Chapter 1: before the siren
I sat by my favourite cow, Greta, and pretended to milk her. I'd already finished my cows, bottles had been filled with milk to the brim. My throat and toungue was parched, desperate for a drop of water, but I couldn't drink any of the sweet milk, in fear of never being able to drink again by the hands of the peacekeeper's punishment devices.
Despite my uncomfortable thirst, the hard and uneven stool, the burning sun on the back of my neck, and the long sense of fatigue, I stayed for a longer fifteen minutes with Lily, I enjoyed her company. I was present when Greta was born, and I'd thought the birth of a newborn calf was a marvelous thing to attend, the start of a new life. Of course, as I grew older, I saw many more births, each one less spectacular and unique than the last. Still, Greta was the first newborn calf I met, and I'd tell her everything when I had nobody to talk to.
Plus, today was the reaping for the first quarter quell. I had to say my goodbyes. My voting sheet burned my skin in my pocket, weighted my leg down and made me feel sick. It was exactly a month since the Capitol had released their dastardly plan to force each member of the district to vote for their tributes.
For the first week, the people were in mourn. Having to vote to kill off their neighbor's children was too much for them. The second week quickly came, and the attitude of the citizen's changed. People turned on each other, threatening to vote for each other's children, blackmailing their neighbors to protect their own children.
The third week came, and my older brother signed his death wish. By messing around with the farming machinery, Barn seven had been set alight, destroying the week's worth of milk and burning the stockpile of hay to be used for the cattle next month. The Barn manager in charge of Barn seven was charged with seventy five lashes, but the peacekeepers didn't stop there. They rarely do.
The death of the Barn manager was saddening, but every now and then, the peacekeepers find a reason to kill someone. For my brother, the death was heavy on his shoulders, so he quickly came clean, saying that he was the reason that the Barn was burnt down. The citizens of district 10, already torn apart from backstabbing each other and deciding who to vote for turned on my brother, each and every one deciding to vote for him. The peacekeepers decided to hold his punishment until after the reaping, so he'd have the chance to have a larger punishment; the hunger games.
It was then that I weighed my options. my brother only had one year to survive, one more reaping to go through until he was free, no longer old enough to become a tribute. I, however, was only fifteen, and had to survive three more reapings. My brother was earning most of our money at the moment, with a dead father, a little sister and a mother in crutches, we needed to keep him in the family.
I quickly went door knocking, begging for people to not vote for my brother, but they were already set on giving him the punishment he deserves. I resorted to my last backup plan; I started asking for people to vote for me. Without the option of volunteering this year, it was the closest I could get to it. I allowed the peacekeepers to change their vote, saying that a dead brother is enough punishment for my older brother.
Soon enough, I had spread the word, and people could vote for me without feeling too bad. People opted vote for me as an easy way out, no need to turn on each other. I ticked my name on the voting sheet, and for the females, I covered my eyes and picked one at random. I didn't even look at the name I chose, I didn't want to feel guilty if they're picked.
And that is how I became the tribute for the 25th Hunger Games, the 1st Quarter Quell, before the reapings had even started.
The training was difficult; in the twenty four years of past hunger games, we had no victor, so our mentor knew the same about being in the hunger games as any avid watcher of the program. The other district 10 tribute was cold and harsh, quickly proving that she was going to try her best without my help, and any attempts I made at forming an alliance with her was pushed aside with her unpleasant glare.
She quickly decided to hold seperate training sessions.
With my mentor, Garth, we quickly established that I was a goner. Most of the other tributes had large muscles from physical labour or training, yet all the physical labour I had endured consisted of yanking on udders and pushing a small cart of milk twenty meters to the barn. I didnt have the skill with a bow or sword like the careers, I had no muscles from climbing trees to reach the best fruits, I had no strength from hefting a heavy axe.
Brianne, the female tribute, was a butcher back at home, build with large muscles so she could carry heavy slabs of dead cow from the slaughterhouse to the butcher, as well as wrestling with the cows to get them in the prime position to slaughter. Garth quickly put 95% of what little faith he already had in Brianne.
Although I was pathetic at all fighting styles, I still managed to learn a few basic moves with each weapon available in the short time. I stole a few books on plant-life and bush survival, reading them when my alloted training time was over. I learned how to make basic camoflage, and how to start a fire; the basic survival techniques. Before dinner and bed, I'd run around the largest room I could find until my legs were sore, and I soon grew substantial muscles in my legs, enough to have a hope of running away from the cornocopia when the siren goes off. I also used my time at dinner lifting weights, one hand focused on eating, one on working out. If I couldn't find weights, I'd find heavy objects, like silver teapots filled with water, or heavy dictionaries stacked upon each other.
"Have you heard, the voting was only half of the quarter quell," Said Garth from his reading chair in the corner, bored from re-reading his newspaper. I was hacking away at a training dummy with a heavy sword, without his guidance.
"No, I havent heard."
"Well, apparently the gamemakers decided that they've tortured the citizens enough, but you guys are going to get another surprise when you enter the arena. A big one too, apparently, the pinnicle of the current technology, from the future itself."
"You can't believe that. I think we'd know if technology from the future has arrived at the capitol."
"It says it right here in the front page." Garth turns the paper around, pointing at the headline. I slash another hole through the training dummy's stomach.
"It's probably some marketing ploy, to get more viewers." I say, squinting at the small print. "Hey! this is from four days ago!" I point to the date at the top of the paper. "You might think I would've liked to know this imformation when it was released?" I'm fuming. I could've been training for something else, something to help with this new information.
"And what would that help with? 'D just make you more worried about the upcoming games. It gives no clue to what it is, so you can't exactly train for it."
I raise my hand to object, but Garth has a point. Instead I turn back and focus on the training dummy.
"At least help me with my training." I mutter, slashing the head off the dummy.
"Use the blade further down, it's stronger." Say's Garth, apparently watching my attacks whilst reading his old newspaper.
I struggle with my footing, then try again.
Tomorrow I enter the arena.
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