I drop into a steady crouch, careful not to make a sound. It takes a bit of an effort to hold my spear above the dirt forest floor, but I do, and, when I near the stag, whose head is lifted proudly, but turned away, I rise, poised to hurl my spear. But, for a moment, I am frozen as I gaze at the wild, beautiful form of the young stag. Shaking my head, I throw the spear, striking the stag where I had aimed: in the back of its neck.
The stag falls to the ground, letting out a moan as its chest finally stills. "Well done." A voice sounds in my ears, and I pull out the spear, turning just a little to see that it was my close friend, Shade, that had spoken. He gazed approvingly at me, his dark eyes shining in the dim light, his black hair smooth.
"Thanks." I smile at him, accepting his praise. My brilliant ice-blue eyes, the cause of my name being Sapphire, gleam. Well, Shade was as close to a friend as you could get. He was my hunting partner, and, other than my ten-year-old sister, Dianne, I probably cared for his safety the most. He was just a companion, and I doubt we could ever get any closer than just friends. He knows that, too.
I brush a strand of dark hair out of my face. Though I am built for the spear, Shade just uses a few knives to hunt. He throws quite well. He's just a year older than me; I'm thirteen and he's fourteen. He holds up a squirrel. "Let's go and sell what we've caught."
The two of us belong to District 11, the district of agriculture. However, Shade and I have to hunt for our families, illegally, as we are not aloud to keep even a grain of what we grow. Normally, we trade with the baker, for a few buns, or with Scarlet, the woman who sells us a bit of soup.
It's brightening, almost morning as the two of us emerge back into District 11. I take a step forward, toward the baker's store, but Shade pauses for a moment. "I almost forgot!" he exclaims.
"What?"
"Today's the reaping for the Hunger Games!" he says, his eyes dark. Neither he nor I approves of the President's practices: sending twenty-four tributes, two from each district, to fight to the death in an arena. Sighing, I stride forward, pausing only when I reach the baker's store. I sniff the air, and the aroma of warm, baked bread fills my nose.
"What've you brought today?" The baker, Gust, is already waiting at the front, his green eyes brightening as his gaze fixes on the limp stag. Taking the dead animal from me, he tosses a loaf of bread my way. I catch it, and I marvel at this. Normally, he would never give that much for my kill. Shade is holding three buns for his squirrel.
"I guess everyone's in a good mood," he mutters in my ear. He gestures to the field, where the people seem to be more cheerful, singing louder than usual, as they work. "For the reaping."
"Oh," Gust sighs. "May the odds be in your favor."
I roll my eyes. More like, may the odds ever be in your favor, I think. That's what everyone would say. All I can process is, I hope I'm not chosen. Or Shade, for that matter. I feel sorry for those tributes who are sent away every year. It must be horrifying to be forced into an arena where you have almost no chance of surviving. Every year, my sister and I watch through the screens as twenty-three out of twenty-four tributes die in terrible conditions.
I wish that somehow, these games would end. But that's impossible. Right?
oO0Oo
I live with Dianne and no one else in a rusty cottage that you could call our home. Our mother died when Dianne was only six, and our father died before either of us was born. I smile as Dianne shoves the final chunk of her bread into her mouth and stands up. "What are we going to wear?"
That was another problem. The Capitol and President Shard expect each person to wear something beautiful on the reaping days. In fact, it's even worse than the older days of Katniss Everdeen. You would have thought that it all ended because of her, but no. President Snow, who was the president during her time, had a great-grandson, President Shard, who set it off again.
And even worse than before. Earlier, if you were between the ages of twelve and eighteen you were eligible. Now, President Shard has altered it, so that anyone between the ages of nine and twenty can be chosen.
Dianne was still looking at me expectantly as I thought about what she had said. I went into a corner that we use as the bathroom and filled the tub with warm water. "Go on. Wash up, first." Dianne nodded to me and stepped into the tub, closing the dark curtain behind her. While she's doing that, I walk to the small closet we have. I grin as my ice-blue gaze lands on a dress that was now too small for me. I hoped it would fit Dianne, for it was the best she could get.
The dress was a pale green, with a jeweled hem and short sleeves. It had a sash at the back, and would easily come down to Dianne's knee. Won't she be surprised, I think, laying the dress just outside the tub and finding a pair of Dianne's shoes for her.
I turn back to the closet, pulling out a plain black dress for myself, which used to be my mother's. It comes to a little lower than my knee. I pull out two identical black shoes for myself, as well, and wait for Dianne to come out.
It's not too long to wait. Dianne pokes her head out and widens her eyes as she catches sight of what I had laid out for her. "For me?" she asked, sounding as excited as a five-year-old. I nod, and she gives a little delighted jump before draping it over her head. As she steps out, I am momentarily taken aback at how my younger sister looks.
The pale green matches Dianne's green eyes perfectly, bringing out their beauty. Her light brown hair is similar to the color of the shoes I had laid out. I must say, the two of us look nothing, absolutely nothing, alike. I tie her long hair into two braids and smile at the excited look on her face. "I'll do the rest myself, Sapphire," she says. "Thanks. You go and get yourself ready."
I step into the tub, refilling it, and strip off my clothing. Momentarily, I enjoy the feel of the warm water more than anything; then, I remember that today is the reaping, which brings more worry rushing into my mind.
My fingers fumble clumsily with the black dress as I slip it over my head and step out. I slide my feet into the black shoes and breathe in deeply.
Normally, I really don't care about how I look. But this is the first time I have worn this, and in spite of myself, I cannot help smoothing the cloth and enjoying the swishing feeling of the dress around my legs. I tie up my jet-black hair into a high ponytail, as I always do, and it comes to the middle of my back.
As I join Dianne again, I help her tie the sash in the back and smooth the top of her light brown hair.
The escort of District 11 is Augusta, a brown-haired young woman with streaks of blue in her two short pigtails. She's always cheerful, which sometimes irritates me. I turn to Dianne. "Dianne?" My ten-year-old sister turns toward me. My lips curve into a smile. "May the odds-"
"-ever be in your favor!" The two of us finish the common phrase together. I just hope so. Not me, not Dianne, not Shade.
Dianne beckons with her left hand as she heads out the door. "Come on, Sapphire!"
How can she sound so excited? "No. Wait. Look here." I grab her shoulders and spin her around to face me. "It's not some fun thing that goes on every year. You can't sound so cheerful and excited."
"I know! I'm just nervous!" Dianne exclaims, sounding a little startled by my suddenly urgent tone. I loosen my grip on her, and she nods to me before walking out, where most of the district is already assembled, waiting.
Augusta and the only past winner from District 11, Ashe, are already on the podium, ready to speak. Ashe is gray-eyed with reddish hair, and he waves to the crowd. "Welcome to the 96th anniversary of the Hunger Games! We all want to learn of the lucky tributes..."
"How very lucky," I mutter, to no one in particular. Someone squeezes my arm, and I turn to look into the face of Shade.
"Hey."
"Hi," I return. I have zoned out; the rules and terms of the Hunger Games are said every year.
Shade eyes me. "Nice dress."
"You too," I say, staring at his black pants, red shirt, and black jacket, that, of course, is lined with a few knives on the inside. The reaping is the only place where I do not take my spear with me.
Suddenly, I turn and face forward again as I hear Augusta. "...so, ladies first!" That's how she always starts, by announcing the female tribute first. Not me, not Dianne. Not me, not Dianne... I hold my breath as she draws the slip of paper and reads out a name. An all-too-familiar name.
"Sapphire Colburn!" Augusta announces.
It's me.