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“One of us is definitely gonna get picked today. You know how racist that King Link is!” A bald dark skinned man retorted as he ordered a beer from the bar.
“Dizzy you know its completely random, everyones name is in that bowl.” Replied a girl of equal race with short dirty black hair that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a while.
“So you say Gen, so you say.” Dizzy said “But it ****ing wouldn’t surprise me if those bastards put our names in to the bowl like a hundred off times to increase our chances of being chosen.”
“Don’t be so ****ing pessimistic!” Gen responded angrily. “You’re like this every ****ing year and we still haven’t been picked so shut the **** up!”
“Yeh but look how many other ****ing ******s get picked! One every ****ing year. Now you look around here and tell me how many other ******s you see?! Huh?! Not that many eh?” Dizzy shouted “They’re ****ing rigging it I tell ya!”
“God you piss me off Dizzy.” Gen stared daggers in to his eyes. “We may be married but I really hate you sometimes.”
With that Gen got up and stormed off through the door of the pub. “**** him!” She said to herself. “Every year is the same…”
She started to wander slowly towards the District Square where the Draw was being held.
When she got there, unsurprisingly, it was pretty empty. There was still an hour to the Draw, and she suspected most people were still in the pubs, drinking away the reality of today.
The district square wasn’t much to look at. It basically was a large area of mud formed in to the shape of a square. A wooden stage had been erected at one end though.
She spied a small trio of young men at the other end of the square, kicking about what looked to be a poorly custom made soccer ball. They must be too young to drink, she thought. She hoped they were also younger than 16, too young to be in the Draw for The Games.
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“Man I can’t wait til next year when we can actually get drunk before the Draw” said Han, kicking the ball accurately to his friends feet.
“Yeh, not being old enough to drink, but being old enough for tribute selection is a ****ing joke!” Mik responded, passing the ball onwards to the third and final member of their little group.
Whatis controlled the ball and looked up at the wooden stage at the other end of the square to where they were playing. “It would be a total ***** if one of us was selected and we had never tasted alcohol.” He said.
He then turned to them and smiled. “Which is why I brought this!” He pulled out a small dirty tin flask from the back pocket of his ripped and scruffy shorts.
“What the hell is that?!” Han asked, mesmerised.
“It’s a drinking flask” Whatis answered. “I stole it from my Dad and filled it with some of his beer he had left over.”
The drinking age in District 5 was 18. But the age to be eligible for The Hunger Games was 16. The three boys were all 17, and in that horrible limbo age where you couldn’t drink. Drinking underage was highly illegal and if caught, was punishable by death, so many didn’t dare do it.
“Oh man…” Mik said, looking around him, but the Square was deserted, except for a black woman who was now facing away from them.
“Ok” Han said “Lets drink it quickly before anyone sees.”
“My thoughts exactly” Whatis smiled as he undid the cap of the flask and took a swig.
He immediately spluttered and coughed. “Ugh!” He exclaimed. “It tastes like ****!”
“Here lemme taste” Han outstretched his hand and grabbed the flask. After one swig he came to the same conclusion, wincing slightly as he swallowed. “Yeh… That is disgusting.”
“Give it here you babies” Mik grabbed the flask and took a gulp.
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