"Up, get up!" a loud rapping on the door woke Ellah with a start. She let out a long breath, shaking away the remains of her dream. Day by day the reaping was drawing ever nearer, and it was always at this time in the year where nightmares kicked in, almost non-stop.

Once again she relived the last few days of her eldest brother's life. Though she had been just four when he became a tribute, she remembered every moment of the games that she had been forced to watched. It had started off promising, he made it nearly a week in the arena, fending off other tributes though never killing them. Finally the careerists caught him, viciously bludgeoning his head and body with handmade clubs.

His pained screams echoed in her head for a few more minutes as she stumbled to her feet, managing to slip into a pair of pants and a shirt, before leaving her small bedroom.

Geoff had been the oldest of her four siblings - seventeen at the time of his reaping. She was the youngest, now eighteen.

Growing up in District 10 gave a person mixed feelings. When she was younger, aside from the annual games, it had always been fun - as the primary district of livestock, there were countless farms and fields to play in, for days on end. She almost couldn't recall the various games and sports they had made up, or the sometimes convoluted scoring they kept.

She walked heavily down the stairs of their quaint cottage, falling into one of the open seats at the table. By now she was the only one left living in the house, officially having her own room as of last year. Her three remaining brothers had married and moved out to make their own livings as farmhands. Swiping a hand over her eyes, she watched as her mother put a plate in front of her.

Eggs and toast, never more, never less. It was ironic, for all the animals and products that they nurtured through life for the Capitol, and they still got just enough food to live. Most months.

"Eat quickly, you've already had a lie in. Your father wants help today. You know the Peacekeepers start rolling in about this time."

Ellah sighed, but obeyed the order despite her stomach's unease at the mention of the upcoming reaping. Her mother was home most of the time, only leaving when a farm animal was injured or sick. Her father, in opposite to most, owned a butchers shop, one of the few other important jobs in the district. He slaughtered, prepped, and packed most meats that went to the Capitol, though some was able to be saved for the district itself, at an extra expense of course.

Finishing, she returned the plate to the sink before retrieving her well worn shoes, sliding them on along with a light coat before walking out the door, shutting it behind her. She took the well trodden path that would lead her into town in just a few minutes. From there it was another five before she would reach the market street - the butchers shop right on the corner.

She let herself in the back door, familiar scent of raw meat and blood invading her senses. Having grown up around it, she was well used to the smell. With a deep breath, she grabbed one of the several aprons that were hanging near the door, switching it for her jacket before securing it with a knot.

"Ellah?"

"Here," she replied, following his voice, rounding a corner just as he cleaved the head of a chicken off in one swipe. Like her, he had dark hair and eyes, and olive toned skin. Unlike her, he was tall and well muscled from years of lugging meats and wielding knives. She on the other hand was hardly average height, just taller than her mother, with not a lot of visible muscle, though she was surprisingly strong from years of rough housing with her much bigger brothers, helping with different chores on farms, and of course her daily tasks in the butchers shop.

"Can you take over here?" he asked, voice tired. He opened shop exactly at dawn every day, working until late in the afternoon, the only exception being the reaping day - when the shop was closed, and the following games, where the hours were cut short. With a nod she complied, crossing the room to accept the large knife he held out for her. When he had gone to clean his hands, she studied the sharp, mean looking blade for a moment. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it into the air with a twirl before catching it with well practiced ease.

After years of exposure, she was fairly proficient with the various uses of knives, though her mother would probably put her under house arrest if she ever were to catch wind of it. In contrast her father simply looked at her with a hint of pride. With that she started sectioning the meat, beef, in a well versed manner.

The week seemed to speed by and before she knew it, Ellah was waking up to see a pale green, thin strapped dressed laid out before her, paired with a soft brown pair of boots - worn only on special occasions. With trepidation she ignored the clothes, moving to the house's lone bathroom, where the tub had already been filled with heated water. That sinking feeling still in her gut, she meticulously scrubbed down her body, the best bath she had had in weeks, before returning to her room to dress slowly as her hair dried in a mess of curls.

With reluctance, she pinned a few up, out of her face, making it appear at least somewhat tame; she generally wore it pulled back in a tight ponytail, but her mother would never let her leave the house like such on the reaping day. Thankfully it was her last year in the mix, she thought to herself. No more dressing up nice or sickness to worry about anymore.

Ready she slowly made her way to the kitchen, sitting down to her normal breakfast, which she ate in silence. For once her mother didn't push her to talk.

"Now don't you be getting dirty," her mother sternly ordered. There was little under an hour before they needed to get to the town square.

Ellah didn't respond, but stared blankly at one of the kitchen knives, which was laid out on the counter. She finished up before taking her leave, walking at a leisurely pace to the market area, where other teens were already lining up at the registrar. With a silent battle of wills, she joined the line, which moved slowly. It was several minutes of waiting before her turn.

The lady at the table pricked her finger, before she pressed it to the paper next to her identity.

"Go through."

Slowly Ellah obeyed, making her way to the small crowd in the front, where the oldest prospects were. She gave a polite nod in greeting to those she recognized from school and such, but stayed silent. Being the youngest in a moderately successful income family, she had never had to take a tesserae, though her brothers had before. As such her name was only in there 28 times. Less than some, but still a daunting number in her opinion. After all, it only took one paper for your name to potentially be drawn.

It was several more minutes of waiting before Mayor Forthrite took the stage, droning on about the Game's origins and purpose, and how crucial it was to the continuation of life in the country. Not a speck of truth was spoken, which everyone knew and accepted. After his all-too-long speech, District 10's chaperone, a dark skinned woman with neon hair and makeup named Naja Fink, stepped up to the microphone.

"Hello, hello, good morning District 10," she said in an silky smooth sort of way that the district members were well used to - she had been their chaperone for the last several years now. "As always, before we begin we have a few words from the Capitol."

Her smirk seemed cocky, as if she enjoyed their trepidation. That's exactly what it is, Ellah thought bitterly, tuning out the usual video that she had memorized by heart. Instead she fixed her dark gaze on the woman at the microphone, eyes unwavering even though the attention wasn't on her.

"Such inspiration," Naja spoke after a moment, when the clip finally ended. "And without further ado, happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

There was an odd glint to her eye that Ellah tried not to read too deeply into. In just minutes, several tense minutes, some poor child's name would be drawn. And she would officially be done with the games. She tuned out the speech that the capitol woman was giving the crowd, having heard it all before.

"And now, ladies first," she said with a sly smirk. She moved fluidly over to the large bowl of papers on the right, reaching gracefully in, mixing papers all together before removing a single folded slip. With her prize in hand, she moved back to the microphone before breaking the waxed seal, unfolding it. Her eyes scanned the name, before she looked back to the crowd, still smirking.

"Ellah Beckworth."

For a second everything ceased to exist to the brunette, as her breath caught. She struggled to inhale, feeling as though she had been kicked in the chest.

"Ellah Beckworth, if you would come forward."

Ellah slowly blinked, coming to. Her breaths were short, but quiet as she stepped forward with incredible reluctance. Naja's face seemed to light with glee when the brunette finally climbed the stairs. She immediately led her to beside the microphone, clapping her hands. When no one followed, she slowed, before letting out a quiet 'hmm'.

With difficulty, Ellah swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, keeping her mind as blank as possible. Chin dropped slightly, her eyes swept the crowd, finding her parents way in the back, as well as her brothers, who had turned up in silent support. The thunderstruck look on her mothers face burned into her mind - thought not always approving of her only daughter, she had already lost a son to these games. Ellah watched as the woman turned into her father, hiding her tears. Her brothers held looks of disbelief.

Perhaps the hardest to see yet was her father, a mixture of heartbreak and fear that she had never seen on the strong man's face before. With increasing difficulty she kept up her facade, forcing her mind into silence.

"Shake hands you two."

Blinking once again, Ellah looked to her right in a daze. Jensen Brooks, a farmhand from a middle class family (what was middle class in the outlaying districts at least). He was two years younger than her, without a sliver of athleticism or cunning in his body. She'd be surprised if he made it past the bloodbath, to be brutally honest with herself. With the same blank stare, her mind now concentrated on just the basics of survival functions, she caught his green eyes, briefly shaking his hand before turning straight once more.

With a few more ending words, the two were herded into the Justice building, where they would wait for a final good bye to their families before being moved to the train. Her parents came in first.

Ellah hugged her sobbing mother with her jaw clenched as she fought against her emotions. She could cry tonight, when she was alone, out of sight, and away from cameras. As her mother blathered away nonsense in her arms, her father stood beside her, all previous distress wiped from his darkened features. He was a visage of poise and confidence, silently lending her strength. With her mother lost in her own world of misery, father and daughter locked eyes, conveying both everything and nothing silently.

"You know how to fight," he said simply. Nothing more, nothing less. Oddly it was the most reassuring thing Ellah could have hoped for. She did know how to fight. She could hold her own in a wrestling match, even if outsized, and not to mention she was handy with a knife.

But physical combat was just a small part of the games; there was so much more to winning them. With renewed determination, Ellah knew exactly what she would do to survive, plan already taking form in her head.

Because after all, like her father said, she was a fighter.

With inspiration from the movie, which I have seen twice already, I leave you here. In good news, I graduate next month, so I'll have a little bit of writing time before I hit school again. In bad news, I have at least 3 tests a week until then. Eww. Lastly, I do not own any rights or characters to The Hunger Games.

- Shannon Riley