I wake up to the sun gleaming down on me. The trees around me are rustling as a slight breeze rushes through the intricate paths created by the leaves. I must have been out for a few hours because my left arm begins to have the pins-and-needles feeling, which I find very uncomfortable. I glace around and notice that the sun is only a couple hours from setting. Knowing my boss, he would have my ass if I didn't return back with a single tree. Luckily I chopped down a tree not too long ago. It's not big, but it'll at least keep him content. The feeling finally goes away as I grab my backpack and stand up, taking a hold of my wagon I use to transport logs. A few birds are chirping in the air as I start to head back for the mill, gently sliding my axe into the bag

The streets are bustling with people. Some are out to stock up on wood supplies while others are out to gather food. I feel around in my pocket to make sure I have some spare change. I do. From working at the mill. My job is to go out and gather trees and bring them back to the mill. For six days a week after school. It's exhausting work, but it's to help out around the house.

Every year on this day, the streets are crowded with people. The eve of the Reaping. The day I dread because I always had fear that I would be picked the next day. It happened once during the 65th Hunger Games.

I was only 13 at that time. My brother, Kian, volunteered to take my place. It was hard watching him leave, as I felt I should have been the one to go instead. I was picked after all. Why should he risk his life to save me when he wasn't in danger? Why should he suffer the fate that was chosen for me? He was in the top five before Bryant, from District 2, took his life. I hated him. I still do, but deep down I know that it wasn't his fault. It's the Capitol's. Besides that, I enjoyed watching as Finnick, the male tribute from District 4 who became the victor that year, propelled his trident into Bryant's neck.

My mind begins to fade out the memory as I stumble to the mill. The scent of sawdust fills the air surrounding me. Not too far from me is where they store all the logs to be cut into lumber. The required length for each log has to be at least ten feet long.

As I'm placing my logs into the pile, one of the Peacekeepers who watches over the mill, Keaton, walks up. "Wow, that's a lot of logs you have there, Grant" he says sarcastically. He folded his arms as he examines the logs. "You could at least put in the effort to gather twice that amount," he says as he points over to my logs.

"Well, if you guys would give me better equipment, I would have this entire sled full," I reply, not paying any attention to him. Since I started a few months ago, I get the tools no one else wants. A small axe that is pretty much useless. You wouldn't even be able to tear paper with it. "Don't you have to get back to drinking until your gut explodes?"

He chuckles as he places a hand on my shoulder. The smell of beer leaves his mouth as he breathes down at me. "You know, you're not very friendly. Why don't you trying acting nice to others?" he asks, looking down at me. He's at least a foot taller than I am.

"Because I don't have any plans on making friends here. I'm just here to get money. That's it," I reply as I finish setting my logs down. Being nice to a Peacekeeper is like thrusting a knife into my eye. Painful and hard to bring myself to do. I wait until Keaton pulls out a small bag of coins for the day's work.

"Say please," he smirks as he dangles the bag of coins in my face.

I snatch the bag and walk off. A small bag of coins would usually get me a couple bags of grain or half of a butchered pig. Enough for a day's worth of meals. At least, for my household.

I see the bakery not too far from me. The sweet smell of cake, pastries, and bread fills the air as I inhale deeply. Our district bread rests on a wooden board close to the front of the window. My mouth waters from the sight of the bread. It's my favorite bread. I can't help but to think about the pine taste from the pine needles that they blend up and pour into the dough. The bread is a dark brown, to symbolize the bark of a tree.

I then walk into the bakery, making sure I have enough for the bread. Brent, the baker's son who's a year older than me, greets me with a smile on his face. "Ah, there you are, Grant. I was worried you wouldn't show up," he says as he pulls out a loaf of our district's bread. He knows that's the only thing I get here, and I come here often. I return the smile with one and say, "Come on. Do you really think I would go home without a loaf? It's pretty much my life support."

Brent chuckles as I hand him some of my coins. "That is true. So, what have you been doing?"

"Same as always. Taking a trip out into the forest."

"Did you make sure to stay away from the nightlock?" he asks.

"Yes. Besides, that was a couple years ago," I say. There was a time where I almost ate some nightlock, thinking that it was just a huckleberry. They're pretty much similar in color. I'm not smart when it comes to knowing which plants are edible or not. Berry wise, at least.

We continue the conversation by talking about the people we hate at school. One of those people is Jared, who goes around acting like he's the only man on the planet and everyone around him are insignificant. Nobody likes Jared. The Peacekeepers just glare at him as he walks by. We then talk about the crushes we had back then.

"Remember that one girl whose hair you cut during lunch just to get her to notice you? She was pissed and you got in big trouble," Brent says with a chuckle.

"Yeah, I think I was six at that time. That one teacher wouldn't stop nagging at me. She said it was detrimental to the 'fabric of society'. It did get her attention after all," I reply with a smile. "But of course, her parents yelled at me for who knows how long."

"Yeah. Those were the good old times," Brent says. He takes the coins and places them into the register. "Where we didn't have to worry about losing our friends to the Hunger Games. I just wish I can go back to being that young and not worry at all. I just wish we could live without fear."

"Same here, but we know that's never going to happen," I say in response, keeping myself from talking badly about the Capitol and the Hunger Games. "Anyways, I should head back home before Anna gets all worried about me."

James nods and shakes my hand, pulling me into a man hug. "Alright, I'll see you around. Good luck," he says as I know he was referring to the Reaping tomorrow.

"You too," I reply, taking the loaf and walk out of the bakery. The sun is starting to set as I make my way back home. The scent of the bread keeps tempting me to rip off a piece and stuff it into my mouth, but I decide to wait until I return to the house.

I make it home just before the sun sets behind the mountain, bringing District 7 into twilight. I smile as I observe the orange and red hues of the sky behind the mountain as a dark blue meets up with it. The flowers around the house already closing their petals for the night as the last bees make their way back to their hive. I open the door and kick off my boots and sliding my socks into them, heading into the kitchen.

For a few years now, my sister Anna and I have been living with Lara, her brother, and her mother for the past few years. My mother died from a disease that wasn't known in this district. Watching her take her last breath was hard for me, since she had always been there for me. My dad died a few months later after taking his own life. Kian, Anna, and I walked home one day to find his body lying on the floor in the kitchen. A pool of blood rested where his chest was, and a knife was still in his hand. I quickly led Anna out of the room as Kian ran out and tried to get help.

Heather and a couple of my dad's coworkers showed up and was shocked at the scene. Tears were flowing from our eyes as we looked up at her, Anna clinging onto me as she sobbed against my chest. We thought we had nowhere else to go. I thought we were going to be taken by Peacekeepers to live somewhere else.

After a few minutes, Peacekeepers walked up to the door, observing the scene. For a while, the coworkers and Heather were conversing with the Peacekeepers and begging them to not take us away. Heather then said that she would take us in before the Peacekeepers could even reach us. They talked for several minutes before they agreed to allow Heather to become our guardian. That was six years ago.

In the kitchen is Heather, preparing venison meat she bought from the butcher earlier today. In a pan is a sauce she makes out of the herbs in the garden. In the other room, Lara is sitting at the table with Anna, teaching her how to draw. Heather turns around and sees me. "Hey, Grant," she says with a sweet smile.

"Hey, Heather. I got some bread from the bakery," I say as I set the loaf of bread on the counter.

She picks up the loaf and examines it. She tells me that it's a nice sized loaf and would go great with venison. "Dinner's almost ready. Paxton should be in your guys' room, so could you go get him?"

"Alright," I reply with a nod, starting to walk out of the kitchen. I walk into my room and place the backpack on top of my bed. I look up and see Paxton on his bed. He's worried about the Reaping as it's his first year. I don't blame him. "Hey, dinner's almost done," I say to him softly. He looks up at me and nods. "Alright, I'll be there in a second."

I nod as I head out of the room, taking a seat at the table next to Anna. The chair creeks as I lean back on it. "What a weird day," I say, kicking my feet up on the table. The scent of pine from a candle fills the room. I don't get why we get pine scented candles when we're surrounded by pine trees to begin with.

Lara looks up from what she was doing. "Why's that?"

"I dunno. It just felt like a weird day."

"You always get that feeling, Grant," she replies, looking down and smiling at Anna when she shows her a drawing of a cat, patting her head. Anna tells Lara about wanting to own a place full of cats when she grows up, which makes her laugh. "You can have as many cats as you want," she tells her with a smile, then directs her attention back at me. "Did you see Brent today?"

"Yeah. He was down working at the bakery, but he was surprisingly not worried about tomorrow. At least, he didn't seem like it," I say.

"Probably because his last year in the Reaping. If he doesn't get picked, then he doesn't have to worry about it for the rest of his life," she replies, handing Anna a drawing of a cat that she drew for her. "Hell, I'd be happy if it was my last year."

"But that just means you have a better chance of getting picked."

"Grant, when was the last time you saw an 18-year-old get chosen at the Reaping? Most of the tributes who get chosen every year are about the same age as us, if not younger," she says, taking another piece of paper to draw some more. "Besides, Brent doesn't have to worry about signing up for terrasse every year. Even if it's his last year, his chances aren't as high as other kids here."

I let the topic go as I didn't want to initiate an argument. She does have a point though. Most of the tributes chosen are usually the poorer kids in the district. Most of them are usually around 12-16. On an occasion, there is an 18-year-old chosen, but not often. I look up to see Paxton join us at the table.

Heather walks into the room with the venison mean on a platter. The sweet sauce rests in a small bowl at the end of the platter. Every year, Heather saves up money to buy venison before the Reaping. It's our favorite, and I'm guessing it's to help bring our spirits up. I think of it as our last dinner together, just in case one of us gets chosen the next day. Heather places the platter at the middle of the table, resting the sliced loaf of bread next to it. "Alright, let's eat up," she says before handing us the plates and silverware.

I take a chunk of venison and lay it on my place, covering the top with the sweet sauce. I cut off a small piece and place it into my mouth. The sweetness of the sauce balances the gamey taste of the deer. This makes me smile as I take a slice of bread, dipping it into the sauce. We sit around and eat dinner, talking about our day.

After dinner, we head off to bed, dreading the next day. Lara, Paxton, and I are at risk of being picked tomorrow. I walk into my room and lie on my bed, looking up at the ceiling. Many thoughts were going through my head. Paxton's name entering the Reaping for the first time, Lara and I still having the chance of being picked, and the fact that James is still in love with me. It's too much to think about that I force myself to sleep.