I felt the nervousness in my stomach; I could feel that I was going to throw up the breakfast that I ate in the capital city. I closed my eyes and tried to relax every nerve in my body. If my parents were able to do it, I should be able to do it too. I thought to myself as we reached the catacombs of the arena. I closed my eyes again, I didn't want to see the black room, I didn't want it to be the last thing I saw before I went out there, before what could possibly be the last day of my life. I tried to think of something happy before I was sentenced to stand in that metal tube and be shot up to fight for my life.

"Jay Rue Mellark, get over here right now." I could hear my mother playfully scolding me, I was ten and it was three years ago. I was trying so hard not to laugh, hiding behind the curtains, of a wide window, but I knew she could see my feet. I bit my lip trying not to laugh, but it was too hard not to.

I always played tricks on her and my father. They were all stupid, and petty but I found them funny, and I guess my parents did too unless they were just trying to humor me. I didn't have any siblings and in all honesty I knew at an early age that I wasn't meant to be alive either, my parents love me I know they do I could see it in their eyes, but they didn't want me in this world, the world they tried to outsmart, the world they tried to make a better place for me before I even existed. I squeezed my eyes tighter trying to remember that day when I was ten. I couldn't. Everything was blocked out, and taken over of last week's memory.

"You've always been so brave." My father said as he entered my room as I stared at myself in the mirror, I didn't even glance at him. My thoughts were running, but where they went I had no clue. I finally caught a hold of a strand of thought, I've only passed the Reaping one year, and now my name would be in that glass jar three times instead of one. I gulped, and turned to look at my father, Peeta Mellark. I could see myself in him, I have his blue eyes, his face structure, and even though I'm a small girl of only thirteen I have his strength. My mother says I'm possibly as strong as he was when he was sixteen which is good and will come to my advantages. Everything else is from my mother, dark brown wavy hair small in height and weight, and my dad always tells me I'm just like her I'm a sense of attitude, and the way I can fend for myself when I need too.

"I can't do this dad, I can't do this!" I yell finally frustrated and scared, I wanted to cry. My parents Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, or now Katniss Mellark won the 74th hunger games, and today was the Reaping for the 87th. I've watched my parents compete in their hunger games, my mother refused that I watched it, but my father insisted saying that it would be good for me, that I could learn from them. At an early age my parents started training me in case I ever did get picked to battle to the death. My mother taught me how to tie knots, how to catch game, how to use a bow and arrow and how to tell the difference in plants, ones to eat ones for medical usage. My father taught me how to be fast, how to be strong, and how to make camouflage. I never knew why any of this was important until I was old enough to understand how horrible the way things were in Panem.

Time feels slow, slow as a sloth. I know I only have about a minute left until I'm pushed into that cold metal tube; I try one last time to remember something happy, anything but this, anything but the Reaping.

Memories flash back to that nice spring day in district 12. The day would have been a million times better if fear and sadness wasn't filling the air. I remember walking into town with my parents; the stage was set with the jars full of girls and boys names ranging from 12-18. I saw almost the whole town, the kids in the sections they belonged to and the adults waiting in the back hoping and praying one of their kid's wouldn't get drawn.

I could feel my purple dress ruffle in the wind, and at the same time my mother and father put one of their hands on each of my shoulders. I didn't dare look at them I didn't want to see the pain in their eyes, and I didn't want to see my very own reflection especially since I was the one causing that pain in their hearts.

"Just remember, no matter what happens…everything will be alright." My mother is able to spit out, I could hear the shiver in her voice but she shows me she's too strong to cry. I decide to turn around and hug my parents both at the same time, and were standing there in a family hug, supporting each other like it was the last day the earth would be around. My father nods at me, and I go join the other thirteen year olds. I know some of them but were all too afraid to talk to one another. I don't even pay attention to the lady that's on stage, all I knew is that she was new, and I hated her for causing all this suspense upon us. She puts her hand in the glass jar, and I hear my name and after that a bloodcurdling screams. It was my mothers; I looked back and saw her kneeling on the ground crying, my father trying to pull her up. I was frozen on that spot staring at my parents struggle until I feel someone push me all the way to the front, and carry me up onto the stage.

I didn't even hear the boys name be called out, I didn't find out who he was until we got on the train to leave for the capitol city. It was my mom's best friend, Gale's son, Eric.

My eyes open wide and I feel that same pushing sensation I felt the day of the Reaping. I'm in the metal tube, and I'm shot up so fast I can hardly count how many times I had blinked. The warm air hit my face, and it looked as if we were in a jungle terrain. I look around at the other twenty-four contestants, and I look to the middle where all the food and supplies was located. I knew this was the most dangerous place to be right now, that any minute I could be dead. And before I have any more time to think I hear a loud voice.

"Let the 87th Hunger Games begin!"