Hungry Hippo (286) | A Probie

As I walked out of fourth period on Thursday the twenty-third, I could feel that something in the air was different. Students were moving quicker than usual. Then, out of the corner of my eye, saw a kid bolting down the hall. Suddenly, more and more people were sprinting, pushing and shoving, all to get through the doors of the cafeteria. I asked myself, What’s happening? Should I be running too? Is there someone famous here? Perhaps, Drake? Adam Sandler? But no, it wasn’t them. It was something better—Thanksgiving Lunch. There was no time to spare. This was a win-or-lose, fight-or-flight situation. I needed to get in that line. I could see my friend down the hall; we gave each other that know- ing look. It was the Hunger Games, or should I say, the Hungry Games. We embodied Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, rushing to the Cornucopia. It was complete madness: kids screaming and yelling at their friends, and people cutting in lines attempting to grab the freebies—I did not know where to turn. I finally got to the line right as my friends did. We were allies, squeezing together in the line which was wrapped around the lunchroom. Everyone was sweating and out of breath. The kid in the front of the line, District 1, was glowing like royalty. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, we arrived at the front. The smell was beyond amazing. The mashed potatoes and the cookies were like gifts sent by sponsors, looking delectable. The Hawaiian bread was making my mouth water. Everyone was ecstatic. Still, there seemed to be hundreds of kids still waiting in the line, willing to do whatever it took to get a tray. 

Students continued to join the line long after we reached our victory. Walking to our table, we saw food being devoured, as if our peers hadn’t eaten in weeks. This day comes to Central only a couple times a year, and when it arrives, you know there will be competition brewing. We bite into our food, and flowers bloom, the sun shines, the whole world seems to smile. It is like nothing I have ever tasted, as if it is a meal from a five-star restaurant with the finest mashed potatoes and fried chicken known to man. People try to get back in line, hungry for more, failing their mission. The bell interrupts our feast. Many walked away as losers, without receiving a taste of the Cornucopia of a meal. We went back to classes with full stomachs, smiling while in a food haze, having just won the Hungry Games, and now all there was to do was wait for next year’s to arrive.