Author's note: Well I wanted to thank everyone who clicked on this story, it means a whole lot to me. This wouldn't have been possible without my friend Kalina, who gave me inspiration and her wonderful editing skills that contributed to this story. I know this is a pile of junk, but I hope you enjoy regardless.
The boy's dark hair blows in the wind, as he stands there before me confidently. "Say your final words, Ember." he tells me slyly, a grin spread across his face. He raises the spear above his head. "No!" I choke, barley audible. My feet feel like they are rooted into the ground and my lungs are unable to function. Fear courses through my veins as I ignore the alarm going off in my head, "Run, Ember, run." it screams. Everything that happens next seems to go by in slow motion. The spear is slowly released from his hands, heading straight for my heart.
"Wake up, Ember. We have a reaping to attend!" my sister in law screeches almost as loudly as she pounds on my bedroom door. A sense of relief rushes through me as I realize that the deadly situation I was in was only a nightmare, that I'm still in District 1, lying in my warm bed on reaping day. That relief is almost immediately replaced by discomfort dwelling deep in the pit of my stomach. Pangs of fear, nerves, and anxiousness strike the pit until it's seemingly impossible to feel anything else. I try to brush the feeling away and go to the dress that hung neatly in my closet, designated for today's reaping. I strip of my white nightgown and slip on the sky blue dress. It hangs slightly above my knees and the sleeves sit a little farther than my elbows, and the v-neck collar makes me feel exposed. I fasten the pearl necklace that sits on my dresser around my neck and admire myself in the mirror.
Despite my raven-black curls that hang wildly down my back, the dress makes me look like a princess, something I always aimed to be as a young girl. My green eyes glimmer in the sunlight that spills through the window, my pale skin glows. Before I can even reach for my hairbrush, Arya, my sister-in-law, bursts in the door, her pregnant belly especially protruding. "Oh, Em!" she exclaims, scooping me up into a big hug. "You look gorgeous!" I thank her as she sits me down on my bed. She pulls up a chair from the corner of my room and gets started on my hair.
Everyday before the reaping, Arya stays over at our house to help me get ready for the big day. "If you ever get chosen, we want you to look beautiful. The sponsors will already be scouting you as soon as your name is called," she told me year after year. My biggest fear has always been being chosen for The Hunger Games, a dream for most of the boys and girls my age. The constant fear of being hunted, the pain of hunger, and the necessity to kill was even worse than the dream I experienced this morning. It was unimaginable to me, and even the thought of becoming a tribute made me sick.
After what seemed like hours later, Arya was finally finished with my hair. She had done a french braid and held it all together with an elegant cream coloured ribbon. "It's beautiful!" I exclaim, pulling her in for yet another hug after admiring it in the mirror. She kisses my forehead and pulls me by the hand into my living room where my entire family —my mother, father, and brother— sit silently, probably dwelling on the depressing day to come. Arya, the only joyous person in my house, loudly tells them that I was done getting ready for the reaping. My mom offers me a weak smile. My brother Kaine tells me I look pretty and then asks me if I will be volunteering.
"Of course not." I reply. "I'll save that for the people who can actually handle a weapon." He chuckles and goes to help Arya with her shoes and coat. My father says nothing. Him and I have never had a close relationship. He distanced himself from the world after my mother lost her baby eight years ago. Sometimes, the memories of my happy, joking, and carefree dad resurface, but I always immediately put them back into the corner of my mind where they belong.
"It's time to go." My mother informs us in her quiet voice. We all proceed to put on our shoes and coats, mine a delicate pair of cream coloured flats and a sweater of the same colour to match the ribbon in my hair.
We set off on foot for a walk to the town square that will take no more than 10 minutes. People stare and glance at us as we walk quietly down the roads. My father holds the highest position at the diamond mines where he works, which makes my family well known in our area of District 1. They always stare, like I'm some kind of mutation. I am simply Ember Maddox, nothing extraordinary. I have never liked the stares, sometimes they were curious and other times ones were in awe. They made me feel unapproachable and arrogant.
Before I know it, my family was sitting up in the stands along with the other families that were cheering and betting on who would be reaped. When I glance up at them, their faces look worried and nervous. I'm standing in the sixteen year old section for the girls, the sounds of my peers talking about potential strategies in the arena ringing in my ears. I have no care for such conversation, so I let my mind wander and try to ignore the aching feeling deep in my stomach. Even if my name is pulled, there will be other girls begging to volunteer, I think to myself. My name is one in thousands. The odds are entirely in my favour. I sigh with relief as the microphone on the stage in front of me starts to project District 1's escort, Kristle Kismet's voice.
This reaping day, she's wearing a dramatic silver dress that hugs her curves nicely with black high-heels. The collar goes into a deep v-neck and is lined with diamonds the size of pearls. Her pale blonde hair is in a tight bun on the top of her head and her striking makeup matches her dress.
"Good morning District 1!" she says in a clear, peppy voice. It annoys me how to the Capitol, The Hunger Games is something to be happy and cheerful about. "Lets give a big round of applause for the 71st annual Hunger Games!" The crowd roars with excitement, but my hands stay on my sides and my voice remains mute. "Fabulous! It's now time to pick our female tribute!" Kristle announces, the crowd suddenly becoming silent.
She dips her hand into the glass bowl and moves her hand around for a few seconds until she finally pulls out a single white slip. She opens it and clears her throat. In a haunting voice, Kristle reads the piece of paper. "Ember Maddox!"