My heart beats rapidly against my frail chest. Darkness conceals me pretty well, although not for long. I pray the gamemakers have some pity left in their hearts of stone and keep it dark until they leave. Risking a glance, I move my head a fraction, so I can see them without giving away my hiding place. No-one seems to be there, but these are the games and the hidden spots where Careers can hide are limitless. I decide to burrow deeper under my bush that acts as my camouflage. Suddenly, the trees start to rustle. Careers. Through my bush, I can see the outlines of Cato, Clove and Marvel. A bitter taste comes to my lips. I feel this way towards the Capital as well as these people. To add to the darkness, a freezing chill hangs in the air. Trying to stop myself from shivering, I grit my teeth, ready to bear it for the rest of the night. I hear Clove talking with Cato; "Let's face it, he's not here."
"Yeh you probably ri- Shhh. Listen." Cato's footsteps crunch on twigs. He's coming. Closer and closer. I naw my lip to stop myself from screaming. I am going to die. My eyes flit to the heavens, to the Capital. They have taken my life, my courage, but the one thing they will never take is my dignity.
Arms wrap around my neck. I scream and kick to fend off this attacker, but they won't budge. A laugh echoes in my ears, but I can't work out where it's coming from. These strong, unmoving arms wrap me in some sort of net. I feel more arms help roll the net tighter and tighter until I can't breathe...
The cold, hard floor knocks me awake. My duvet is wrapped around my neck, making it difficult to breathe. I unravel the duvet from my neck, taking in gulps of air. I'm still shivering from the coldness of the dream. Pull yourself together! I tell myself. You are Kurt Hummel, victor of the 74th Hunger Games, if you can do it once, you can do it again. There is, of course, a chance I won't get chosen, Haymitch is a victor... I shouldn't be thinking like that! Haymitch is my friend and old mentor; He got me through the games! I'm not being selfish, death doesn't scare me. My family does. Thinking of Dad, Carol, even Finn brings me to tears. I've put them through hell once and I never want to do it again. This is proof that the games ruin everything. They tore apart my family, which we had just stitched back together, they gave us hope in a victor every year, and now they're even taking that away.
A swift glance out my window tells me it's about three in the morning. I decide to sleep on it. It's the least I can do for myself is to look reasonable for the reaping. And even my many Capital brand face products can't hide sleeplessness.
Sun streams through the curtains, into my room and onto my face. This morning seems perfect- too perfect. I am beginning to question this when I remember; the reaping. Soon, I am shoved in a pen with Haymitch next to an identical one with Missy Collins. Missy was a victor of the 67th Hunger Games. She is the youngest ever victor there has ever been, as she was twelve when she won it. Her tactic was to stay down and unnoticed. She followed the Careers around, and every day stole a few supplies. This proved to work, because when they finally found her, she was laden with knives and axes. She savagely killed all the Careers from her treetop hiding place, throwing knife after knife in their direction. She had very accurate aim.
Effie bounces up on stage, bright as always. Everyone knows she means well, but she is so very annoying. I guess she just can't help being a pain. "Welcome, welcome!" she chirps in that Capital accent. "As usual, Ladies first!" She rummages in the plastic ball, and no surprise the name says; "Missy Collins!" Missy steps up on stage, masking her emotion well. She shakes hands with Effie and the Mayor, then stands, waiting either for me or Haymitch.
"Now, for our male tribute." She takes a step forward and plunges her hand in the other reaping ball. Her hand surfaces, clutching a slip of paper. A deathly silence sweeps over the crowd. I see my family, desperate, hopeful. They know as well as I do thirty two slips of paper have Kurt Hummel written on them. My eyes slide to Haymitch's family where a woman stands alone, clutching a handkerchief covered in coal dust. It's clear she has been crying, but she's done her best to cover it up. She's from the Seam, with her olive skin tone and grey eyes, but her hair is exactly like Haymitch's. Dark curls fall past her shoulders, brushing her chest. I remember her vaguely from when Haymitch offered her money, but she wouldn't take it. I think she's his sister, but I can't be sure.
Effie's unfolding the paper, reading it, the saying to the microphone; "Our male tribute from district twelve is... Haymitch Abernathy!" Haymitch looks around at the staring faces. He doesn't look that surprised to be going up there. I sneak a glance at his sister. She has broken whatever thin boundary that kept her from crying and is now sobbing her heart out. Suddenly, I don't want Haymitch to go. He's the best adult I have come to tolerate, even If he's drunk most of the time, but there's one crucial thing that makes me want to never let him go. He helped me survive the games. I hate owing people, and Haymitch hates the games. So I find my legs running up in front of him and choking out the words; "I volunteer."