Hunger Games 1. Platinum Wyatt (D1)

**Platinum Wyatt, District One.**

"Platinum! Hey, Platinum!" The shout of voices calling my name and the sound of a shower of pebbles bouncing onto my window are the sounds that drag me away from my mirror.

There are three figures standing in the street. Each one is wearing casual everyday training clothes; they seem surprised at my appearance as I am wearing a silken nightgown.

"Aren't you coming training?" Beauty shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth to make her voice travel.

"No." I answer simply, shaking my head.

"It's reapening day!" Garnet reminds me. As if I'd forget! "It's the last chance you've got to impress the trainers."

I've already impressed them. I don't need to bother.

"Come on platinum!" Onyx the only boy in the group says "They might choose you to represent the district. Think of the honour."

They have chosen me.

I send the trio of 'friends' away. Once I'm victor won't have to bother with unimportant little nobodies like them. I will just have my own select group of friends in victor's village. Imagine mixing with commoners once I'm rich! The thought repulses me. As for training on reapening day, that's for the desperate. The ones who are useless but want all the pride and glory.

The people who actually are volunteering are told beforehand so they have time to make themselves look even more glamorous than usual. That's me, this year.

At the end of my private training tuition they just told me. Topaz, last year's victor, made a surprise visit and gave me the good news. This year I shall be the one to bring money, pride, food and other riches back from the arena. Since I've got the place, I don't need to bother training. They chose me so I must be powerful, at the top of my game.

What I really need to do is impress that hard to please capitol audience. And the best way to do that is with a gorgeous dress and an elaborate hairstyle.

I fly around my room taking out the best outfits I have. I've always looked fabulous on reaping day but since this year I'll actually be the one to sparkle in the limelight and be crowned victor this has to be extra special. First impressions count.

On one of my walls mother made be pin a collection of photographs that show me on reapening day since my first eligible year.

I remember my first reapening like it was yesterday. My photograph shows me as an afraid little twelve year old. I was powerful, I know I was but I was unready. My dress was one that stood out in the crowd, a blood red one with feathers strung about the neckline and strappy shoes with a heart shaped silver locket sliding amongst the feathers.

In the second my face is a bright beaming smile. I had made a bet that Diamond Kemp would volunteer. I was right. The bag slung casually around the shoulders of my shining silver gorgeous dress is full of coins. I felt richer, powerful and happy. Diamond actually lost her games so I was forced to give the money back plus a lot more.

My third reapening dress was the worst out of the lot. My family is one of the richest in the whole of District One but even we are poor sometimes. So I had to wear a dress I was ashamed of, a pale pink dress with a trim of pearls around the hem and sleeves. I felt ugly and old-fashioned and prim and poor. It's a surprise I let mother take that photograph with the families camera. Looking at the photograph now, I actually look quite pretty. The frown forming on my forehead ruins the look a little, though.

The fourth makes me look absolutely drop dead gorgeous and totally fabulous. That year was the year my mother's sister from the capitol had come to stay. She had worked as a stylist for a while, my aunt Claritia, and after moving to a new job she wanted to pick up fashion again, just to make sure she still had the talent. She definitely still had talent. My dress was made entirely out of brightly coloured ribbons with a sticking out tutu skirt. We went to the reapening early, that year because my aunt knew the escort. We still have that same escort now; she told me I would make a perfect District One tribute. Perhaps she still does? She must. I have done nothing but gain looks and beauty since then.

Last year, when I was sixteen, my dress was plain but beautiful. A symbol of my elegance. It was a Champagne colour with sparkling golden swirls spread over the skirt, a darker golden ribbon tied around my waist to show my curves. I look like a princess from one of those fairy tales my mother seems to love. A thing of great beauty.

Now I need to top all of that. How is that even possible?

I can't wear any of those other dresses. Wearing a dress twice to the reapening is just plain wrong.

As I flick through the clothes in my wardrobe I mutter how they would look at the reapening. Dull, boring, horrible, old, just plain awful…the words continue falling from my mouth as I continue looking. Disgusting, babyish, prim….wonderful.

It's a dress I brought in advance last year. A few weeks before the reapening I was sure we were getting poor again. To save the embarrassment of my third year I brought another. Not extremely expensive or fantastic, but beautiful. Then the day before the reapening father came into some money and took me to this wonderful tailor in the square of the district. Normally all the clothes were luxuries sent to the capitol, the ones too luxurious for District Eight to produce. But because it was a lot of money that my father had got, I had a special dress fitting.

This one, the one I brought beforehand is a gorgeous strapless gown with an elegant silky full length skirt. The colour is a pale green that shines as I move it.

"Perfect," I whisper to myself as one of my hands reaches to stroke the silky fabric.

I pair the dress with simple pale green pumps and tug my pale blonde hair into a messy bun. Not capitalistic but as close as I can get.

I dress in the beautiful costume. I will be at home amongst the stars at the capitol. I will be one of the stars in the capitol. I will be the biggest and most fantastic star in the capitol. They're going to love me.

"Platinum!" Another voice calls my name; this voice belongs to my mother. "Platinum, honey, it's time for the reapening! Are you ready?"

"Coming!"

We take the car to the square. Not because the square is an incredibly long way off but because not many in District One are rich enough to own one and we like showing off.

I meet with the trio that disturbed my hunt for the perfect reapening outfit this morning as we sign into the square.

"Who was chosen to volunteer then?" I ask, as we walk to our separate sections, not only to make conversation but also because I need to know who the other person is. Enemy? Ally? Friend? Foe?

"They said the girl wanted to keep it secret," Beauty explains "I wonder who it is."

"And the boy?" I ask a little too eagerly.

"Quartz Kensington," Onyx replies bitterly, I suppose he wanted the place "He only got the place because his fathers the mayor and his brother a victor"

That's true. Quartz is pretty good with the sword and knife, but nothing more than that. He's just good. Not extremely fantastic like me. He's just average.

We take our places as the mayor gives his speech. Normally I listen intently at this point but I am too overcome with excitement to really take it in. Then the escort takes the stage.

"Now it's time to choose our courageous young man and woman," she babbles along her usual speech. I wish she would just get to the point! I'm almost bursting with excitement.

Finally she crosses to the reapening bowl and selects a single slip of paper.

"Emerald Barton" she yells into the microphone.

"I volunteer!" My voice rings across the square and I rush up to the stage.

"Wonderful, a volunteer!" the escort goes on with her usual prattle "And what is your name, my dear?"

"Platinum Wyatt" I say proudly into the microphone she has thrust towards me.

"Wonderful!" she says again before wandering over to select the boy.

I take in the expressions of everyone. The proud surprised smiles on my parents faces, the anger of the eighteen year old girls who just missed this chance, the shock of Beauty, Garnet and Onyx. And Topaz is smiling, Topaz, my hero, my mentor.

But he's not smiling at me; he has a look of pride as Quartz takes his place next to me.

"And your name?" Our escort says.

"Quartz Kensington" he says simply. With no honour, power or pride.

Then it hits me. Quartz Kensington. Topaz Kensington. They're brothers.

Topaz will automatically send all of our sponsor gifts to Quartz. He won't want me to win if his brother can.

"Shake hands, you two." The escort says, pushing us closer together, making our hand meet, "Come on now, don't be shy."

As I shake hands with Quartz four words flash through my mind: I will kill you.


	2. Rhea Dunbar (D2)

**Rhea Dunbar, District Two**

"Let's try it a couple of steps back," My private training tutor Aelianus says.

I automatically take a few steps back and lift the spear. I release it and a few seconds later the thunk that means I've hit the target reaches my ears.

"Are you volunteering this year?" Aelianus says, casually, as if he's just making conversation.

"I thought I might try it," I reply in an equally casual voice. "It is my last year, you know."

"Well, if you do try volunteering and someone gets their first, don't attack her." He tells me half-seriously, half-jokingly.

That did happen, actually, a couple of years ago. Calysta May had volunteered but this other girl (Who I can't remember the name of) rushed up onto the stage and hit Calysta. All the time this girl was yelling that she had bagsied the place in her training centre. It ended up as a bit of a fistfight, and the peacekeepers ended up dragging the girl away, screaming. Nobody ever saw her again.

I shiver a little at the thought: "You know I'm not like that," I tell Aelianus.

It's my way of promising I definitely won't.

"Ten more minutes," Aelianus says with a nod, "What will it be? Throwing knifes or sword?"

"Sword." I reply, lifting one of the large blades from its stand.

Ten minutes later I emerge from the private gym covered in sweat. I charge towards the changing room since there are only two hours until reapening time. But there are two girls in the room, arguing.

I don't know them, not well, just enough to wave hello. The girls are the identical twins Tiberia and Traiana that have shared the session after me for ages.

"For God's sake, Traiana!" Tiberia yells "You are not going into the Hunger Games!"

"What do you think all this training is for? Not to go in?" Her twin fires back. Before either says another word they become aware of my presence. Traiana scoots off into the training room, calling for her sister to follow her.

Its strange Traiana wants to volunteer, since she is only sixteen.

Tiberia doesn't follow; she stays on the wooden bench.

"She's pregnant," She says, though I'm not sure if she's talking to herself or me. Before I can give any sort of response she calls out again, this time angry and shouting, "She's just found out she's pregnant and she wants to be in the games! She wants to die!"

Hot tears of anger and fury start to fall down her cheeks.

"Careers don't cry," I say, quietly.

"I'm no career," Her tears still flow "That's just what our father wants. Traiana just wants the glory."

"Don't worry about your sister," I say "I'm volunteering this year, she won't have a chance."

As we go our separate ways I know I can't break what I just said. My words to that broken girl are more important than my own thirst for glory and power. I have to volunteer for the hunger games. And I have to win.

After a quick shower I run my way back home. If I'm definitely volunteering then I have to definitely look the part. Gorgeous, powerful. No way will I be upstaged by some gorgeous guy from District Four or some ditz from district one.

"How was training, Rhea?" Mum questions as soon as I've burst through the door.

"Good, good." A quick debate in my head senses telling her would be a good idea, "Actually, I have some good news."

"What's that, sweetie?"

"I'm volunteering for the Hunger Games."

Her mouth falls open. A moment later:

"Balbus! Claudius!" my mother calls franticly for the rest of our family.

Father rushes in clutching his best shoes and a tub of shoe polish. Balbus, my brother, is in his reapening outfit, a crisp white shirt and smart black trousers but still has scruffy bed hair. He is no longer eligible but mother always forces him into something smart.

"Repeat what you just said," Mother says, white with worry.

"I'm volunteering for the hunger games."

"Nice one!" My brother responds straight away with a beaming smile. He never got the chance because he had a Brocken leg at the time of his last reapening.

My parents exchange worried looks.

"What, what is it?" my eyes dart nervously from one parent to the other.

"We got a call this morning, from your Uncle Caius," Father Starts, wringing his hands nervously.

"Bad news, was it?" Balbus says as if he doesn't care. He probably doesn't. Last time we saw Uncle Caius the two got into a bit of fight. Well, more than a bit, they both ended up in peacekeeper custody. That was how Balbus broke his leg, in that fight.

"Evander, your cousin Evander," Mother stops, pausing to take breath, "He's volunteering. You'll be fighting your cousin."

"It is his last year….." Father says reasonably.

"It's Rhea's last year too." Balbus says "And she's going to stop the chance of a lifetime for him? No way!"

I almost want to draw back my words. Stop myself from volunteering. But Tiberia….I can't take it back. Not now.

"I'm volunteering." I say, simply.

Balbus gives a whoop of joy.

I don't know my cousin too well. We have only met half a dozen times. It'll be like being in the games with someone from the training centre I've spoken to a few times. And it's always ladies first. If he has the stomach to fight against his own cousin then so do I. But it'll be his choice, not mine. He might even die in my hands.

I traipse upstairs; mother's choice of reapening dress is lying on my bed. As I'm utterly useless when it comes to the world of fashion,so I'm grateful.

The dress is a wonderful evergreen colour and reaches down to the ground. Sewn along the hem of the dress is a line of golden leafs, the same are stringed around my neck and the end of the sleeves. Since mother makes my reapening dresses herself this must have taken her many hours to complete.

I don't know if I look good but I feel good.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" My mother asks, later, as we walk to the square together.

"I'm sure." I say, stubbornly. I don't feel it.

We split up as I go to sign in. I can see my Uncle Caius is speaking to my father out of the corner of my eyes. I wonder if they are only making conversation or if Father is trying to explain. Caius is grinning. That'll be small talk, then.

Balbus is watching, too, with an evil grin playing on his lips.

The mayor makes his speech, and the crowd is silenced. He speaks of the reason of the hunger games, and reads the treaty of treason in his loud clear voice.

Then we welcome our flamboyant escort, Appius Messalla, to the stage with the standard round of applause.

"What an honour it is to be in District Two!" he shouts into the microphone "Let's get down to business. As always, Ladies first."

He swiftly selects a slip from the bowl.

I can do this!

Before he opens his mouth to say a name, I open mine and scream out the words "I volunteer!"

And just in case someone else foolishly tries beating me to this place, I run to the stage.

"And what's your name, young lady?" Our escort asks, carelessly tossing the slip to the side.

"Rhea Dunbar!" I say loudly.

Balbus is laughing in joy. Mother and father seem proud but worried. Uncle Caius looks angry and sour. Oh, God, I hope Balbus and Uncle Caius don't decide to renew their hatred with another fight. If they do, I'm betting Uncle will throw the first punch. Though Balbus is so hot-headed, with the wrong comment it could be either.

If my cousin volunteers he has no heart, no brain and no soul.

I tell myself this over and over, but it still happens.

He is on the stage in a flash, telling the audience that his name is Caius Dunbar.

"So are you related?" Appius says, obviously clocking that we have the same surname.

"Yes," I say, coldly "We're cousins."

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Appius shouts "I give you your tributes, Rhea and Caius Dunbar! The cousins from District Two!"

I hope that name doesn't stick.

We shake hands, both untrusting and bitter.


	3. Orbit Edison (D3)

**Orbit Edison, District Three**

My hands pause on the keyboard. I shouldn't be doing this. I really shouldn't be doing this.

Part of be wants to stop this right now, destroy the complex programing that I have spent months perfecting. But that part of me is only a very small part. An ounce, a particle, a tiny little fragment. Unimportant.

The large part of me that does want it is yelling inside my head:

Do you want all that hard work to go to waste? What are you, a coward? Press the key, don't think about the consequences, just do it! What would your father think if he saw you now? It's not just you that wants it, he wanted it too, remember?

I push the key, and watch just long enough to see it loading. Then I turn to my large set window, counting down.

Three….

Two…..

One…..

Let the chaos endure!

All at once, every light that shines flickers then leaves District three in darkness. Several screams echo through the pitch black square.

The entire population of district three seems to be rushing into the square, most clutching the torches each District Three citizen has for emergencies.

I can only just make out the panic, up here. I need to rush out too. Roam in the world of chaos that I have created. And it won't last long, this darkness. A crack team of technicians will be put on the job. Until then, district three will be in darkness.

Next time I'd better try the whole of Panem. That would be a stunt.

I run into to the square, proud of the panic around me.

Mothers cuddling little children with big, scared eyes. Peacekeepers marching around looking authoritative but puzzled. Older siblings unsuccessfully attempting to comfort the younger ones. Scared pensioners not moving just taking in the fear. Everyone chattering in high, nervous voices. Several people running in panic, thinking the world is going to end.

Since the world is like this I wouldn't mind if it ended.

Then there's me, separate from all the others, trying to hide the smile. I did this. I caused all this panic, all this fear. It was me.

But if the peacekeepers ever found out, I'd be mincemeat.

The thing is, the capitol cause all this panic on a yearly basis. That along with fear, grieving and death. I didn't do that, not yet. They stick a label on it, call it the hunger games, and call it a punishment for our rebellion.

Who wouldn't rebel in a place like this?

The peacekeepers manage to quieten everyone down enough to say that our best technicians are on the job and it would be much safer if everyone would return home. The crowd only obeys once the peacekeepers have pointed out the electric fence that protects us is off so any wild beast could get in. Everyone rushes back into their flats. Fear, panic. Although our head peacekeeper said the words, I caused them. I caused this panic. Father would be proud.

I follow, so not to cause suspicion.

The lights are shining again, only five hours later. The peacekeepers sent round a message explaining that the person that caused this disaster was working inside the walls of District Three.

Thankfully, I had the foresight to erase all evidence of it from my database. They don't know it was me, and they never will.

Now that the atmosphere in three is back to normal, so does the work. So does school. Since they haven't tried to isolate anybody, I'm guessing they haven't worked it out yet. And since all is back to normal, I'm guessing they don't expect to.

"Excuse me,"

It's the middle of advanced physics and a bunch of peacekeepers have turned up in our room. This can't be good. I try to make my posture relaxed, but I'm shaking.

"Uh…..yes?" Mrs Cole says, startled at the sight of so many peacekeepers "Can I help you?"

"We hope so." The big brutish one at the front says "We're looking for an Orbit Edison,"

I duck my head, hoping she hasn't seen me.

"He's there, at the back," Mrs Cole points straight at me at me. Bemusement floods her features. I've never put a foot wrong, so what should a horde of peacekeepers want with me?

"Come on, son." The same peacekeeper says to me.

"What do you want?" I find myself asking, as I stand up.

"You offered to help find the person that put us in darkness last night, remember?" He raises his eyebrows on the word remember. The way he says it makes it seem he wants me to go along with it. The whole class must know that it's not the truth.

"I don't remember that conversation," I dare to state.

"We do," Another peacekeeper replies, while a couple of others grab my arms and drag me out. The whole class is staring.

"Cooperate with us, son," One of them says as they drag me down the corridor "It'll look better for you."

Cooperating is the last thing I want to do. I'd end up dead. Or half dead.

"Here's the deal," I'm at the peacekeepers headquarters, in a small empty room that only contains a table, a couple of chairs, me, and the head peacekeeper. Many others are probably observing outside this room.

"We know you were the one that killed the lights yesterday," He continues "Only we can't prove it,"

"So…" I wait for an explanation.

"So it's your word against mine," He says "Who do you think they'll believe? The high-ranking, important, head peacekeeper….or you," he looks me up and down in a sneering fashion "A small, average, weedy boy."

"What do you want?" I say.

"A confession."

"Not going to happen," I say. Then, looking around nervously, I add "Besides, I'm innocent."

"Alright," he says. But before I can stand up, he continues with, "I'll give you a choice."

"A choice?" I've never heard of this before.

"Either you confess, or you'll be in the hunger games." He's talking again before I can give a response "Of course, you will probably die if you go into the games. The punishment for this would have only been public humiliation."

The evil smile that curves his lips up makes me think otherwise. Its death or possible death. That's my choice. If I confessed, he'd kill me.

"You can't enter me into the hunger games." I say, "Its pot luck. And you can't force me to volunteer."

"Pot luck, is it?" he sneers, "You wish. If somebody is a criminal we peacekeepers can make sure your name is the only one in that bowl."

That's impossible. He can't possibly do that.

He tells case after case of how criminals have ended up in the games, and how each has had a long and painful death.

It could be true.

"The gamemakers make sure they die," he continues maliciously "So what is your choice? A long painful death or confession?"

I stay silent for a minute.

It can't be true. He is making half those cases up. He's just trying to scare a confession out of me. Well, it won't work.

I mean, Fission Clarke, really? She was no criminal. She was just the quiet smart girl we all thought would make it far. But the looks people gave as the peacekeepers escorted me away….it's the same thing.

"I've made my mind up."

"You're confessing?"

"No," I say, "Happy hunger games. The odds are in my favour!"

His mouth falls open, disbelieving to what he has just heard.

Its reapening day. How could I have done something so utterly stupid? Of course he meant it. Of course he's putting my name in the reapening bowl all of those times. I'll die in the games. First, probably. Well done, me.

I could go back to the peacekeeper headquarters, right now. I should. Take back my choice. Take the punishment for the crime I committed.

Would it work? Probably not. He would probably laugh in my face and tell me my choice is made, there is no going back.

That's true.

Now I'm going to have to go along with it. Win or die in the arena.

The journey to the square is a blur. I just see thousands of peacekeeper faces smiling smugly at me.

The head peacekeeper moves closer to me and whispers right into my ear: "Now, it was your choice, you can't go back"

There's no going back.

I watch the mayor make his speech but the words are disjointed and make no sense. The escort's words shriek away across the square but what I can hear is the hum of electrical appliances on a much louder, much more squealing level.

A frail looking girl walks to the stage; her movement looks as disjointed as the words sound.

The escort sweeps her hand in the second bowl. But I know the name she'll call out will be mine.

"Or-"the first syllable sounds as clear as day, but I never hear the second.

I fall into a world of blackness.

Death or death? My choice had been made.


	4. Jet Hadley (D5)

**Jet Hadley, District Five**

"Jet!"

I groan and turn over, burying my head into the pillow, wishing to postpone this day. But I can't leave mother to cope alone, not today. I can't leave her to cope explaining to my younger sister, Sparky, what happens in the reapening. We decided we had better tell her before someone lets it slip in front of her. She is only six but she has to know sometime. Then there's Zap, my little brother. This year is his first reapening. I won't let him take out any terrasea since the numbers here are so low, so he's in no real danger. I was in no danger on my first reapening, but I was still absolutely petrified. Levina, she completes the family. But I'm pretty sure my big sister won't be worried or confused. She'll be at the market, flogging jewellery and other knick-knacks, most of it stolen. Most know that, but they still buy it. Mother will be worried about Levina, she always is. Worried that one day we'll find her in the stocks, or worse.

That's what drags me out of bed and into the next room. The thought of my family suffering more than they already do.

"Morning!" I exclaim as I enter in a voice that can be only described as too happy for a day like today.

Sparky is sat on top of our wooden table, chewing her lip nervously as Zap ties her shoelaces. They are both in smart outfits, reapening clothes. She is wearing a smart pink dress and white cardigan. He is wearing too-long black trousers and a white shirt. Although we are one of the most hard-up families in the district mother still insists that we dress smartly for the reapening.

"Alright, Sparky?" I ask my sister as I grab a slice of toast.

She shakes her head, solemnly. A movement too solemn for a girl her age.

"You told her?" I ask Mother, my voice barely a whisper.

She responds with a small nod.

"You should have let me," I say, secretly pleased that I didn't have to tell her.

"I'm her mother, it's my job." Mother replies hollowly.

"Suppose so."

I walk from the room, still munching on the slice of toast.

My reapening outfit is one I have worn since I was Zap's age. I haven't aged or grown much since then as it was only three years ago. The outfit is a plain faded yellow shirt and black trousers with smart shoes. The shoes pinch my toes; the clothes are getting too tight. I've grown to hate this outfit. But, as I said, mother insists we look smart and we can't afford another. Besides, I'm not the complaining sort.

When I return to the kitchen in my reapening outfit, surprisingly, the room is filled with laughter. Levina is home from the market, and is perched on the table next to Sparky in her reapening outfit, a dark green dress that suits her ginger locks perfectly.

"Good time trading?" I ask, coldly, how she can be all smiles and laughter when the reapening is less than an hour away, I don't know.

Apparently, my sixteen year old sister is unhearing to the scorn in my voice, "Fantastic,"

Mother notices my frown, "No, Jet, It really is good news," Mother says "We will be celebrating tonight, I can tell you."

I turn my eyes, questioningly, onto my big sister.

"I've got an apprenticeship at the jeweller's!" She says her voice full of happiness.

My frown disappears. I break into a smile.

This is it. Our lives of scavenging and stealing and generally being poor are over. In District Five an apprenticeship is literally the best way of making money. Only, merchants normally take someone rich or important on. It's never someone poor. Levina must have really impressed the jeweller. She must have a lot more knowledge rather than a bit of trading, she must really know what she's talking about.

"Good on you, Levina," I say.

As we wander down the lane to the square we are the only family with smiles. Sure, some wear brave smiles, hopeful smiles. But nobody compares with the bright, beaming smiles that we Hadley's wear.

"Are you okay?" I whisper to Zap as we continue walking.

"Fine," He says simply.

"Afraid," I correct him.

"But happy," He says, "if we survive this, we'll be rich."

"You will survive," I reassure him, "Remember what I told you last week?"

He nods. "If I'm reaped, you'll volunteer. But…"

"No Arguments." I interrupt. Mother would never forgive me if I let him die in the games. And I would never forgive myself.

We sign in, without a word. Mother and Sparky take their places on the outside ring of parents and younger children. We others split up and join the crowds of our specific age section.

The mayor takes centre stage and begins to unpick the origins of the hunger games with his annual speech. Then he tells of our victors, five in the past seventy-three years. Then he raises his voice, slightly to welcome our escort to the stage.

"Isn't this exciting?!" She says eagerly as she takes centre stage.

We all stay quiet. How is this exciting?

"Now," She continues, unfazed about our silence, "It is time to select our courageous young man and woman! As always, ladies first,"

She clicks over to the first reapening bowl and swishes her hand through the papers. This must be oozing with tension, in the capitol. Here, we are all just petrified.

Suddenly, her pale hand gets hold of a slip, and she marches back to the front of the stage.

"And our first tribute for the seventy fourth hunger games is…Levina Hadley." The escort shrieks.

I watch, shivering, as a troupe of peacekeepers march to escort her to the stage.

"No, you've got it wrong, mate!" I can hear her yelling, "My name is not Levina Hadley, it's Headly. Levina Headly. You got it wrong!"

"Please," she changes her tone, as if she knows they know she's lying. "Please, I've just got a job! My family are starving."

They ignore her begging, so she just tries to wriggle free.

My sister is a tribute. My big sister is going into the hunger games. She'll die. She's going to die.

"Now our courageous young man!" The escort continues, completing the same routine but with the boy's reapening bowl.

"Jet Hadley!"

I don't make a scene like Levina does. Unless something really interesting happens elsewhere, they'll all be laughing at us.

I hear a wave of unhappy groans as the crowd realizes. We are related. Two siblings going in to die together.

I am a tribute. I am going into the hunger games. I'll die. I am going to die.

The escort finishes her speech. We lead away into the justice building. Goodbye district five.

They lead us into separate rooms, so we can say goodbye to those we love. I'm pretty sure these people will be the same.

"Jet!" Mother swoops in and gives me a rib-crushing hug. "What am I going to do without you?"

"Listen, Mother." I hush her tears and do all the best I can to comfort her, "We'll join up, Levina and me. Get to the finale. Get home."

"You'll fight your sister?"

"No. I couldn't." I say "She'll get home."

She sits there, awestruck.

Before her arguments can reach my ears the peacekeepers drag her away.

"Zap!" my brother enters the room like a scared deer.

"What are you going to do jet?" he whimpers.

"I don't know," I tell him guiltily, but then I add, "But I do know what you are going to do. You are going to look after Mother and Sparky. Whatever happens these next weeks will be painful."

"I know." He says blankly.

"Stay strong for them. For me." I say "And try to make money, safely."

"I will. I promise!" He says.

He nods like he wants to say more before a peacekeeper tells him his time is up.

My little sister runs across the room and wraps her arms around me.

"Are you…are you going to die?" my sweet, innocent little sister stammers out.

I struggle to find an answer.

"I'll try my best not to." I cannot lie to her.

"Will you try to win?" I nod, and give a watery smile.

"Will you kill Levina?" she asks.

"Of course not." I say.

"Will she kill you?"

I shake my head.

"I love you."

"Love you too."

She runs from the room as the tears begin to fall.


	5. Timber Andrews (D7)

**Timber Andrews, District Seven**

My eyes snap open.

Green.

Brown.

Green.

Green.

Brown.

Green.

The colours blur as I turn my head, tacking it all in.

My head swishes from side to side, searching the landscape and my confused mind. Where am I? Where am I?

I stop, confused. Take a deep breath. The world comes into focus.

The woods. The woods. I'm in the woods, I must be.

What am I doing in the woods at this time in the morning? My eyes raise up to face the sky, searching for the sun. It's low in the skyline. Early morning. Too early. If the peacekeepers knew I was up after curfew they'd –

And then I'm up. On my feet. Running. Thrashing through the branches. Home. I need to get home. Preferably before they realize I'm missing.

Since I'm in District Seven going into the woods is not a crime. They encourage us going to work, actually. But if they suspected I was poaching that would be a complete other story. Especially after curfew. Especially all night.

I reach the edge of the forest in almost no time.

The place is crawling with peacekeepers. More than usual.

They have to know I'm missing.

Damn it!

I Shield myself away from them, hiding behind a large trunk. I should stay camouflaged here for a while. At least until I can think of a way out.

Then, suddenly, without warning, the whole lot of them march off. Including the ones nearest to me that seem to be guarding the borderline between the forest and the rest of district seven. Changing shifts, I suppose.

I see my opportunity and take it. I take off running again. All the way to the market square.

The market stall holders are aloud up before curfew ends so they can set up their stalls. It's a good alibi. I spend a fair part of my time there, anyway, so the peacekeepers would believe it.

"You're not running away, are you, Timber?" I turn to face Barley, who owns the bread stall.

"Course not!" I say.

"So what are you doing?" He asks "Running from _someone_?"

The way he says 'someone', I know he means the peacekeepers.

I can't lie to Barley. He's alright. Almost a friend.

"Sort of," I say, then, lowering my voice "I fell asleep in the woods,"

"On the worst possible day, too." He says.

I frown.

"Worst possible day?"

"You know, today being…" he trails off.

"Today being what?" I say, confused.

"Reapening day," A hard voice calls from behind me, its Pine from the liquor stall.

"You forgot?" Barley says softly.

But I'm no longer listening properly; I'm gazing into the distance, wishing I could run. Wishing I had run.

_I am tied to the whipping post, my back bare, my bones rigid, waiting for the first blow. A crowd mills around, watching, waiting._

_The head peacekeeper raises the whip. I wait for the crack of the whip, the pain. Neither comes. Just a voice, yelling out._

_It's the new mayor. I can see, only slightly from my cramped position but I think he is holding a large brown book._

_It appears he is talking to the head peacekeeper._

_"How old are you?" It takes a while to realize he is talking to me._

_"Fifteen."_

_This seems to please the mayor._

_I barely hear the conversation but it appears the mayor is fighting for my case._

_"Sir, this would be a death sentence if she was any older than she is."_

_"It clearly states, here. Look, you can't punish her like this. She's too young."_

_"Well, wait until she is older, then."_

_"That's unlawful."_

_"The old mayor didn't mind,"_

_ They debate it for a while. The mayor, the head peacekeeper and a couple of other high ranking peacekeepers. The mayor's argument wins, in the end. I am fined a large amount of money I don't have. The peacekeepers made to untie me._

_I smirk at the head peacekeeper behind the mayors back. For a moment it looks like he's going to hit me, but he controls himself._

_He smiles back, it's the smile of a tiger that's about to pounce on its prey. _

_"You'd make a good tribute in the hunger games, you know,"_

_I narrow my eyes._

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"Work it out," He tosses the words carelessly over his shoulder and walks away._

_Then I understand._

"Timber?" I turn back to Barley, "Are you alright?"

"Fine,"

"No you're not. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Come on!" he says, "A problem shared is a problem halved and all that."

"I think I'm going to be in the hunger games,"

He shrugs,

"A lot of kids do. Not many are."

"The head peacekeeper…..he said….."

"He was just trying to scare you," Barley insists.

"I don't buy it. Peacekeepers don't make idle threats."

The mayor beat him. The mayor made him look bad. Now he's out to prove us all wrong. Even if the mayors got our backs, justice will be done, that's what he means. A lesson to us all.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Timber." Barley says as a last attempt.

"I _am_ worried about it."

"Then go get ready for the reapening, it's in an hour."

"An hour?"

It's normally a lot later than that.

"Yeah," he explains "They announced it last night. There's going to be some kind of rule change."

Well, that can't be good. The odds are this change won't be in the districts favour.

Barley notices my look.

"Don't worry about it," He says, and then turns to the customer "What can I do for you, madam?"

I snatch a bread roll from his stall before running down the street, ducking into little allays whenever I spot a peacekeeper.

That's what I was at the whipping post for in the first place. Stealing. Well, a little more than just stealing. Since my father died that's what I've had to do to earn a living. You can't get well-paid work until you are eighteen, so it had to be done. Come to think of it, I did a fair bit before he passed on. The medication he needed was very pricey and a few items…fell into my hands.

It didn't make a blind bit of difference.

I slot the brass key into the lock of the old wooden door of our house and quickly slip inside. Although I am the only one that lives here I still think of the place as if it's still my parents.

I take a seat in front of the looking glass, in my parent's room and remember days that were a long time ago. I remember my father, of course, that was only a couple of years back. I miss him every day. Mother died when I was young, so my memories of her are more vague. I only really remember her when I sit in this place. No conversation, no voice, just the image of her face behind mine when I was younger. Sometimes I kid myself that she still watches me here I sit here. Somehow I feel her spiritual presence in this place.

I picture her face as I drag her old hairbrush through my dark brown locks. Hair a little lighter than mine, eyes the same green as the treetops her warm, motherly smile.

"Bye, Mother," I whisper, "I probably won't be coming back here."

Then I turn to face the bed.

"Goodbye, father," I whisper "The next time I see you I will be in Heaven."

I smile at what fathers answer would be to that. He never believed in Heaven or God. He thought it unbelievable that someone would create a world like this one. This world with all the pain, all the suffering. This world that lets the hunger games continue.

I don't dress up for the reapening, I've never cared about things like that. Since I am going into the games, this year I want to dress up and look nice even less. This is my home, yes, but I've lived my life all over the district. I've worked a shift or two, studied at school, played in the meadow, climbed in the forest, been to the shops, stole from the market, grieved at the graveyard. District Seven is a big place and I have less than an hour to see it all. I have already wasted enough time.

I slam out of the house. Shove the key in my pocket, though I won't have much use for it in the rest of my life.

The streets are virtually empty, there is only the occasional person hurrying by. Most people like to spend the reapening day at home with the people they love. I'm not like most people.

I go to the school first. Some would find it odd that I have decided to visit this place on my last day since I spent so much time trying to escape this place. I did actually get out, once or twice.

I lean up against the gate, looking into the playing fields.

"You're a bit lost aren't you?" A young-sounding male voice calls from behind.

I turn to face the speaker.

"Hi skylark," I say.

"What are you doing here?" He says, "You spend all those years trying to get away and the one day you get to stay at home you turn up."

It's a feeble joke so I give him a feeble smile. To be fair, its reapening day, nothing can be that funny.

"I'm remembering," I say, simply.

"Like that time you climbed out of the window when maths got dull?" He says.

"Yeah,"

He bids me farewell and goes back along the path I came.

I continue down the little side path that leads to the meadow. I used to come here a lot when I was a little kid. There is a swing and slide back in the kid's playground at school, but I never liked it there. It was always too crowded. It never felt safe. So a group of about four of us used to slip through the gap in the fence at lunchtime and hang about here. The old tire swing that we fastened to one of the branches is still there. As for the friends, I can't even remember their names. We just grew apart as we went through school.

I came here a bit when I was older, too. Minus the friends. Whenever I came here always seemed to stop worrying, I used to forget. Not today.

I should probably be going to the square. There's one more place I need to go before I wave District Seven goodbye.

The graveyard.

I shoot back along the side path and come out near the school, but I don't stop. I keep on running. Taking the little back allies and cutting through lots of small wooded areas.

I'm gasping for breath by the time I reach the place.

But I don't go to the grave straight away.

A muscular male figure is knelt beside my mother's gravestone, the place I should be. I watch him, from my place hidden behind an angel memorial statue, wondering what on earth he is doing. His lips seem to be moving slightly. He must have known my parents.

I recognise him from somewhere. Yes, he must be an old friend of my parents.

I'm about to reveal myself when he turns and exits the graveyard, leaving a single crimson rose leaning up against mothers headstone. A past lover?

I come out from hiding and kneel beside mother's headstone. Every year I try to conquer up a better image of her in my mind. Anything, the sound of her voice, or the memory of something she said. As usual, I come up with a blank. I rest my hand on the rose for a moment. Red roses were mother's favourite flower. I switch positions and kneel beside father's grave. The memories never stop. I spend a few blissful moments remembering him in great detail. His laugh, his voice, his smile. The image of him I create is so vivid I can almost see him sitting nearby, almost hear his laugh, almost, but not quite.

The trip back from the graveyard is much slower than the journey there. It's like this whenever I leave the graveyard. I have a numb feeling inside me. They've been gone a long time, but I still miss them.

The thing that forces me to speed up is the ringing of bells that indicates the reapening is nearly here. Suddenly, I just want to get this whole thing over with.

I join at the back of one of the lines to sign in. Unluckily, the peacekeeper at the front is the head peacekeeper. He gives me his sly grin as he takes a sample of my blood before shoving me into the square. Since seven is so large we don't bother with age order we just all mingle in together, not even parting the boys from the girls. Those too young or too old to be reaped crowd into some of the little side streets and nearby shops. The richer families are sat up on the balconies of nearby shops and houses.

The first thing out of the ordinary that I see is the makeshift stage is set up backing onto the road rather than in front of the justice building. Then I notice that the mayor is not on the front of the stage but a large screen is set up. His podium is slightly to the left. The next odd thing is there are six reapening balls, three on each side of the screen.

Everything else is completely normal. The escort is stood next to the mayor, chattering nervously. On the other side of the stage our remaining victors stand in silence. There are two of them: Cinnamon Lee and Shade Cooper. I don't know either of them well as victors tend to stay away from the poorer of us.

The mayor has to call out three times before he gets our attention. The six clear bowls have obviously scared everyone around into endless nervous chatter.

"People of District seven! Can I have your attention, please?" He yells out, "District Seven!" Then, "People of District Seven!"

We become quiet, except for a few frightened whispers and the movement of feet.

"Before we move onto the reapening, our president would like to say something," he rubs his hands together nervously, "People of District Seven, President Claudius Curio,"

This can't be good. The President is non-existent until the tributes reach the Capitol. This really can't be good.

The screen flickers for a moment. If this was any other day I would make some funny remark or burst out laughing. Today is not like any other. Today is reapening day. Today I am going to become a tribute for the hunger games.

The screen flashes into light and is filled with an image of the Presidents face.

"Happy reapening day, Panem," He welcomes us, "As you know, I am here to state the newest rule change to the hunger games."

He smiles, evilly.

"The rule change is this;" he pauses, just to cause more fear, "For the years following this hunger games seventy-two tributes will be entered into the hunger games,"

He waits a long time as panic fills the square. Children burst into tears, mothers cry out. I stand there, with the numb feeling that was inside me once I had exited the graveyard.

I have to get out of here.

I can't. I can't get out.

The perimeter of peacekeepers is almost double of what it was last year.

Okay. This is like the woods this morning. I just need to wait for the right opportunity. Let's just hope it doesn't come too late.

As a round of shouting breaks out behind me I edge forward. So I could slip behind the stage and use the back alleyways? It could work.

Some kind of fight has started. A few of the peacekeepers rush to stop it.

This is my chance.

If I'm caught, I'm caught.

No punishment they can give me is worse than the hunger games.

I sprint round, close to the stage. Nobody notices. The escort is watching the fight. So are most of the possible tributes. The victors are on the opposite side, mostly hidden by the screen.

I'm safe.

All I have to do is slip down one of the alleyways. The one that leads right through the market to the woods would be a good choice.

I'm safe.

I'm safe.

I'm not safe.

There are more peacekeepers blocking off most of the pathways.

Great.

One of them spots me, stopped dead in my tracks.

I turn.

Take off running again. Avoid punishment. Get back to the square.

But there's another one.

Right by the place I slipped through.

It's the head peacekeeper. He saw me attempting to escape.

"I worked out what you meant," I say before he can say anything, "I wanted to make an entrance."

He knows I can't escape so lets me stay where I am. But he is right behind me.

I hear the president's voice booming out, after a few moments.

"As you know, after the mockingjay rebellion double the usual amount of tributes were entered into the hunger games," he says in way of explanation, "Recently more rebellious behaviour has lead us, at the capitol, to believe more precautions need to be taken. This will be the first of many new rules and laws."

So the capitol got bored and he thought slaughtering more children would calm it down.

"Now I will hand over to your escorts so the choosing of the tributes can go on like usual,"

I hear our escort clattering to centre stage and say "Isn't this great? You will bring even more honour to your district than usual!"

I'm surprised nobody slaps her.

"Ladies first!" the escort then says, running back over to the first reapening bowl.

I find a space near the screen and prepare to climb onto the stage.

"Your first tribute is….Ebony Nelson!"

What?

I look back at the head; he has the tiger grin on his face.

I turn back to the stage and watch as the first tribute takes the stage. She's small, week looking. She won't last ten minutes.

"Your second tribute is…Timber Andrews!"

The escort looks around, a little puzzled.

I'd run if the head peacekeeper wasn't behind me.

So I slip up onto the stage and take my place next to Ebony.

"Uh…..Timber Andrews?!"

I cough and she turns to face me.

"Yes?" she asks in her silly high pitched voice.

"I'm Timber Andrews."

"Ah," She says "You're very quiet, dear."

I raise my eyebrows, and peer over at the reapening balls. The smaller the amount of time I have to spend on this stage, the better.

She takes the hint. Sort of. She spends ages selecting the third slip.

"Your third and final female tribute is…..Daffodil Ashford!"

The crowd parts to reveal a girl who'll last even less time than Ebony. She is short and scrawny but that's not what makes her weak. She is using some type of wooden cane to move forward, one of her legs seems to be lame. There are bruises up and down one arm, so I suppose she must have been in some kind of accident in the woods.

As she shuffles forwards I can hear a few yells of anger and pity.

This is wrong.

This should not be happening.

"I volunteer!"

What? What's happening? Who said that?

I search the crowd. Who said those words?

The girl that was chosen is reluctantly shuffling back into the crowd.

Another girl is being escorted to the stage. I know her name before she says it. She's been in my form for years.

"Oh, a volunteer!" The escort says, "And what's your name?"

"Tiger-Lilly Manhattan." By the way she says it I can tell this was a last minute decision.

"Well, you're very brave dear,"

Brave or just plain stupid?

"Now onto the boys!" Our escort says, with a too-big smile.


End file.

Hunger Games