Chapter 1: The Way I Was Raised

My eyes tremble with tears as I take the stage. Eloisa fixes her burnt orange wig, but her sickling smile remains. How can she be happy about this every year? She fits elegant gloved fingers into mine, and holds up my hand, high into the air. The audience cheer and applause. They love this. And I did. Until I got picked.

"Glimmer Sparks, ladies and gentlemen!" shrieks Eloisa. I fake a smile, and manage a small wave with my free hand. What am I doing? I should be proud of this honour. I am going into the arena. To fight for the pride of my district. I should be proud. But I am not. I am shaking. A tear falls, but no-one seems to notice. I continue smiling, and waving, until she releases my hand. And the second name is reaped.

And then I awake. I take some deep breaths, until I am completely calm. I rub my eyes, before checking my alarm clock. Nine! Its nine o'clock and I have slept in. I rush to my dressing table, and take a seat. I hear a knock at the door.

"Hello, Glimmer!" a voice shouts. "It's Bee, dear."

I smile. Bee. She always calms me down. Bee is technically our "maid," but I consider her more as a friend. As she enters, I notice she is already dolled up and ready. Her usual black, loose hair is scrunched into a messy bun. Instead of her casual, dirty work clothes she is wearing a pretty white dress, with matching white shoes. Her face is smothered in make-up, even though she doesn't need it. She is a natural beauty.

Bee is holding a tray, which is filled with my breakfast. Eggs, bacon, everything. "Here you go," she beams. She sets it down on my bed, and I nod, thankfully. "Eat up. Big day." She winks at me, and gives me a 'thumbs up', before heading out.

"Bee." I say. She turns back, smiling as usual. "I had a nightmare." I admit.

She frowns. She knows what it was about. "Listen, Glim," she says, sitting on my bed. She taps lightly next to her, asking me to join her. I hesitate, as it seems babyish, but then I do. She pulls me to her side, and I lean in, hugging her. "You are not going to get picked. Okay?" she says in a reassuring way. I nod, and then regain my upright position. She stands up, after lightly kissing my forehead. I smile. Is it strange calling a thirty-two year old woman your best friend? I hope it is not. She leaves the room, closing the door behind her, because she knows that's the way I like it. I don't know how I would live without Bee.

I quickly eat all my breakfast, just leaving the toast crust, and a couple of beans. Sitting back at my dressing table, I brush my hair, and then notice my reflection. I have puffy eyes. I have been crying in my sleep. Why? Am I that scared of getting reaped? I must be. But, how?

Ever since I was eleven years old, I trained for the games. Six days a week, until we had to stop. When I turned thirteen, the law changed. If you trained for the games, it was considered illegal. It was considered 'unfair.' It was 'District 11 and 12 cannot afford this equipment', or something similar.

We are lucky. Here in District 1, we are the richest of all the districts. Our industry is luxury items. My father works in a business, where they brainstorm ideas for the Capitol's use. He is a brilliant artist, and is well-known for his talent. He is amongst the richest people in the District. He ranked second last year, after the great mayor himself.

I jump, as the door slams open. Speak of the devil. It's my father.

He's wearing a classic suit, especially for today. But he's not here to reassure me that everything will be okay today. He never is.

"Hello, father." I say, sarcastically. He has the usual sweaty, scrunched up look, on his face.

"Where's my cufflinks?" he growls, aggressively. "Well?" He approaches me, his red eyes full of anger. "Where have you hidden them?"

"Well. I-I- erm." I stammer, struggling. I despise my father. I despise him only because he despises me. And everyone else who gets in his way.

"Glimmer!" he snaps. "I have raised you better than this! Where are my damn cufflinks, you-"

As usual, I ignore all of his cursing. He calls me every curse word you could imagine. And more. He calls me things that I hadn't even have heard of before.

Obviously, I don't know where is damn cufflinks are. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell him. He abuses me, sometimes, but mother always stops him. She yells at him, several times, slaps him and then sends him off to the shed, or his fathers. I'm always happy about that, because she always treats me well, and gives me lots of attention.

"Are you listening to me?" my father exclaims, as I snap out of my daydream. "You're not a child anymore! You're seventeen!"

Yes, thank you for reminding me of my age, father. I think. I almost forgot.

Instead I say "Maybe they're in your closet?"

"What?" my father shrieks.

"Your cufflinks." I say. "Maybe they're on that other jacket? The one you wore for dinner at the mayors?"

My father freezes, and considers this. Of course they are. He remembers. But this doesn't calm him down.

He grasps the collar of my shirt, and aggressively pushes me against the wall.

"How did you know that?" he yells. He bashes my head several times, and I can barely speak. My head hurts. "HOW?"

"I-I-" I murmur. Suddenly, I collapse to the floor. He has released me, and his attention has turned to the doorway. There, stands my hero. My mother.