The brook floods through the lands, rippling softly against the beach, whispering silent songs and weaving in and out of rocks. It's murky brown depts are filled with sad hope and secrets never to be understood, let alone noticed.

I wonder if that's why I was named "Brooke". Staring down into the frenzy of tangled weed calms me, a lot. And plus, I am a bit like that brook. Silent. Slightly sinister. Misunderstood. But how could my parents have noticed that as soon as I was born?

My battered alarm clock threw me awake. I never knew that that day was going to be the day that changed my life entirely. Soundlessly, I got to my feet and slipped on my black leather handmade boots and a jacket. I didn't care I was still in my nightwear. To be honest, I almost forgot.

Cool air flooded onto my face like a stream of blowing winds. I couldn't help feeling content. The morning air gives me strength in the worst of times. And that very day so happened to be the reaping. Where poor defenceless kids are thrown into an arena and left to fight to the death. Just for some entertainment. I've always wondered who made such monsters out of the people who watched and let us suffer.

I wanted to save that moment: and capture it forever. After all, it was peaceful. Just me, the wind and the sky. And the soft lapping of the brook.

It didn't last long. A few minutes to myself, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Morning, Brooke," I new that voice only too well. My stepmother. She was no "fairy tale" type stepmother, really, she was lovely. I miss her. But I've always wondered why I've loved my true mother more. "Breakfast is on the table. C'mon now, it's freezing out here. I don't know how you enjoy it,"

Breakfast, of course, is bread. Not cooked. Not toasted. Not anything. Plain bread. Who wouldn't find it a bit mundane? But I wanted to savour it. If I was to be reaped, it would be my last bit of bread. Ever.

Before I knew it, I was dressed smartly in a pale green silk dress, decorated with round opals. It wasn't much, compared to some people's clothes. But it was all we had: and we had to make the most of it. I'd worn it for the past four years every reaping day. Since I was twelve. I've just been lucky enough to have survived all these years.

Clutching my hands together as if praying, I walked along the gravel path towards the centre of District Seven. ArBella Strar was dressed in a long forest green gown. Probably the Capital had coaxed her into matching the style of the trees and lumber in our district. Pathetic. I should've known.

Once we were all in "orderly" fashion, although we all looked insignificant as always, ArBella burst into a speech, or should I say her normal quiet stutter amplified by a microphone. I could understand one in four words, but did it matter? Anyway, I was too busy praying for my family's and my own safety.

For once, they started with the boys. I felt a pulse of anger rush through my veins as I looked over and saw them, terrified. Thousands of pale faces were tilted towards ArBella as she spoke-

"Franklin Laep!"

It was quite a surprise to see the class clown, usually jokey boy looking chalk white. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on ArBella as he scrambled before her feet. Pleadingly, he scanned the crowd for volunteers, but was unsuccessful.

Now for the gals, I thought, trying to look brave, but I failed. I couldn't, anyway. ArBella grasped a yellowing post-it with her coal black gloves, unfolded it and read aloud "Brooklyn Constone!"

My throat dry as a desert, I glanced up. Horror looked be between the eyes. My end was acoming and nothing could stop it.

A few minutes later, I was eventually shoved onto the podium, my eyes scanning for volunteers. My last hope. But none came. This was my end, after all.

As I was whisked off by ArBella, I heard a faint shout "I VOLUNTEER!" My heart stopped as I looked back, but the voice was swept away from the crowd and my chance was stolen.

If only she could've shouted a little louder.

Brooklyn Constone (Brook where small fish swim)- Tall, whippet then girl with long, wavy brown hair. Blue eyes.

Franklin Laep (Foxleap)- Ginger boy with green eyes and short, untidy hair.

ArBella Starr (Bluestar)- Sleek, tall woman with dyed blue hair and blue eyes.