Chapter One

District 12 used to be a lot better before the Hunger Games. Now, my and my sister cower in fear at what is about to become. I am 11, but I'll be 12 next month. Just in time for the Reaping.

My sister, Laura, is 6 years old.

My father is a good provider, but ever since the Accident, he's crippled, and can't hunt as well. He fought in the Revolution, with the Capitol. If he had fought against them, he would have been found and killed for sure.

So, he goes out into the woods with me and helps me hunt. I'm still learning on a bow, and I'm a pretty fair fighter with a sword. But my main weapon is a whip. I can catch prey by the neck, reel them in and then finish them off with my sword.

I trade at our new market, The Hob. It's a really nice place! So is District 12. Sure, it's not the nicest of the districts, but I still enjoy living here, because everyone is friendly, all of the buildings are clean and new, and there's lots of deer and game to hunt.

The Hunger Games are brand new, and there's only been one, last year. We're still a little unsure on how everything goes, but I think I have the routine pretty well down.

We are all summoned to the Town Square. Francine Button, a Capitol Official, comes and makes a huge speech about how great this country is and how lucky we are to live in it and crap like that, and then she plays a video about why the Hunger Games were established. My father is in the corner as one of the soldiers!

I don't know why we had to rebel. Things were pretty good! We moved about freely, trading goods with the other districts, and sometimes even with the Capitol! We had plenty of crops to harvest, and things to eat, until District 13 called a meeting with the Mayors of the other districts, and talked about a Revolution. Thus, here we are, getting assembled for the Reaping.

I usually just throw a hair ribbon in to tie up my hair and smooth out my day clothes. Francine Button thinks that we should all dress up, although none of the Peacekeepers make a big deal out of it, so none of us take it too seriously.

Occasionally, you can find someone who gets all freaked out and dresses in their Sunday best, as if someone will do something if they don't.

People aren't very afraid of Francine, because they know that the whole 'Capitol Official' thing is just something they throw in next to her name to make her seem more important than she really is.

The Reaping is today. My birthday was last week, and we celebrated, although with twelve candles on the cake, there was a strange silence around our table. My sister, Lydia, is on the verge or tears.

"You... you won't leave me, right?"

I give a sad smile and absentmindedly smooth out her dress, fiddle with her hair, anything to keep my hands busy to avoid answering that question.

"I can't lose you, Anna."

I look up, surprised at the words she says, and even though she's only six, she understands a lot more about our community and our lives than she ordinarily pretends to.

I smile at her.

I don't say that I won't get chosen, because if I do, then she'll be upset and angry and hurt, and it's just easier to avoid any possible heartbreak.

May the odds be ever in your favor. Such cruel words, when we know that we'll only be slaughtered eventually.

I put my name in a few extra times secretly, for the grains that we get. My name would have only been in once. The odds would have been in my favor. But now, my name was in the bowl 76 times.

Way too many for me to hope for a chance of life.

Way too many for me to hope for a chance of survival.

I know that there was only a slight chance of my name being chosen, but if I died in the Games because I refused to take precautions, I wanted my family to be well off.

My father scoops me up in his arms and ruffles my hair, giving me a kiss on the cheek and a reassuring smile.

"You won't be chosen. Your name is only in there once, kiddo."

If only he knew.

My family was sure to find out eventually, after they received the 75 packages of grain and oil.

I turn around to see my father, holding his crutches, and my mother holding Lydia on her lap. My mother had been so good to me, spending extra time with me just in case I did get chosen and reassuring me over and over again that I wouldn't be chosen.

Francine Button walks up to the stage, swinging her hips ridiculously and puckering her lips, the new style in the Capitol, I guess.

"Now, you all know what is about to come, and even though one of your sons and daughters will be slaughtered, it will be in honor! It's very fashionable in the Capitol," she adds, as if that makes the pain any less painful.

We all turn our attention to the projector where the video is shown, and then she walks over to the boys bowl.

She waves her hand over the bowl dramatically, searching for just the right paper, until she grabs one.

She unfolds it carefully.

"Jordon Laughully."

I gasp and turn over to poor Jordon. He walks up bravely, even though I know he wants to pass out.

We played together with a few school friends for years. We still did, sometimes.

"Any volunteers?" She asks, smiling wickedly.

I've never heard silence so loud.

"Well, very well then." She says, a little disappointed that there will be no drama of a volunteer this year.

She walks over to the girls bowl, brushing past Jordon as if he was never there.

She cuts the theatrics, knowing that we're all holding our breaths, hoping that it won't be us.

I can't hope.

I can't afford to.

"Anna Keeler."

I feel lightheaded. I knew that this would happen, but I didn't think that it would really happen! I thought that just maybe, I would be pleasantly surprised! I mean, I knew a girl with her name in the bowl 294 times, because her family was so poor, they needed to make their own clothes and they were so hungry that their baby died from it.

Why didn't she get chosen?

Why me?

"WAIT!"

I walk quickly to the stage, trying to ignore my father limping as fast as he can after me.

"Anna! Wait!"

I dare to turn around. To look at my sister's face, streaked with tears. To see my mother weeping into her apron. To see my father's lip trembling. I see all of my friends, staring at me solemnly, but not one of them speaks up. Cowards!

I want to scream and shout, to curse them all for their false friendship, but instead I am silent and turn around slowly. Could I really ask that of them? Would I really be willing to do the same thing for them?

Of course not.

He catches up to me and lays a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm not ready to see you go. My- my little girl." He whispers.

But I only turn my back on him.

I have to, otherwise I might cry, and how would that reflect on me?

There is no other life now, I realize as I step onto the stage.

There is only here, only now.

And there is only survival.