At the age of eighteen, Marin Luleen of District Seven has been reaped to participate in the 69th Hunger Games. With a grim mindset, Marin tries to find hope that she will survive but how will she fare when one of the tributes is her brother? Will she accept the truth of her own selfish desires to survive or will she dare to fight it and protect her brother whom she loves dearly?

The fresh scent of pine woke my senses as I slowly inhaled and exhaled, my nostrils twitching curiously. My eyelids fluttered open and shut in a slow, rhythmic motion, still weighed down by the heavy stupor that clouded over my prone form. Tangled in thick wheaten strands of hair, my fingers pulled inwards, towards my abdomen, my core. Softly, I combed through my younger sister's straw like hair, careful not to disturb her tranquil rest. Finally, my eyes ceased to blink in a repetitive motion, opening up to catch the bright sunlight that snuck in through the cracks of a poorly shuttered window, painting the objects it touched gold. Raising up my head in a languid manner, I surreptitiously inched away from Georgia's petite body and I gave my baby sister one last loving glance. She gave a small whimper until I caressed her cheek and gave a small peck onto her cheek, covering her shivering body with a blanket afterwards. I would be back by noon but today, there was the small chance that this might be the last moment I would share with Georgia alone.

How to describe Georgia is to describe the forbidden lake in the northern part of District Seven, both are beautiful, both are calm, and both are protected excessively. Since the peacekeepers arrived to the district, what was once exciting and enjoyable was banned, either fenced in barbed, electrical wire or stowed away from the public, to make way for more concentrated labor, producing lumber in copious amounts to accommodate the needs of Capitol. In the case of Georgia, Caleb, my twin brother, and I have taken on the role of her peacekeepers as our Aunt Sophia is much too busy being a children's teacher during the day and the community babysitter during the evening. At eight years old, Georgia had grown into a devilish, youthful girl with feigned doe-like naiveté that contrasted her stubborn optimism, firmly believing that there is always hope to any disheartening news. Her toothy smile that supported her rosy apple cheeks and the dark pine-green eyes that glinted like jewels through her thick lashed lids reminded me of myself when I was her age, making love her all the more though she could easily exasperate me. And there she was, camouflaged as an angelic being, so fragile, so pure, so untouchable. She was my rock, reminding me of responsibilities I must take on to protect our family.

The weathered dresser groaned as I pulled a drawer open to reveal the pitiful collection of garments that my sister and I shared. Wiggling into a rough knitted sweater, I let my mind wander onto more troubling thoughts that bogged it down into a state of depression. Theo James. The reaping. I couldn't decide what was worse to face, Theo or the reaping. Stowing away any negativity I had as there were happier thoughts to be had, I resumed buttoning up the oversized grey flannel shirt over my sweater, tucking it into my loose faded denim pants, which itself was tucked into the ugly black leather boots that Caleb had bought for me as a birthday gift last year. The reason why it was so cheap was due to the fact it was made from the hide of a fat old elk that Caleb had found dying along the side of the road. After charming Manna Wilkes, the owner of a tannery, Caleb received a few yards of leather that had not made past inspection in exchange for the elk's flea hidden hide. He took that leather to a cobbler, who was not as charmed, only agreeing to making the boots in exchange for a majority of Caleb's tessarae that he had gotten that year of reaping. When I was first given these hideous monstrosities, I had to resist the urge to throw them back into Caleb's beaming face, he was too proud of this hard earned accomplishment that I didn't have the heart dampen his spirit. And as ugly as these boots were, they were practical. They never absorbed rain water, repelled annoying men, and kept my feet warm. Though my gift was no better I suppose since that year I had given him only a pair of copper cufflinks in the shape of a flying lark despite the amount of enthusiasm Caleb feigned. Hopefully, the two of us redeem ourselves today.

Mud splattered against my boots as I ran, my woven backpack smacking against my back with every hurried step I made, towards the abandoned village where I had lived in for the first eight years until the peacekeepers destroyed it per the Capitol's order. Nothing was left unscathed, the area now a land of devastation, a reminder of the Capitol's power. The thick, bushy trees that seemed to cover the land of District Seven in abundance were absent here, only blackened stumps remain. Due to producing exclusively lumber, the houses were made from the lumber that was considered unfit or unsatisfactory for the Capitol's uses, creating sturdy homes whose only weakness was its flammability. It was obvious from the damage that the peacekeepers had done their job well, the homes were nothing but burnt wood that had collapsed upon each other with the abandoned belongings inside torched to a black crisp. No birds but the crows, the creatures of death, lived in this land, picking off leftovers and the flesh of their dying companions. It was a horrid sight to come across, but it was still somewhat home to me.

Ten years ago, the village comprised of nothing but weary woodsmen, helpless housewives, and clueless children; the majority of us were hardly the problem, the problem lied within rebellious few that were discontent with their meager wages and perpetual hunger that came along with the poverty. These few included my parents, who frequently cursed the Capitol in Caleb's and my presence, Georgia was only a newborn and therefore had no knowledge whatsoever of our parents. It was on an autumnal night, a particularly quiet one, when the village held a private rally against the Capitol in the local schoolhouse, though it was more of a gathering or a party; it didn't take too long for the meeting to dissolve into a sloppy rage-filled mess, the inebriated adults were rowdy with indignity only to be spurred on by a man named Gregor Makinovich, a ringleader of sorts but nonetheless a cut and dry leader. However, Makinovich was never the loud mouth rebel that he made himself to be but rather a cowardly traitor who catered to Capitol and President Snow as an informant; the rally was a trap and the ones who were sober enough to escape the room never made it past the entrance of the school. The ones who hadn't attended were spared, given a warning to evacuate the village within the hour or risk their lives. My aunt had come to visit at the time, agreeing to take care of my siblings and me, giving my parents the liberty to visit the rally and when the grim peacekeeper with his furrowed brows and thundering voice arrived with the order, she understood what had happened. With a haversack of chestnut and pine bark bread along with a few family heirlooms, Aunt Sophia took Caleb's hand in one and mine in the other, Georgia was swaddled in a blanket against her soft, warm bosom, leading us back to the merchant sector, where she had worked as a arithmetic teacher for the wealthier children. To this day, the entire district knows of the tragedy that occurred but refuses to acknowledge it. The ones who know, choose to bury those memories, suffocate the very fire that it brings. Only Caleb and I visit the wasteland and only on our birthday, but every other day, I don't think of it and the burning, fiery sensation its memory brings. I can't or I'll melt in the anguish, only to encourage the Capitol's message. Rebel and engulf yourself in flames, stay loyal and protect yourself in the coldness of ignorance.

"You're late." Caleb's lips thinned out into an amused grin, his hand extending towards me in offering of candied chestnuts.

Snatching the sweet, hardened delicacies, I popped one into my mouth, the crunching noise sounding from my teeth gnashing the treat to bits. As always my response was curt, "Shut up."

"Overslept, I'm guessing?" At the sight of my bowed head, Caleb threw up a fist, crying, "Alright, one for Caleb, nil for the sleepy badger! Today is just my day!"

Caleb's raucous cackling scared off the crows, the scavengers scattered into the pastel blue sky until they grew into the size of ants.

"Shut up!" My voice hissed threateningly, not improving upon Caleb's nickname for me or the image it brought. Smacking him in the shoulder, I couldn't help but smile at my twin who happened to be doing the same. Sucking on a sugary chestnut, I commented dryly, "Don't put me down for the count, the sleepy badger could always just wake up. Besides, who cut more lumber yesterday? The sleepy badger or the goofy squirrel?"

"Hey, that was a low blow. I was distracted."

"By who, Kanela Bow? I've seen better teeth on a horse."

The remark was biting and I don't know what brought it up. I wasn't jealous and Kanela was a nice enough girl and yet, my mind only spat out derisive comments foregoing the option to be remotely pleasant. This happened to be the case for me, ever since I learned that I was allowed to have an opinion, though I only spoke in this bitter manner around friends and family.

Pouting, Caleb countered, "Well who asked you? No one can be as lucky as you, already engaged and all."

Theo. Why did the idiot have to mention him? And why would he assume that I already made up my mind? Not that Theo is terrible, he's a fine man and I love him. But that's all he will be to me, a fine friend, someone I can count on and happen to love. He treats me with respect, loves me, and never weighs me down with any unreasonable expectations. I'm pretty sure there will be no man finer than him every to cross my way however... I can't help but hesitate on making a decision. Do I want to be married at the age of eighteen, so early in my life? What if I regret it and grow to resent him for it? What if we grow to hate each other, living in a loveless marriage? Theo expects an answer today, after the reaping but my mind refuses to make a decision, staying stubbornly stagnant.

"I'm not engaged, you idiot."

Raising an eyebrow, Caleb asked me the only question I couldn't answer completely. "Then, what are you?"

There was a prolonged pause before I answered, "I'm undecided."

"How's that going for you?" His tone had softened when he caught a glance of my face, my eyes staring off into the sky, impassive as they could possibly be, holding back my conflicting emotions of want and hate. Placing a hand on my shoulder, Caleb barked excitedly, his tone effortlessly upbeat, "Today is our final reaping, finally! We've survived seven years of Capitol's bullshit and we'll make it one more year! It feels wonderful to be alive. No more Hanna Oren and her bright green face and her screeching laugh, no more fear of the Capitol, and no more wet pants!"

Laughing, I didn't have the impatience to scold him any more for being so loud, "Wet pants? You're disgusting."

Wiggling his eyebrows, Caleb smirked, "Is that a challenge?"

As usual, I deadpanned, earning more laughter with my straight face, "Idiot, that's a statement."

When our laughter died down, no longer frightening off the crows, I was surprised when a packaged wrapped in gold foil was nudged into my shoulder. His tone became more serious as Caleb congratulated me, "Happy birthday, sissy."

Not one to be gentle, I ripped off the thin, fragile foil, discarding it off to the side. The velvet box that was uncovered sat in my lap, astonishing me. I had expected another Caleb creation, an obnoxious object of gaudy nature, but instead I received this burgundy velvet box, an object so unassuming that if it were left in a bare room it would take moments to notice it. With a quiet click, the top opened without a fight, revealing a circle of carved wood large enough to fit around my wrist. The soft, beige wood had been cut away in certain areas in an intricate pattern as if it were lace made from cobwebs, its clasps made of burnished copper that added a homely charm to the bracelet. After closing the clasp of the bracelet, I admired the way the bracelet snugly clung encased my wrist as if it were specifically made for me.

"See, we're matching." Holding out his muscular arm, my brother showed off a matching bracelet unashamedly.

"You, 'Clumsy Fingers Caleb,' made this? I'm impressed."

Sheepishly, Caleb admitted, "Georgia helped. She lightly penciled in the details and I carved it from a bit of cedar, and added resin to give it a finish. I made ours and one for Georgia and Aunt Sophia each."

"It's pretty." Now it had been my turn to become sheepish. Handing over my gift, which had been wrapped in plain brown paper, I returned the expression, "Happy birthday, brother."

As he unwrapped my gift with care, his deft fingers peeling back the pulp paper, I adverted my gaze from him. I never feel comfortable with giving anyone anything only because I never feel entirely secure that I gave them what they wanted. There was a moment of silence as Caleb's eyes widened at the sight of the slingshot and set of shiny, smooth rocks I had spent months scavenging for, the perfect weight and the perfect shape for slinging. The slingshot, with its handle made of carved white stone and the sling made of rubber, had been the apple of Caleb's eyes since the day the toymaker set it on the display case in his store. For months as we crossed the town square, heading for work, Caleb never let his eyes off of the pretty object as women never let their eyes off of him. After much persuasion, I had Theo purchase the object under the ruse of it being his anniversary present to me, Theo promptly purchased it and ceremoniously plopped the object into my eager, greedy hands.

Since we were children, Caleb and I occupied our time by slinging rocks or any form of debris at the rats that frequented our home as if it were a game, four points for a headshot and two if you got one on the body. We've had to put an end to slaying the rats once Aunt Sophia found out one day when the old potato sack we used to hide the bodies tipped over, rat carcasses spilling out, causing her to scream in horror and punish us for killing innocent creatures. When we remarked that the Hunger Games never punished the victor for killing his competitors, Aunt Sophia slapped us both and made us promise not to ever take another life if it ever was innocent and that only in the games was this promise void. Then, she advised us, we must do our best to live, killing would only be the last resort. Now, we no longer use animals as targets but abandoned objects, usually setting the objects around the empty lot that used to be the children's playground. Despite being close, Caleb and I were constantly locked in competition, constantly trying to outdo one another. It was for the better I guess, we always kept each other alert and aware, striving to do our best so that the other would feel defeat.

"Thank you."

Smirking with pleasure, I pressed a smooth stone onto my lips, "I saw you stare at it every day for the last five months with more passion and lust than you would ever have for a woman. You're welcome though I doubt you'll know what to do with it."

"Hey, don't think that I won't use this on you." Caleb's voice cracked nervously, his eyes glossy with tears that threatened to overflow.

This time it was my turn to comfort my brother, firmly rubbing his back, I murmured, "Don't get weak on me, Leb. This is a happy day, our final reaping. Smile."

"Shut up, sissy. I have sawdust in my eyes." It was a lie and he knew it, although, I let him get away with it. Wiping his nose, Caleb stowed away the sling and rocks into his pack before rising up back onto his feet. His lips spread out into a wry smile, my old Leb was back.

"Sorry, I know we're late." Settling my pack onto the dining table, I found my sister planted onto the floor, pale, thin legs splayed out in a crude fashion, with her arms crossed stubbornly. Just a few hours ago, Georgia appeared to be sweet and now she was restored to her normal, bratty self. Pink lips tightened in anger, sharp green eyes glinting with fury, Georgia looked as frightening as the perpetually angry, tiny mutt the mayor kept in his clutches at all times. The dog's bark was much more intimidating than its bite and the case was the same for Georgia.

A powdery, floral scent swarmed my nose as my weary aunt hugged me, her soft hands wrapping around my torso in a firm embrace. Her voice even softer than her hands, whispering conspiratorially to me, "Happy birthday, darling. Can you please reason with your sister into wearing the dress I set out for her as I bring out yours?"

My aunt, the teacher for wealthy, entitled brats, could not for the life of her convince Georgia to a thing. She loved Georgia like a mother loves her daughter and could not bring herself to ever scold, reprimand, or punish her. As I nodded, she pulled away and tottered off into our room, leaving me to face the little demon on my own.

Exhaling slowly, I kneeled in front of Georgia, "So, Georgie, what's the problem?"

"That dress. I hate it." Jerking her thumb back towards the table, Georgia pointed out the pastel pink, lacy confection that my aunt expected her to wear. Oh, I'm going to have a bit of a fight with this one.

Picking it up delicately, I asked, "Why? It's such a pretty dress, look at the lace and the pretty color. Doesn't it remind you of a princess?"

Blankly, my sister remarked, "I hate princesses. They're weak and stupid. You hate princesses too. You said so when Caleb mentioned Lucretia Carter."

Ugh, Georgia really is becoming irritatingly similar to me. And knowing me, I would never buy the simpering crap that I was selling at the moment. Cutting her off, I switched to a different strategy, hoping my belief of our similar personalities would lead to the predicted outcome. I hardened the edge in my voice and coldly began walking towards the kitchen, "Fine, I guess that's true."

Cocking her head to the side, Georgia furrowed her brows in confusion, asking dumbly, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" I pretended to be distracted as I plucked out a scissor from a drawer. Clacking the two edges of the scissor together, I brought the weapon towards the dress, "Since you hate this dress, I don't think you'll mind if I just make a couple of handkerchiefs for myself with this..."

"Stop!" Georgia's voice cried out shrilly, hysterical desperation apparent in her voice. Turning back to her, I saw that my sister was in tears of frustration and knew the anger and anguish she felt. It was a stupid dress but it was her stupid dress. Aunt Sophia used to pull the same tricks with me until I learned to be more grateful and open minded. Trembling, Georgia ran towards me, pulling back the dress from my grip.

As she began to cry over the nearly shredded dress, I comforted her by hugging her tightly. She was devilish and bratty but she was still a child. Loosening my hold on her, I forced her to make eye contact with me, her startled eyes meeting my stern gaze, "Georgie, Aunt Sophia spent a lot of time making this dress for you, I hope you know how much work it takes to make a dress like this. Many girls would give up entire meals just so that they could wear a dress like this. And you're making Aunt Sophia sad when you say that you hate the dress. Do you understand? Do you want Aunt Sophia to be sad?"

Shaking her head side to side, Georgia pouted apologetically, her pretty pale face red from the tears. Pulling out a few candied chestnuts, I popped one into her mouth, making her giggle in response. Giggling with her, I petted her soft head and kissed her forehead tenderly.

"I love you, Georgia, and I know you love Aunt Sophia, so let's make her happy today by wearing the dress, alright?"

Sighing, Georgia complied, "Okay."

"Come on." Taking her hand, I walked us back to our room to get changed.

Entering our room, I found the dress that my aunt had laid out for me as she took my sister to change, astonished to find my mother's engagement dress in its stead. After scrubbing myself clean, I stared at the garment that used to belong to my mother, that she wore at my age when she had celebrated her engagement to my father. We still had a photo of that event and I often observed my tiny mother laughing at something a guest had said while holding onto my father's muscular arm, her smile seems genuine causing me to wonder what had caused her to laugh so heartily. The dress had a fresh evergreen hue and the edges hemmed with flowery white lace. The cap sleeves added a girly touch to the dress as did the flared skirt, looking just as princessy as that pink thing I had just scared my sister into wearing. Putting on the dress, I found it to be much too short, the hem stopping mid thigh, and much too big, hanging loosely off of my tall frame. With my aunt's steady income, I've been blessed in having enough to eat but days at the mill caused my body to become hard and thin as my body grew taller each year. My mother while being skinny herself was much shorter than me at the moment, which meant that the lovely dress that fitted her beautifully could only fit me awkwardly. Knowing that there was not enough time to change, I stuffed my toes into the plain brown flat shoes that formerly belonged to my aunt and allowed her to pin up my hair with my grandmother's pearl comb. Clean and dolled up, I hardly looked like the scruffy tomboy that trawled around town with a scowl pasted onto her face, the dirty girl who was unworthy of the handsome Theo's affections.

The house was eerily quiet with everyone else already making their way to the reaping, leaving me to be the last to see the house in its silent glory. It was a shame that hours later it would be filled noisy children, boisterous adults, and irritating strays to crowd the small, worn house. Placing two fingers to my lips and kissing them, I pressed the two fingers on the frame of the front door, a District Seven tradition to bring luck in the reaping. It was supposed to have meant that the person would leave his spirit to protect the house and that the person would later return to take back his spirit. Not that I would need it nor believed in it but I could never stop, it was a compulsory reaction that I had annually on reaping day. Running out of the house, I felt my feet blister with every step that caused my smushed feet to rub against the rough fabric of the shoes. I was so deeply focused on the pain of my blistering feet, I had accidentally bumped into someone, pushing them back a step. Looking up, I know that I won't have to apologize.

"Theo." I let Theo embrace my body, feeling his hot blooded body warm my cold one.

Playfully, Theo's deep voice mused, "Hello, where are you rushing off to at this peculiar hour?"

Being two years older, Theo no longer had to participate in the reaping and frequently joked that he never stood a chance anyway; he never had to put in much effort in the first place what with being the mayor's son. Theo James was handsome, smart, hardworking, and different looking from the others in District Seven including me. He had a buttery golden tone to his skin and his eyes were half moons with no eyelids to speak of, only thick, groomed brows perched above them always moving in exaggerated motions that I found oddly charming. Many girls talked of his athletic physique, one he didn't need since he would never work in the mills, and I agreed that it was certainly comfortable to be cradled in his warm, toned arms, pressed against his hard chest. His family shared the same tanned, muscular appearance and it was rumored that their ancestors were not natives of Panem though no one had ever been brave enough to ask. But I knew that Theo and his family didn't care, they were pleasant and kind in every aspect, treating me, a common laborer, with respect that only those of equal status deserve. I love them all despite their insipid behavior and materialistic desires for they have treated my family and me with such kindnesses that not even the most interesting, generous person could have offered. Like it or not, the Jameses are a part of my family as much as Caleb or Georgia or Aunt Sophia are.

"Nowhere, if you don't release me at this minute." I commented smartly, pulling away from his strong grasp. "Where is Dahlia?"

At the mention of his younger sister, who was my age, therefore involved in her last reaping, Theo's back stiffened, the slight curve in his spine turning rigid. His hand, which rested on my waist, tightened causing me to wince from the sheer power it possessed. Tousling his soft hair, I calmed Theo down by whispering reassurances of how Dahlia would be safe with the bare minimum of twenty-eight entries in what would be her last reaping compared to one fourteen year old that had entered in forty times for the tessarae her family desperately needed. We both knew that the words that slithered out of my mouth were lies, the reaping was a lottery, you could only depend on luck. And luck was fickle.

"Don't worry, your sister is safe. You will see her again at supper. She'll be mooning over Mick Johansen and eating too many almond cookies for her own good faster than you could recite the Treaty of Treason. If it makes you feel better I'll stay with her during the reaping and keep watch over her."

I felt his chest vibrate as Theo let out a hoarse chuckle, "I suppose I do worry too much."

"You suppose?"

"Yes, my pine needle. Now, let's get going before the peacekeepers find us." There was a pause as Theo asked, "Have you made up your mind?"

Nervously, I laughed, "You're very eager aren't you? In due time, my pine tree."

Disappointedly, Theo sighed but he lightened his tone as he said, "A race?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't ask." Before Theo could say anything wittier, I sped off in the direction of the town square, not bothering to look back. I knew he'd be right on my heels anyhow.

There was barely anytime to take a breath as I stumbled through the crowd of eighteen year old females, heart pumping so furiously and so vigorously I thought it would burst, to find the petite brunette who might just be the best female friend I have around my age. Wading through the sea of well dressed girls, I hoped that I would find the tiny exotic before her father took to the stage and started spitting into the microphone in wild excitement.

Every year, the square became a corral for the potential tributes, who were divided by their age and gender, facing the main stage, while the rest of the citizens stood off to the side, watching the event televised on an enormous screen behind the stage. It was a simple and well thought design, the family members of tributes couldn't fight their way to them, forced to watch on benches behind a sturdy metal fence, off to the side, and the tributes had no where to run, being surrounded by their peers who could only take joy in being safe and would only be too happy to push them towards the stage. The reaping itself was scheduled so that everything would move along efficiently and keep a certain amount of entertainment value to please the Capitol audience. A speech from the mayor espousing the Capitol's generosity, then an introduction of the district escort, a gathering of the victors, the actual reaping, and the oration of the Treaty of Treason by the mayor before the tributes shake hands. Simple business really. Afterwards, many families would scatter from the square as the tributes were escorted to the Justice Building along with their families and friends. There were some who would loiter around the square afterwards collecting their wins or handing over their losses in a sick game of betting on the potential tributes. Those people have no family, life, or love left in their lives that they participate in the Capitol's games with sickening glee.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, I put a hand on Dahlia's shoulder, whose eyes brightened at the sight of my clean form. My breath was no longer ragged as my heart finally settled down to a calm rate. Yet, I still huffed in my normally unpleasant tone, "Dahlia, there you are."

Her plump lips formed an "O" as she inquired, "Well, where else would I be today?"

"Good point."

A peacekeeper yelled gruffly, "Quiet over there! The reaping has begun!"

As the peacekeeper walked away, Mayor James thundered onto the stage, disrupting my reeling thoughts of insults directed to the peacekeeper. The tall, muscular mayor, whose physical features he clearly passed down to Theo and Dahlia, spoke in a serious, powerful, persuasive manner making it seem difficult to find faults in his praise of the Capitol and the Hunger Games. Mayor James may be kind to me but I would never trust him due to his devout loyalty to President Snow and Capitol. Each year, his speech nearly spiraled into a rant against the past rebellion of the districts, each year much more hateful than the last, and my mind felt hot with anger while my fingers curled up into tightly wound fists. It was easy for him to scream passionately about the Capitol's mercy because he would never have to face a cold, restless night, wondering if his children would ever survive the games or if he could provide for his family the next day.

Finally, Mayor James had ended his passionate tirade and introduced the District Escort, Hanna Oren. Hanna Oren had an accented voice due to being raised in the Capitol, had no eyebrows to speak of, and had bold magenta hair that fell in a shiny waterfall below her calves. Her tinted light green skin setting off the brilliance of her hair color and her tiny nose pushed up against her face like a pig's. The most outrageous part of Hanna's visage was her clothing, today for the reaping she wore a nearly translucent plastic dress that seemed to have melted onto her stylishly thin body, plastic dripping down onto her green legs. Caleb may be girl crazy and certainly not fickle but Hanna Oren is one woman he is happy to deny under any circumstance. Despite being from the Capitol, Hanna has this genuine fondness for this district that I find it hard to hate her. At least she tries to lighten the atmosphere of the reaping compared to the peacekeepers who frequently whined at the prospect of working in such a simple minded district.

"Hello, hello," Hanna trilled to the sea of grim faces that confronted her, "It's lovely to see you again, District Seven. Have you missed me?"

The silence disconcerted Hanna only for a moment, laughing obliviously in response. Continuing on, Hanna spread out her arms comically as if she were mocking an eagle, "Well, District Seven, please give a warm round of applause to your victors, Johanna Mason and Blight Cedan!"

Tiredly, we clapped as the two victors stepped onto the platform, coldly rejecting the aid of the eager escort. They both sat in the seats given to them and stared back at us as we stared back at them.

Up to this day, District Seven only had two victors since the third one passed away a few months ago. Though they had been victorious, the victors are not welcomed or loved in my district because of their selfish behavior and distrust due to their murderous nature. We no longer trust them and they no longer trust us, only visiting the town in order to buy the bare necessities or, annually, being present for the reaping.

There was a female by the name of Johanna Mason, a doe-eyed gamine with cropped muddy brown hair who had an air of innocence to her that guised her devious nature. In the Hunger Games a few years ago, young seventeen year old Johanna had feigned weakness going so far as to breaking down into tears during her interview with Caesar Flickerman and continued to act lost and fragile until it was between her and three other tributes, then, Johanna had revealed her true nature, remorselessly hacking down the others with an axe that they had entrusted her with. Her last victim was a Career, a tribute built for the games, who begged for her death to be quick, pleading and sobbing for Johanna to rethink her plan. Smirking, Johanna forced the Career's head against a large rock and executed her in a simple decapitation. I remembered how Georgia screamed during the viewing in the town square as I looked away; her family said nothing as Johanna burst out in a fit of laughter as she heard the Head Gamemaker announce her victory. Johanna played the game and succeeded with her dishonesty and for that, I hate Johanna Mason. She was conniving and selfish, refusing to properly mentor the tributes that had come into her care, letting them die without batting a lash whatsoever. I had heard that once she laughed when a tribute died from stepping off the platform too early.

For his Hunger Games twenty years ago, Blight Cedan was different, only in the sense that he had honestly and brutally murdered any one soul that had the misfortune of crossing his path. Muscular as many men of this district are from working in the lumber mill, the then eighteen year old Blight was never physically challenged during the games and had received a generous training score of ten that had only enforced his intimidating appearance. Even dressed only in a suit made of bark, Blight made sure that the others feared him, including the careers. He was curt, arrogant, and cold in his interview, not caring if he would receive a sponsor and even dared all of Panem to withhold any gift they had for him until he won the game. Our district despised him for representing us in this careless manner and had hoped that the female tribute from that year would be victorious instead. Blight wasn't all too bad though, he was strong and healthy and seemingly invincible, he was a symbol of hope to the district who hadn't seen a victory in years. And there was a moment in the games where Blight showed tenderness; it was later on in the games, when he had just ran into the female from Seven and after a long, grueling brawl, in which the female fought with all of her desperation, Blight had slit her throat quickly, whispers of regret murmured in the cold silence. I wasn't alive to watch Blight's games but I had heard enough to know that Blight was a force to be reckoned with especially in the games. His only fault was his arrogance, trait I suspect that keeps him confident in the abilities of his tributes despite them not being the most athletic or capable in general.

The third was an elderly woman, who was called Lemons by the neighborhood children because of the fruits she routinely gave to them from her backyard as a kindness. I had met her once when I had accidentally thrown a ball into her window in a game I had stupidly agreed to play. My skinny legs wobbled with each step I took, the earth beneath my feet quaking, I hadn't known what to expect after all she's a victor, someone who has killed, felt the sticky warmth of blood on her own fingers. Silently, I prayed for a miracle that this woman was truly kind as I had heard and with that useless prayer, I pressed my finger into the clear button which signaled an arrival of a visitor. Her home was intimidating, large and made of dark stone, and her glossy wooden door loomed over my body like a shadow of impending doom. I may be dramatizing this memory but this is how I felt at the time. The door opened so quickly, I fell back in shock and squeaked in dismay, scrambling to regain my composure. Peering upwards, I was shocked to find a wrinkled face smiling so warmly, I mean I never smiled like that, not with Theo and rarely with Caleb, her smile had so much feeling. The woman herself was built sturdily and tanned, reminding me of her house. Her wrinkled hand tossed the rubber ball into my open hands along with a few candies wrapped in pretty pink foil. We didn't say a thing to each other, few minutes later she gave a curt nod and closed the door, gesturing for me to join my friends who were tirelessly gaping at the sight of the phantom victor. Returning the gesture, I ran off, sucking on the hard lemon candy in wonderment of her kindness that juxtaposed with the idea of being a Hunger Games victor, as my feet pounded into the soft grass field. Four months ago, the woman passed away from a natural death, dieing quietly in her sleep, and as customary with a victor's death, the District honored her death in silence. The entire town was quiet and still, the ones who worked at the mill including myself still had to work but we did it dutifully and as respectfully quiet as possible. Throughout the entire day, I only remembered the subtle sourness of the lemon candy and at the end of the day, I took what few earnings I had and bought a few candies to place at her grave. I didn't want to owe a dead woman any favors no matter how small. When I arrived at her freshly made grave, the scent of dirt in the air filling my nose, I set the candies onto the dirt in front of her headstone and gave the same gesture she gave me years before, lightly tilting my head down. As I stalked off to my home, my tongue tasted of the sour bitterness in the underlying sweetness of her candy.

Today, for the reaping, Johanna and Blight were dressed in a dark green dress and black suit respectively, Johanna's face painted in muted tones of beige though her lips remained a peachy pink and Blight's red hair slicked back into a shiny plateau. As Hanna trilled on, I caught Johanna making a face behind Hanna's back as Blight chuckled, Hanna herself being oblivious to their mischief. Then, Johanna's bright, wide eyes made contact with mine, her eyebrows raised in curiosity and then in distaste. I could feel my own distaste for the victor rise and I broke the contact, turning my attention back to Hanna.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the real show to begin." Her thin, butter yellow lips stretched into a ghoulish smile, "Of course, we'll start with the ladies first."

The large glass bowl was brought over to her by two peacekeepers and smiling coquettishly, Hanna dipped her fingers into the bowl in a simple, fluid motion. Dahlia's eyes widened as she pressed her smooth nails into my skin. Lifting the small paper to her chest, Hanna smiled condescendingly to us, knowing which one of us she would escort to Capitol, and tapped the microphone in front of her to reassure that her voice would be heard.

Practically shouting into the microphone, Hanna's voice rang out happily, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Marin Luleen of District Seven!"

The world around me became silent as the pressure of Dahlia's fingers eased off of my bony arms and the girls around me stepped away from me as though I was contagious. Marin Luleen. That's me.

I hear a guttural scream from the sidelines that shattered the silence around me and know it is Georgia calling out to me, repeatedly screaming my name in a shrill cacophony of desperation. Moments later there was hushed stillness as the peacekeepers approached my aunt and sister. The entire time I stand there staring off emptily, frozen in shock.

I can't have been chosen. I'm eighteen. It's my last year! It simply doesn't happen! It's always the young ones, not the ones with homes to keep and families to feed! Five years of not hearing my name and then, luck was gracious enough to grace me with its absence! How dare they do this to me! I'm eighteen! This was supposed to be my last year…

Hanna's smile became nervous at the sudden outburst and she called out into the sea of stolid faces, "Marin? Where are you darling? Don't be afraid, I won't bite."

Yes, but the other tributes will, I thought bitterly to myself, my state of mind becoming clearer. A small nudge to my arm caused me to topple over sloppily onto the hard, cold ground. I peered over my shoulder to see Dahlia widen her eyes in surprise and then burst into tears. The two peacekeepers that silenced my sister picked me up roughly and took me to the stage, my blistered feet dragging against the rough stone. My eyes blinked rapidly and repeatedly as I choked back the bitter tears that were surfacing. I can't cry now and I won't if I can help it. They will never see my tears. As I walked up onto the stage, my leaden steps causing my ascent to be slow, Hanna greets me as she brushes off the dirt on the arm I fell on.

Bringing the microphone to my lips, Hanna asked, "There you are Marin, pretty girl like you. It's hard to imagine that you could stay hidden so well."

There's a pause and I realize that I'm supposed to thank her for the compliment she gave me. I don't. The only sounds that came from the microphone were the shallow breaths my nervous lips exhaled. Again, her smile falters momentarily and then, she took back the microphone.

"Well, then, a round of applause for Marin Luleen!"

I could feel everyone's attention focused on me as they clapped hesitantly, some knowing me as the girl from the mill or Caleb's twin and others knowing me as Theo's companion. I knew that even with my unlikable demeanor, no one hated me enough to be joyful at my circumstance. My throat contracted as something within my throat swelled, trying to push down what was swiftly rising in it.

"What wonderful applause, now, to choose a male victor." Humming, Hanna promptly scooped up another folded paper and I grimly wondered who I would have to face in the arena.

Maybe it would be Tyler Thoreau, the sixteen year old at the mill, who arrogantly chopped the lumber as he flexed his muscles for the few women who worked there. Or maybe it was that young twelve year old boy with the round cheeks and wide eyes who quaked at the sight of his own shadow.

"Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce the male tribute for District Seven, Caleb Luleen!"

The lump in my throat is released as the next sound I hear is my own voice scream.