Chapter 1: The Reaping

District 4

"Sea-Pearl!"

I groggily turn over, facing my sister.

"Seagrass, what do you want?" I whisper, wiping my eyes.

"I couldn't sleep," she says. "Nightmares. About you."

I sigh, sitting up, and pull her into a hug. "Don't be afraid of that. Nightmares are just your imagination, remember? What was it about?"

"You know," she whispers.

I hug her tighter. "You're not even old enough to be in the Reaping. Don't worry."

She shivers and hugs me back. "I mean I had a nightmare about you... getting picked. You were in the arena, and running from a Tribute who was holding knives."

She starts to hiccup and her tiny arms feel like a net, wrapping around me. Finally, I peel her off. "You know better."

Her blue eyes glisten. "The nightmare felt so... so real. What if does happen?"

Saying nothing, I slip out of the warm covers of my bed. Turning around, I see Coral mumble and turn over. Looking up, my eyes adjust to our room in the gray light of the morning sun just reaching the horizon.

There are two sets of bunk beds, and nearly each one has two siblings in it. Coral and I have the bed closest to the door, one of the bottom bunks. She's a year younger than me, just becoming a teenager this past May, thirteen on the thirteenth. She's the gentlest among us. She won't hurt a fly.

Seagrass had come down from her bed, one of the top bunks, leaving Oceanis alone. The two girls are twins, ten years old now. And, thankfully, too young to have their names in the running yet.

A soft breath makes me look up at the other top bunk, the only one with just one girl always sleeping in it. Shelly, the eldest of us at sixteen, has the privilege of having the bed to herself.

Seagrass looks up at me as our siblings rest silently. "Sea-Pearl, the nightmare..."

I look down at her. "Whaddya say we go to the beach?"

She smiles and nods. "Sure."

Soon we're in bathing shorts and shirts, running down the cool sand as the sun rises. I drop my towel on the shore and jump into the cold ocean, saltwater flooding my mouth. I pop my head above the waves, sea suds dissipating around me.

Seagrass giggles as she splashes me before diving below the water's surface. I dive under the water too, my eyes following her bright blue outfit and I watch as she waves from the rippled sand bottom, shells dotting the ground.

I wave back, my motions slow underwater, and she grabs something from the ocean floor and then swims back to the surface as I toss my face above the water, wiping my stinging eyes. "What did you pick up?"

She gives a smile. "It's an oyster."

I nod. "Open it, then put it back."

Getting a sharp shell, Seagrass returns to the surface where I'm treading water. Prying the oyster apart, she grins, her smile glowing. Daintily, she takes out what looks like a marble from the inside and then lets the oyster drift back to the sea floor.

"You found a pearl!" I shout.

She marvels at it, holding it up to the orange sun as the milky surface of the pearl shines. The morning sunshine glitters on the water around us, turning the world gold.

"Keep it close," I say.

With a nod, she curls her fingers around the pearl and then swims back to shore.

Once we're at our house - a modest cottage with blue shutters and a wooden door - Mama sighs in relief. "I hadn't the slightest idea where you'd gone."

I peck her cheek. "It's okay, we're fine. Sorry for scaring you. We were out swimming."

She gives me a smile. "I can tell." She lifts a piece of my blonde hair and picks seaweed off it. "And you reek of saltwater."

I smile and walk to the worn wooden table where my siblings are fighting over who gets the last sugared roll. It's a special treat Mama only makes for holidays or, of course, Reaping Day. When I pick the warm roll - sparkling with sugar and butter - off the table, they all scream at me. With a simple smirk, I give it back and walk down the hall.

I take a shower, just a few minutes longer than the usual ones. With so many of us, we have to conserve as much as possible. But it's Reaping Day. The cold water washes the traces of ocean from me, though my hair still manages to retain a light scent even after I use the soap twice. I get out once Captain starts banging on the door, reminding me that "other people live here!"

After putting on my outfit, I admire it in an old mirror on the wall. Shelly's Reaping clothes she outgrew this year due to a growth spurt and developing in ways I have yet to. It's a knee-length, airy dress that's milky-white with a blue, cotton sash. I comb my hair and make a simple twist, tying it with a pale ribbon. Finally, I put my sandals on and walk out.

Back in the kitchen, Mama's fussing over Captain. It's his first year being in the running for the Hunger Games. Coral's still not used to it, but I sort of am. Wave brushes it off now, not even caring to think about the names in the Reaping Bowl because so many people volunteer. Half of us twelve siblings are eligible for the Hunger Games. But we aren't one of the wealthier families whose children train to go into the Arena.

I still have four years to go until I'm finished, though. Four more years of this song and dance.

"Alright, ten o'clock. Time to leave," Mama says quietly. Without speaking, we all file out the door like a school of fish.

Not even two minutes after we arrive, Summer Sands takes the stage to announce. "Hellooooo!"

Many kids scoff, watching her skip across the stage constructed in front of our Justice Building. "Happy Hunger Games to all you contenders!"

She adjusts her green hair, and smiles at us. "Why don't we recap on the reason why our Games exist, hm?"

The screen on the stage flickers to life, and I cradle my finger, trying to get it to stop bleeding. The Peacekeepers take a drop of blood to scan when you arrive at the Reaping, making sure each person that's supposed to be here is.

The propaganda film goes on, talking about Panem, our country. It's the same one each year.

Up on stage, sitting in chairs, are all the nine living District 4 Victors ranging in age from seventeen to early seventies.

Finally, the movie's over. Then, Summer smiles and pats her green hair. She walks over to one of the Reaping Bowls, putting her tattooed hand in the massive glass orb. Spinning paper slips, spinning names, spinning wax seals...

I bite my finger, trying not to think about it. In that bowl, about thirty-five slips have our last name, Redweed, written on it. However, there is everyone else in that bowl to think of. Some want to volunteer - District 4 is one the few Districts that get away with training for the Hunger Games, of course. Those are the kids who go into the Arena nearly every year. The rest of us just wait in the background for them to step up. Even in District 2, they have kids who don't train for the Hunger Games.

Summer finally plucks one piece of paper out, opens it, and smiles. Then she finally reads it. "And the female Tribute from District Four for the Sixty-eighth Hunger Games is: Emma Rinnell."

I hear many girls murmuring. Slowly, a frail girl with wavy, brown hair and a patched, long dress walks out of the thirteen-year-old section and steps on the stage, her eyes wide, frozen with fear.

I think at any moment, she is going to scream in terror. Slowly, she dissolves in sobs. I feel my heart jolt. Some scoffs echo around me, and I know no one is going to volunteer like they'd planned. She's looks poor - from the Net, a penurious area in District 4.

Any top female student is not going to volunteer. They'll be happy to have someone so fragile and small leave our District. It'll just make it easier for the male Tribute to have a better shot at winning. It's happened once before during the time I've been eligible for the Games.

"How pathetic," someone murmurs behind me. "I'll bet she's going to be picked off within the first day."

Summer smiles, and grips the Tributes' shoulders. "And are there any volunteers?"

Silence follows, and a few people laugh.

Then, "I volunteer!"

Everyone looks around and the girl, Emma, hiccups and looks up from her hands, green eyes red and puffy from tears.

Suddenly, I realize that my hand is in the air, and the voice that spoke was... mine.

When I don't move, some Peacekeepers grip me by the shoulders and lead me up to the top of the stage. Emma glances in my direction, and then throws her twig-like arms around me. Quickly, she's escorted back and a few people in the parents' section weep. It's probably her family who nearly just lost their daughter.

My mouth dry, I watch as everything collides together. I volunteered because I knew that girl wasn't going to survive. So, why do I think I will? I guess I just couldn't stand seeing the Capitol take someone who didn't stand as much of a chance.

My thoughts blend together, too cold and logical to really seem like mine. There's no emotion, no panic, as I stare out at the hundreds of faces directed towards me. I don't even recognize my siblings in the crowd. Everyone looks the same, everyone watching me.

The District 4 Tribute.

Suddenly, I feel dizzy and every sound goes silent. I only hear a high ring and I see colors sharpen. Like in a dream. A terrible dream.

I feel myself stumbling over my feet, and then colors crash before my eyes like fireworks as I faint on the stage.

4/7/15: I got the name Porcelain (you will meet her later) from a different thing. A video on Youtube of another Hunger Games. So, yeah, I didn't come up that.

4/24/18: Hi!

I'm just going through revising this story, and polishing it a bit. I made this story over five years ago, so it's probably time.