I was running, tearing through the forest at top speed. My legs were bruised and bloody, my breathing heavy and panicked.
The sound of thudding footsteps was booming behind me. A chilling voice yelled, "You can't run forever Ivy." I bit my lip to hold back a scream.
My pursuer was closer, his breathing louder. I jerked backwards. He had my braid wound around his hand. I struggled, kicking and clawing at him.
His cracked lips curled into a malicious grin. "Look who isn't winning the 81st Hunger Games. Your parents must be so disappointed little Mellark."
District 5 snaked his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wicked looking blade. "My last opponent. I'm going home." My last sight was his cold brown eyes.
I sit up straight in my bed. Sweat is running down my face, my soft blond hair a tangled mess that is falling in my face. I wipe a clammy hand over my forehead. The sun is blaring through my window. A sure sign Mom let me sleep in. But today, I'm sure everyone is sleeping in. The mines are shut down. As were the shops and the black market my mother frequents with Uncle Gale. Why, you ask?
It is reaping day in District 12.
I curl into a small ball, pulling the covers over my head. I have to force back tears. This is my third reaping. I am going to make it.
I hear my mothers' soft footsteps on the wood flooring. I clench my blanket into my fist. I really don't want to get out of bed. The edge of my mattress creaks and shifts as my mom sits on it.
"Get out of bed hon. Its time to get ready." Mom's hand presses on my arm, squeezing it gently through the soft blue blanket. She peels the blanket off me quickly, like she is taking off a band-aid. It's a silly comparison because Dad takes off my bandaids. Mom gets squeamish around blood. Even more so now she is pregnant again.
I groan, trying to get my comforter from Aunt Prim back. Mom sighs, then crawls into bed with me. She lifts the blanket over our heads and wraps her arms around me. I press closer to her warm figure to pretend I am young again. Too young for the reaping.
Our bodies lay tangled that way until a scent wafts in. It is marvelous, and familiar. It smells of molasses and sweet roasted almonds and other delightful flavors. Mom laughs, and calls out to Dad.
"Don't pull your fancy bread on us. We're coming."
I laugh. We kind of scoot out of the bed like sloths. My dad's eager smile is in the doorway, his bright blue eyes unsuccessfully trying to hide worry and pain.
He is probably remembering when he and Mom were reaped. Together.
Yeah. That's right. My parents are the ever famous Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.
"Okie Dokie my sleepy heads. My special bread for a special day." He chirps, and walks away to the large kitchen in our house in Victor's Row. I rub my eyes and cling to my momma's skinny arm.
We drag our pajama clad, tired bodies to the table just as dad sets out milk and bread. He saunters off to get a bowl of fruit. We sit down, eating in an uncomfortable and sad silence.
As soon as I finish my fourth helping of fruit and bread I shove back from the table. "I'm going to get dressed for today." I announce to my parents. As I leave the room I hear them whispering, and look back to see Dad giving Mom a kiss on the forehead as he clears the table.
I smile faintly, and push the door open. I walk down the hallway, looking at various family pictures. Finally I get to my room.
I grimace as I stare at the sorry contents of my closet. It is all boring, plain clothes. My everyday stuff. I push through them as if I am going to find some magical dress that will save me from President Snow and the Capitol. To my surprise there is a new dress. But I'm sure it isn't magical.
I pull it from the closet and peel off my pj's. I toss them in a pile on the floor and slip the new dress on over my head. Holding the back closed, I look at my reflection in the mirror.
My chocolate brown eyes are rimmed with red, my blond hair in a short, wild mess. Then my gaze falls to the garment.
It is a soft white, the palest shade of ivory. It has a boat neck, with pure white lace fringing it. The sleeves go to just my elbows. The same white lace is present there too. The skirt goes to my knees, lace trimming the bottom. The skirt has needle thin swirls of gold that shimmer when I move. My expression is one of shock. I look beautiful.
I slip on my big muddy boots, because shoes apparently were not included with the dress. Mom has fixed my short hair so it bounced in little blond ringlets. I am now holding Dad's hand as we walk to the town square for the reaping. I give my dad a parting hug, and walk slowly to my age group. I stand on the very outside edge, closest to the crowd of parents and betters as possible.
Peacekeepers are parading about, prying sobbing 12 year olds from parents. They are dragging kids from the crowd. Those are the brave ones. The ones who need to survive.