It was Reaping Day.

Clarke stared out at the sky. It was blue today. Most days it was gray. But today, it was a beautiful, cornflower blue. Just like the blue she liked to use in her drawings. Clarke sighed, glancing down at her hands, which were pressed against the window, as if she was trapped in a cell. Sometimes it felt as though she was. Clarke was doomed to spend the rest of her life taking care of sick and injured residents with her mother, Doctor Abigail Griffin. Unless she was chosen today for the Hunger Games. Then she would just die. At this point, Clarke didn't know which option was better. A meaningless, tired existence, or nothing.

Distant bells were going off. She nervously straightened her pale blue dress. It complimented her eyes. At least, that's what her mother said. Her wavy blonde hair was pulled back into a half up, half down braid. What was the point of looking pretty if I was just going to be another face in the crowd, or be sentenced to death? Clarke asked herself cynically. She shook her head. Stop it, she scolded herself.

"You look beautiful."

Clarke jumped, and turned around. Her mother was staring at her, love blossoming in the dark brown eyes surrounded by long chestnut hair. They were polar opposites. Clarke looked more like her father. Her deceased father.

"Thanks," she said softly, offering a half smile. Clarke glanced down at the ground.

"It's time," Abby said softly, walking over to her daughter. Clarke looked up, her eyes now set and firm.

"I know. I'll be fine," Clarke responded, trying to believe it. Her name was only in once, and for that, she was grateful. It was unlikely that she would be picked, she reminded herself as her and her mother walked out of their house and to the town square.

They arrived.

After giving her mother a too-tight hug, Clarke moved into the slowly moving line of girls from the ages of twelve to eighteen. Dressed in tired dresses drowned in faded dyes, Clarke's companions were nervous. The air hung stagnant, still, like it was holding its breath in anticipation.

"Ouch," she muttered as a peacekeeper pricked her finger. After squeezing out a prick of blood, she moved on in the line. Her heart was beating fast. Very fast. Clarke took a shaky breath. She needed to calm down. Panicking isn't going to help, she reminded herself.

They were huddled in a group like a herd of cattle. During reaping day, Clarke always felt like a primitive animal. District 12 was the most poverty-ridden and technologically lacking of the Districts. Clarke knew that her and her mother were at the top of the hierarchy of District 12, but she also knew that their wealth would be considered less than meager in the Capitol. Clarke looked up at the stage, a familiar feeling of dread coursing through her. It was almost time.

"Welcome!"

Clarke's gaze rested on a hazy figure in the distance. Squinting her eyes, she lifted her hand to shield her face from the sun. Keenan Mykulak. She had been their announcer for years. Softly spoken and gentle, Keenan was a deceptive promoter of the Capitol. The propaganda video Clarke had seen several times flashed on the projectors and she tuned out, ignoring the message of "justified" cruelty. It wasn't justified. It was a source of entertainment for the privileged in the Capitol. Nothing more.

"That was lovely, thank you," Keenan said, flashing a small smile at the audience. Compared to the other citizens of the Capitol Clarke had seen on television during the Games in previous years, Keenan was relatively subdued. Her face was dusted with teal powder, but it only gave her an otherworldly glow. Her dress glimmered like raven's feathers, and showed off her healthy figure. "Time to choose the victors. May the odds be ever in your favor!" She chirped.

There was a beat.

"Ladies first," Keenan announced, leaning towards a large bowl. Her hand fished around for a few seconds. Clarke held her breath. Stay calm, she told herself frantically.

The crowds fell silent.

"Clarke Griffin!"

Clarke gasped, reeling as though she had been punched in the chest. She could barely breathe.

"Clarke?"

Clarke was suddenly moving towards the stage, as if she was in a trance. A tear slipped down her face, but she was too shocked to wipe it off her cheek. She stumbled up the stairs and arrived before Keenan, who guided her towards the microphone. Oh God. What had happened?

"Let's get a warm welcome for our female tribute from District 12, Clarke Griffin!" Keenan announced. Clarke stared out into the audience. No one clapped.

"Alright," Keenan said smoothly. "Now for the male tribute..." she said, rooting around in the other bowl. Clarke stood in shock, blood pounding in her ears. She was going to die.

"Finn Collins!" Clarke slid her glassy gaze over to the boy walking up the stairs. He was handsome. Long, dark brown hair and carefully sculpted features. He was doomed as well.

"Shake hands, please."

Clarke and Finn faced each other. Her face void of emotion, Clarke met Finn's gaze. His light chocolate eyes were filled with terror and grief, and as they broke apart, his fingers lingered on her wrist, as if he was attempting to experience everything he could for one last time.

"Let's go inside," Keenan said, gently placing her hands on the backs of Finn and Clarke. She was being steered into the huge house, and was guided into a room. The door closed behind her, and Clarke let out a shaky sob. She tried to pull herself together, standing up from the ground quickly, shaking her head. Clarke looked out the window again. The sky was still blue.

The door burst open.

"Clarke," her mother cried as the two crashed into a hug. Clarke wrapped her arms around her mother, her fists clenching Abby's shirt. She never wanted to let go, but Abby pulled away first. Her mother placed her hands on the side of Clarke's face, looking into her eyes earnestly.

"You can survive," Abby said slowly, searching Clarke's gaze. Clarke closed her eyes, bracing herself. "No," Abby said. "You can. You're just as smart as the tributes from Districts 1 and 2. You can survive. You know how to take care of yourself. You can make alliances. Only kill when you need to."

Clarke sighed, a tear slipping out as silence fell over the pair.

"Just try," Abby pleaded, her voice breaking. "For me."

"I'll try," Clarke said softly.

"Do you promise?"

Clarke met her mother's gaze. "I promise," she whispered, clutching her mother's hand.

The door opened, and peacekeepers entered the room. "Time to go," one growled, taking Abby's thin arm in its hand.

"I love you," Clarke said desperately, as Abby's hand was torn out of hers.

Tears flowed from Abby's eyes. "I love you too,"

Abby cried, as she was dragged out of the room. Clarke exhaled shakily. She was alone again.

She was being herded onto the train, Finn Collins at her side. Keenan had journeyed with them in a car through the crowds lining the streets, softly speaking when needed. It was if Keenan understood what Clarke and Finn were about to go through. Except, Clarke reminded herself, Keenan was just as complicit it this as President Jaha. They entered the train and the din from outside was immediately silenced.

"You'll meet your mentor in this cabin," Keenan said gently as they stopped outside a train car. "I'll meet you two in about an hour." She left quietly as she escaped into the opposite car. Avoiding eye contact with Finn, Clarke was the first to enter the cabin, and she was shocked.

It glimmered. Clarke had never seen anything so bright, so colorful, so wonderful. She was in a daze as she walked into the car. There were so many shades, so many tones. Blues. So many blues, she wondered, as a tear fell from her eye. This would be one of the last things she saw. Such beauty before such devastating nothingness. Clarke knew which choice she wanted now. She would rather live a passionless life than die violently while fighting for her life in an arena of ferocious tributes.

A man moved forward from the shadows. Clarke focused her gaze on him. He was tall and slender, with shaggy dark brown hair and a gray beard. His skin was tan and smooth, his eyes as dark as embers and as rich as amber, but tainted with faded horror, as if he was constantly reliving a nightmare.

"Marcus Kane," he said, holding out a hand. Clarke shook it, and at once felt calmer, even if devastation and subdued panic was still coursing through her.

"Clarke Griffin," she said calmly.

Finn stepped forward. "Finn Collins," he said confidently. Clarke looked at him. The fear evident in his eyes wasn't disguised by his attempts at bravery.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Kane said softly. He gestured for them to sit down and the trio did. The older man settled into a chair facing the two. "But I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you're going in as well-prepared as possible."

"How many people have you said that to?" Clarke asked suddenly, passion lighting a flame to her voice. Steely blue eyes met Kane's amber ones.

"Too many," he admitted, breaking his gaze. He looked back up at the two, his vigor renewed.

"What are your strengths?"

"I'm sorry?" Finn asked, startled.

"What are you good at?" Kane asked. "Clarke?" He queried, turning to her first.

Clarke looked down. "My mother's a doctor," she said slowly. "I can heal."

"Your mother's Abigail?" Kane asked suddenly, his voice sounding as though he was being strangled. Clarke nodded. "Oh god," he whispered. "I didn't realize..." he broke off. After a second to regroup himself, he spoke again. "You can heal. That's good. You can make alliances with that skill."

Kane turned to Finn. "What about you?"

Finn coughed. "I was imprisoned for a few years," he admitted. "I stole rations for a friend. So I can steal. And I can fight. Not very well, but I could defend myself against the peacekeepers and other prisoners."

Kane offered a small smile. "You two are the most promising I've met in years."

"Really?" Finn asked, surprised.

"Yes. I'm not lying to you either. You have better chances than I would have expected."

Clarke wasn't comforted by this. The impending sense of doom she had been feeling since the morning hadn't dissipated. She sighed, looking down at her hands. They were shaking. She looked back up at Kane.

"Do you know what the arena will be like this year?" She asked tentatively.

He shook his head. "Mentors aren't privy to that information," Kane said sadly. Clarke nodded. Last year it had been spaceship themed. The Gamemakers had been getting more creative every year, so who knew what they would dream up next. Kane glanced at something on his wrist. Clarke recognized it as a watch.

"Dinner should be ready soon," Kane announced. "You two can go see your cabins and I'll meet you back here. They're through that exit," he said, gesturing to the exit Finn and Clarke had entered from. They stood up to leave, but Kane caught Clarke's wrist. She looked back at him.

"Don't lose hope," he whispered gently. "Abby wouldn't want that."

After meeting his burning gaze for a split second, Clarke nodded, her jaw set. "I'll try."

I hope you enjoyed. Please review! It means a lot to me :)