Disclaimer - I do not own the Hunger Games or anything to do with it. Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins expect my characters.
I see the wind, rippling through the threadbare curtains and the dark blue fabric of my dress. It is soft, warm and it wraps around me, holding me in way that nobody else would.
The house is empty. My brother left a few minutes ago to collect some food for later. It was a tradition of sorts, that had held for all the years he was eligible for the reaping, and all of the years that I was too.
District 4 is considered a career district, so most of the tributes volunteered, but not always.
My name is in the bowl 16 times this year, fewer than most but still enough to make me worry. Of course I worry, I worry about everything.
My brother and his risk-taking, my father and his drinking. Izak Lapworth and his general meanness. War, running out of food, running out of money, the people I still see starving in the streets in a District that's supposed to be well off.
The door clicks and my brother walks in. A fresh loaf of bread under his arm and the smell drifts up my nose. My stomach rumbles.
"You okay?" he asks, not really looking in my reaction as he places the bread in the centre of their old table, covering it with a tablecloth. "It's almost time."
I don't have to worry about him this year. He's too old for the reaping now, at 20. The irony is that he could've won if he had ever been reaped. Eero was tough enough, and clever enough, to make it.
He kneels before me as I sit on a nearby stool, taking my hands in his.
"You're going to be okay." He whispers and I nod, "Someone will volunteer this year, I know it. It won't be you." He says and I sort of of believe him for a moment. Because even if I am picked the likelihood is that someone will volunteer to take my place. I feel myself relax. My brother always did know how to help me.
He is very tall, about 6ft 2, and all the girls at school would giggle when they saw him. I could see why, my brother could easily be considered handsome, with his dark hair and deep brown eyes and the layer of stubble he always seemed to have around his chin. He knew it too, was always messing around with some girl, but never the same one and never for very long.
"Thanks," I breathe, finally, "At least you're in the clear this year." I smile, but his face turns serious.
"Yeah," he mumbles. Not really looking me in the eye. I worry again. "Time to go," he says, and smiles. "I'll go and wake Dad."
Our father is not the best. We rarely see him, he is always in his room, asleep next to the bottle of liquor that should be food. He doesn't work and it's a wonder that the Capitol let him get away with it. Still the Peacekeepers here have been here for a while, they know him well and at the end of the day they must see it as more hassle than it's worth. We get by. Both Eero and I worked after school in the net factory, and since he's left school he's been out fishing full time. Dad's been this way ever since our mother died. It's been five years, but the pain must be just as great for him now as it was that day. Still, everyone has to be present at the reaping.
The air is warm as I step outside, the smell of salt greets me and I can almost feel it's soothing power. It is not a smell that I think I will ever get used to, or ever get sick of.
The sun is high and bright in the sky, and its warmth tingles my skin as I wait for my brother and father to stumble out of the house.
The walk to the Justice Building is not long. I watch all of the other kids, most of which I recognize from school. Some look scared. Others look confident and I feel a little more hope that there will be two volunteers this year.
It's terrible, hoping for other people to volunteer to play a game where they will kill for fun, and glory. It shouldn't have to be like this.
Most of them are huddled in groups, best friends hold hands and couple wrap their arms around each other. It is a sad sight.
District 4's escort, a scary woman named Dynasty Augusta, wastes no time in getting started. There are the usual speeches, speeches that I tuned out to long ago. Previous victors line the stage, most are staring into the distance, some staring at the crowd like fresh meat.
Her hand drops into the bowl, brushing around the envelopes for effect before plucking one out. I look to my feet.
Iris Thorne.
For a split second it feels as if my heart stops. My head snaps up and I search the crowd for my brother. I see my own panic reflected in his eyes. But there is nothing he can do.
Still, I smile. Walking steadily to the stage, I smile. This is a career district, I need to show them that I am not afraid. That I know what I'm doing.
The smile falters half way up the steps. I force myself to pick it back up.
Calm. Be calm. It's not over yet.
"And so we have our female tribute for District 4. Any volunteers?" Dynasty asks and I hold my breath, waiting for the two words that will mean my safety. Two words that I'm beginning to think I will never hear.
"Very well. No female volunteers this year. Aren't you lucky!" Her voice is so enthusiastic and squeaky, it makes me want to throw up.
"Now for the boys!"
I hear nothing but the sound of her heels clicking as she walks to the other bowl and back. My eyes scan the crowd for Eero, he looks lost. My father is no where to be seen.
"Izak Lapworth."
My heart stops again and I wonder if this could possibly be any worse.