Hey guys! Jexxy here! This is my second proper story that I'm posting, and I kinda felt the need to write it because I put a lot of me into the lead character. I know I don't really describe anything about the main character in this chapter, but it's just a short prologue. I will try to add a new chapter once a week, but I really do have a problem with getting a great idea, and writing a couple good chapters for the Arena, and then kinda flailing about when it come to writing the chapters up to that point. But I promise to try my hardest on this story!

Beginning

It's late morning, and the sun is high in the crisp blue sky. There are hardly any clouds in sight today, and there's barely any wind. Most people would think this is the perfect weather, but not me. It's too hot today. I fear my clothes are going to start sticking to my skin.

Hopefully next week will be a little cooler.

I am sitting the top of the Justice Building, looking down at all the people cleaning up the Square. The air is so much fresher up here. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs until they can take no more air, before exhaling loudly. I like being alone; with nothing but the sound of the wind and the people below me to keep me company. It's relaxing, calming even; and yet when one of the Capitol's people, who's holding a clipboard and has the appearance of someone in charge, starts yelling at another setting up a camera podium, I can't help but wish I had brought my throwing knives.

I like the taste of pain, and blood, and steel. I need it. I crave it.

The trainers at the Academy are probably looking for me by now. The day before the Reaping? It'll be all hands on deck. They'll all be in a rush in preparation of tomorrow's volunteering. The Academy chooses who volunteers each year - it makes things easier and almost guarantees at Victor, or at least what they try to brainwash us into thinking. It's because of their stupid rules that I'll never be chosen. I'm too short, not strong enough, not pretty enough, and have not been trained to their standards long enough. The only people that are selected to volunteer are the good-looking rich kids that have been training all their life, or those that have parents rich enough to pay off the trainers.

They're bloody lucky I bother training with them at all. It costs a fortune, and I could do the exact same training at home. All they provide is permission to volunteer, and an endless supply of weapons. I can get my hands on a good set of weapons without their help. I'm a decent enough thief (it's just how you make by if you don't have the money of a typical Career family). I've been stealing since I was 3. The first thing I stole was a small bag of sweets from the bakery, and I got off with that. After that I started stealing slighter larger and larger items, until I was confident enough to steal a sword from one of the larger weapons stores in town. Since then, it's always been how I've gotten my better weapons.

My favourite weapon is not something I've stole, however.

My mother scraped up all the cash she'd been saving away for years, and bought me a god damn fine pair of daggers for my 12th birthday. Fine polished steel blades, leather wrapped handle, points so sharp you could cut yourself just looking at them - every Career's dream. I've trained with them every single day single I got them, even when I'm ill (which is often). Plus I do spend a lot of time sharpening and polishing the blades until they shine like the sun and could easily cut someone's head off with a flick of my wrist. My mother had always frowned at my doing so, but I never really cared. I just did it in my room behind closed doors, or simply whenever she was out.

What did she know, anyway?

Speaking of family, I can't wait to get rid of mine. My brother, 11 months younger than me, is a twat. No other way to describe him. He's an annoying, lying, tattle-telling little shit. Well, I suppose that is another way of describing him, but you get the point. I curse the day my mother decided having a daughter wasn't good enough for her. No, she just needed to have a son. But it's not like her opinion matters around here anymore. She died two years ago of a brain tumour. You'd think they'd have totally cured those by now, but when the doctors fuck up the treatment there's not much you can do about it. My dad misses her, and so does my brother, but I'm more than dealing. I've not even cried about it. Not once (or so I tell everyone).

It's everything else that I cry about.

There will always be things I'll miss, though. The way she'd hug me when I got hurt or upset, or the way she's cook things that could make your mouth water just from the smell. But that's all changed now. All I eat now is cheap bakery bread and whatever my father bothers to buy at the market, plus the odd thing I managed to steal. It's hardly a healthy diet, but I make do. You get used to it after a while, but I've always wanted something more. Something better. That's why this year I'm entering the Hunger Games.

And I'm going to win.

Sure, my friend made a big fuss when I told them, but it's not like it put me off. I'm doing this for me. I need to find out who I am, and they say that when your under pressure that you truly find yourself. I can't wait. Plus I've always had they urge to stab someone. Is that weird? Ah well, no matter.

I'll finally have my chance in less than a month's time.

I take another deep breath. The next few days are going to be long and hard, and the Arena will even harder. But I've dealt with hardship all my life. The Games will be just one more thing I have to do before I can live the life of peace and quiet I have always wanted.

Tomorrow it starts. Tomorrow is my new beginning.

Please review! Each review equals a mental cookie! ~ Love Jexxy x