My District Ain't No Rainbow ~Hunger Games in Rue's POV~
I've never read the Hunger Games from Rue's POV. I've read it from Foxface's (http://www.quibblo.com/quiz/eZaCYIE/Blood-Betrayals-and-Berries-A-Foxface-Story); I've read it from Clove's (http://www.quibblo.com/quiz/fA7tMP_/To-Be-A-Carrer-A-Very-Clove-Story) (and these are two of my favorite Quibblonian stories); but never from Rue's. And I just thought that her side of the story needed to be portrayed.
In case you're wondering, the picture is of the Rue flower, for which she was named
My District's Misfortunes
We are a very big family, but not how you'd think. I have six sisters--Annie, Meelah, Dandelion, Cotton, Retia, and Betelsah. I have three brothers--Donny, Oaker, and Willow. There's me, or course, and then there's Grandma and Pa, who have raised us all, seeing as Ma died when I was only a baby, and I'm the youngest. But Dandelion--Dandy for short--is only six years older than me, and she's the oldest. I'm only twelve.
Grandma wants to make such a grand dinner tonight because it's Reaping Day today, and, like it or not, one of us is likely to get Reaped. There are ten of us, and we each have taken tesserae. Dandy is most likely to get Reaped, seeing as she has her name entered one hundred three times. I, the "luckiest," have my name entered thirteen times. Everyone else varies from fourteen to one hundred two entries. One of us got Reaped last year, Cotton, it was, and her best friend, Reali, volunteered. We watched in sorrow as Reali got killed by a District 1 tribute, who just so happened to win that year. All my sisters and I cried, but Cotton went insane. She went into the bathroom for days, hoping, waiting, wanting for Reali to come back. When she finally did come out of the bathroom, I talked to her. I told her that we would all miss Reali, and as much as we want her to come back, she gone. Cotton finally realized where her friend died, and now she's as furious with the Capitol as the rest of us are. That made Pa happy.
"Grandma," I say as we enter one of the small crops stores in District 11.
Grandma walks straight over to the corn and shucks a few stalks. "Can I go get dressed for Reaping Day?"
"Oh, yes," Grandma say, paying attention more to the corn than to me. "Make sure that everyone else is, too. Then get your Pa to take you all to the Square to be ready for the Reapings."
"I will, Grandma. Will you come home before it starts?" I ask, putting back a rotten stalk of corn that Grandma must have overlooked.
"Stupid eyesight," Grandma mutters. "No. I'm going to get dinner started, and meet you all over there. Good luck, and get your butt on over there, child, or else you'll be late."
I rush home, stopping to wave when I see my best friend ever, Lilac. She joins me, already ready for Reapings.
"You look beautiful," I say, rubbing the soft fabric that makes up her soft spring-green dress. "You always do."
Lilac smiles. "Thank you, Rue. Why are you not ready yet?"
"I'm on my way home. Do you want to come with me?" I ask.
"Sure," Lilac says, and we skip the rest of the way to my house.
When we arrive, everyone is already dressed. Cotton says that she has laid out one of her dressed for me. A blue dress, with white, pink and yellow flowers.
"Thank you!" I call as I get dresses.
I hear a faint, "Your welcome," from Cotton, followed by a yawn.
I slip on the dress and let my curly, dark hair fall loosely on my shoulders, put a pale pink bow in.
Lilac questions my bow, and frowns. "Is it really necessary?" she asks.
"No, but I've got to look pretty if I go to the Capitol," I say, and this gets her to smile, a nearly impossible task.
We all head out to the Square, and I see that the Mayor has begun his speech. It looks like we were late, anyway, Grandma, but thanks for letting me leave early.
Before I walk to the twelve-year-old section, hugging all nine of my siblings and whispering, "I love you," and "Good luck," and "Don't get reaped," into each others' ears. We do this every year, just hoping maybe, maybe, that this will help save each other from what could possibly be our deaths.
It never works.
The mayor quickly finishes his speech--he must have been far into it when we arrived--and our escort, Belle Sparrow, steps up to the podium and says the traditional, "Ladies first!" that all escorts say and sticks her hand deep into the ball. Everyone sucks in a sharp breath of air, and I'm about to let it out, because it looks like a really long name, and my name is very short, and Belle says, "Rue Peds!" and most people around me let out their air, but I start coughing, because I hold mine in too long.
Lilac gets down on her knees and begins to weep.
Cotton screams, "Don't go, Rue! Don't go!" and Betelsah says, "Rue!" but I walk up to the stage, and Belle says, "Any volunteers?" and no one comes up.
It's better me than one of them, I think, and it is. I mean, if it was just any them, I wouldn't have volunteered, either, but if it was Cotton, I would. She's the closest to me.
Belle walks over to the boys' ball and picks up a slip from the top and says, "Thresh McMount!" and this huge guy walk up from the eighteen-year-old section. No one says a word.
"Any volunteers?" Belle asks. No sound. "Well, then there you have it! Your two new District 11 tributes! Rue Peds and Thresh McMount!"