Disclaimer: All things The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. Unfortunately not me. Although I'd like to meet her.

Chapter 1

District 4

Reaping Day

I sit on the docks, breathing in that misty, salty air I might never get to breathe again. It dampens my dress shirt, causing it to stick to my back but I ignore it. The ocean is at its best this time of morning, its soft waves swaying the dock, the sun rays barely breaking the surface of the clouds.

Usually, the docks would be filled with fishermen, bringing in their morning hauls on boats such as the Silver Arrow, or leaving the ports to fish farther out at sea for the rare, exotic fish. But today, all the boats are docked, the sea empty and void of human presence.

I've come here every year before the Reaping since I was twelve. I wanted to have that image of the ocean in my mind forever, just in case. That last piece of myself I can't and will never lose.

"Cas, it's time to go," says my older brother Markus from behind me. I didn't even hear him walk up. I squint up at him, the overcast sky blurring my vision with bright white light. I dread the Reaping.

I think Markus does too.

We walk back to the house together in silence, leaving the docks and the ocean behind. Whoever is reaped today, I wish them luck. The sand is soft and grainy beneath my bare feet and I try to engrave that feeling into my mind like a permanent memory. Like I said, I do this every year. A precaution.

We reach the house, a small wooden cottage on the edge of the beach I've lived in my entire life. The white paint is peeling, the screen door squeals and unearthly sound and the salty air seeps through the warped boards, dampening the interior. This is home. At least it's easy to get to work.

I think of that as Markus opens the squealing door. We're instantly attacked by Goldilocks, our Golden Retriever, and I scratch her head absentmindedly. She waits for me by the door every time I leave the premises.

"Got him," says Markus as he enters the kitchen. I lean against the doorjamb and watch my mother braid my sister's hair as Goldilocks begs for attention at my feet. Milky light beams through the small window above the sink and creates odd shadows on the floor.

"Goldilocks, shush," I say softly to get her to settle down. She sits obediently until my little brother bounds in and she jumps on him. I roll my eyes. My mother finishes with my sisters hair and looks at us three boys, a hint of gloom scratching at her face as she sees me. I'm the only on eligible for the Reaping this year, since Markus turned nineteen last month and Gus and Cecilia are only six and eight.

"Well, we don't need to be late, now do we?" my mother closes the curtains over the window and the rooms grows darker. She smoothes her dress and tries to smile for Gus and Cecilia. This may be the last time I see any of them. Who knows what the capital has in store for us in punishments.

The escort for District 4 has been the same lady since probably the first games. You'd think she'd be tired of the job, but there she is on the stage, an ugly yellow wig standing high on her head that clashes with her red dress. Her name is Jezebel Troutman, but all of District 4 just calls her Trout because she talks like she's under water and her mouth is stuck in a permanent pucker like she's about ready to kiss someone. She used to be the laughing stock of my class when I was younger, but not since we all became eligible to be reaped. I'm more eligible than any of them. I'm pretty sure Snow remembers the assassination plot my father was behind. I'll never forget the day when twenty some peacekeepers banged down our door and ransacked our house only to find my mother, Markus. Cecilia and I huddled in the attic scared to the bone.

They've been watching us. But no matter what they think, none of us where my father is. The last time I heard, District 7, but that was six years ago.

I come to my senses and find an empty spot in the group of sixteen year old boys. I'm tall for my age, so I see over most the other guy's heads. Some of the guys try to talk to me but I shrug them off. I've never been much of a people person. I had a friend who was killed in the games a couple years ago. I haven't talked much since.

Jezebel lets her cackling laugh echo around everyone and it sends a shiver up my spine. The happiness in her voice is forced, which is a little odd. Capitol citizens always seem excited for the annual Hunger Games. She puts on a smile and I block out her words and look around the square where the citizens of District 4 stand silent, peacekeepers guarding them with their guns ready. I see my mother and Markus among them, staring at the stage with everybody else. I don't know why, but I clench my fist.

"…you all know the drill by now. Ladies first!" Jezebel reaches a bony hand into the glass bowl containing all the girls' names. She searches around the papers with grace until she finally plucks one up. I close my eyes.

"River Ainsley!"

A space clears in one of the roped off sections and a girl about my age steps out slowly. She's small but fierce looking, with sand colored hair and a knee length deep purple dress. Her face is determined as she goes up the stages' steps to stand next to a smiling Jezebel. River scans the crowd, like she's trying to guess who the boy tribute will be.

Jezebel walks over to the bowl that holds all the boys names and reaches a hand in. I cross my arms and glance at the other guys around me, wondering if they're thinking the same thing as me. Jezebel holds up a slip of paper and hesitates to read it, and I have this feeling that I know who it is. I take a deep breath and clench fistfuls of my loose shirt.

Her painted lips smile, like she knows the story behind the name. "Cas Ludwig!"

I knew this was coming but damn. Hearing your name called at the Reaping is some scary stuff. The guys around me push me forward. One slaps my back like this is a good thing. His father wasn't in the rebellion.

River watches me as I walk to the stage, probably theorizing how she'll kill me.

Jezebel wants us to bow. I don't. What's the use? I'm in a daze as she announces us tributes of the 33rd Hunger Games and the crowd applauds.

I don't even remember going into the justice building.

If I die, my fathers' life will be for nothing.

If I win, I'll die anyway because I'm not supposed to win.