well sleep in if you can.
Our house is at the edge of the Scale. I only pass a few houses to reach the barbed wire fence surrounding the District. they say the twenty-foot fence is to keep wild animals out, but all the people in District 4 know that it's probably the other way around. even so, there are many faulty parts in the fence, so I easily roll under a slightly raised bit.
As soon as I've crossed the dense, dry grassy field that our District calls the Meadow, I am walking on the soft dry sand. I sink to the ground, feeling somehow empowered by the smells and the feeling of belonging. but soon I find myself walking again, around a large mound of sandy rocks and into a small alcove.
In the alcove waits the only person that I really smile at anymore, other than my friend Grover. Her name is Rachel. I feel myself relax more at the sight of my best friend.
"Hey, Seaweed Brain," she says. my eye twitches. it doesn't sound quite right when she calls me that.
My name was actually Percy, but Rachel had given me the nickname Seaweed Brain because I loved eating seaweed. then once when I was swimming with her, I came out of a wave with a mound of seaweed in my hair, which just added fuel to the fire.
"Look what I caught," Rachel says, flicking her bright red curls out of the way so that she could see better. She holds up a fishing pole with a loaf of bread dangling from the hook, and I chuckle. It's real bakery bread, not the salty stuff we bake back home with our rations. I take it in my hands, pulling it off the hook, and take a large bite out of the soft crust with many cries of displeasure from Rachel.
"Wait! we were supposed to eat it with the cheese I brought!"
"I don't want any cheese," I say stubbornly, chewing the bread.
"It's blue cheese," Rachel says tantalisingly. at this I jump up and cry "where?!"
She hands me a bit of the blue cheese and we munch away happily.
"What a good feast," says Rachel sarcastically. she suddenly falls into a Capitol accent as she mimics Medusa Trinket, the maniacally upbeat woman who arrives once per year to read out names at the reaping. "I almost forgot! happy hunger games," we say the next part together, "and may the gods be ever in your favor..."
After a long time of waiting and chewing awkwardly, Rachel finally speaks up again.
"You could do it, you know," she says.
"What?"
"Volunteer and win the games. I suppose I could try too. we could both make it."
"If I didn't have Tyson," I corrected her.
"Is it just because protecting your own brother seems more worth it than protecting someone else's brother?"
I don't know how to respond.
"I never want to have kids," I say.
"Well I might... if I didn't live here, she replies cautiously.
"But you do," I remind her.
"Forget it," she says wearily.
The conversation feels all wrong. Rachel would be the one to have kids- she won't have any trouble finding a husband. she's good-looking, she's strong enough to handle fishing, and she can make fishing hooks out of close to nothing.
Once we're done hanging out and fishing, the two of us head back to the academy for the final training day before the reaping. unlike usual, we spend the day with mainly prep talks and simple skills like fire building. once we're done I am separated from Rachel, but I know I'll see her at the reaping.
At home, I find my mother Sally and my brother Tyson are ready to go. my mother wears a fine dress from the days when she worked at the sweets store. Tyson wears his cleanest, least-ripped shirt and a pair of black pants.
A tub of warm water waits for me to bathe, but I deny it, lying and saying I took a swim and washed off. to my surprise, my mother has laid out my clothes already, along with a small necklace of clay beads, each with a design on it.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"Of course," she says, giving me a tired smile. "the necklace was your father's. he would want you to wear it," she said. the I let her deal with my unruly hair, and eventually she has smoothed it all out.
"You look pretty Percy," says Tyson, laughing. I chuckle too to let off some nerves. I pat him on the back, knowing that these next few hours will be tough for him. they always are.
I protect Tyson in every way I can, but I'm powerless against the reaping. the anguish I always feel when he's in pain wells up in my chest and threatens to register on my face, but I force myself to stay calm. I tell myself that it's not as bad here as it is in other districts, and that helps.
"Come on, we had better get going," my mom says sadly, breaking my train of thought.
We head to the square. attendance is mandatory unless you are on death's door. this evening, officials will come around and check if that is the case. if not, you'll be imprisoned.
People file in silently and sign in. the reaping is a good opportunity for the Capitol to keep tabs on the population as well. twelve through eighteen-year-olds are herded into roped areas marked off by age.
The space gets tighter as more people arrive. the square is large, but not enough to hold all of District 4's residents.
On a stage ahead are two podiums with giant glass bowls. the bowls with each child's name on a slip of paper, safely concealed inside. Only fourteen say Percy Jackson on them, but I worry anyway.
Just as the clock strikes two, the mayor steps up and begins to do a long speech about the reason the games are held. he lists numerous disasters throughout Panem, which was once called North America, and many brutal wars. the result was one shining Capitol ringed by thirteen outlying districts, each with a job assigned to it. District 4 is fishing. then came the dark days, in which a rebellion was started up. eventually, the Capitol and their peacekeepers defeated District 13, obliterating it from Panem. in reminder of the wars we brought upon ourselves in the dark days, it was decreed that one male and one female tribute from each of the 12 remaining Districts would annually compete in a death match on live television called The Hunger Games.
Then he reads the list of victors that our district has had. the list goes on and on, not stopping until it reaches my brother Finnick's name. Finnick died two years after he won, to the disappointment of his many lovers from the Capitol. sense any resentment in my tone? good. I resented Finnick, yes, but deep down I miss him even more than I miss my father.
In the middle, before he says Finnick's name, he also says "Mr. Dionysis, the mentor for this year." mr Dionysus, or Mr. D, was a drunk who legally changed his first name to mister and last name to Dionysus. don't ask me why. he was drunk.
Bright and bubbly as ever, Medusa Trinket trots onto the stage and gives her signature "happy hunger games! and may the gods be EVER in your favor!" her writhing, mechanical green hair must be a wig, because her coiled metal snakes have shifted slightly left since a drunken Mr. D had stumbled onto the stage and tried hugging her. .
Through the crowd, I spot Rachel looking back at me with a ghost of a smile. as far as reapings go, at least this one has some degree of entertainment. but then I think of the likelihood of Rachel getting reaped, and I find myself sobering up immediately. she has her name in the bowl 29 times. the gods aren't exactly in her favor.
What was with that saying, anyway? few of the residents of the Districts are religious, so it doesn't make much sense. whatever.
It's time. Medusa Trinket says as she always does, "gentlemen first!" and adjusts her large, dark sunglasses, crossing to the glass bowl. she reaches in, digging around and trying her best to give an illusion of suspense. of course, the children are all feeling suspended anyway, but she's overdoing it.
The crowd draws a collective breath as Medusa pulls out a slip. I'm feeling nauseous and I'm so desperately hoping its not me. it isn't me. it can't be me.
She crosses back to center stage, smoothes out the paper, and reads the name. And it's not me.
It's Tyson Jackson.

Notes

ok, what do you think? so far so good? let me know!