Reaping day doesn't strike the same note of fear into me that it does to others. I suppose that's not too surprising. It's not the way most people feel, but then most people don't live in the Community home. If you were looking for a reason not to fear being sent to certain death then the Community home is it. We are all miserable here in District 7, all trapped by our lives rather than living them, but that does not mean that the majority of us do not want to live them. The others can complain about the lack of food, the bitter cold, the cruelty of the peacekeeper s, but on reaping day they all ball their fists tightly at their sides, praying for anyone's name other than their own, for one more chance, one more year. Not me. I wait for the name to be pulled with a frisson in my stomach, a spark of nervous exhilaration. It could be me.

I am certain the others would do the same, had they not homes to go to, the promise of if not food at the end of the day, then at least a family to make the nights a little less dark and desolate. All that greets me when I return from a long, thankless day at work is a large, ominous building, somehow colder inside than it is out, owned by Shasta, a woman even colder and more ominous than the house itself. I have no family to greet me, instead I have hours of chores which I perform alone before heading to sleep in what barely passes for a bed in a room I share with 40 other girls, not one of whom I could call an acquaintance, let alone a friend. This is why I do not fear the games as others do; I have nothing to lose other than that which I would be glad to. To me, the games are not a burden; they do not bring despair but promise, the chance to escape from the half-life I tolerate on a daily basis, and rather than dread them, I await them.

One year it became that mere anticipation was not enough. It was just three years ago, when I was aged 14. A particularly unbearable few months had passed at the home and a plan had formed in my head- I would volunteer for the games. Then I would be free. As soon as this idea had occurred to me it was like a weight had lifted; relief at leaving had overwhelmed me and I had found myself eagerly anticipating the drawing as my means of escape. Just four more months, I had kept telling myself. Four more and I'll be gone. From that point on I had carried it in my head, a precious secret that got me through the dark days, and it had quickly become the entire focus of my existence.

I had even begun training. Not that I had any thoughts of actually winning, at least not serious ones- I'd seen the careers, from the higher Districts, and they were huge; girls who looked like boys, and boys who looked like men. I knew a scrawny 14 year old from the lower Districts held little chance of success, but that didn't matter. For me it was about leaving, not winning. Even with death as a virtual certainty I knew I would rather take my chances in the games, knowing that either result- death or victory- would result in me never having to set foot in the Community home again.

Despite knowing victory was unlikely I still planned to put up a good fight, and as much as I had tried to ignore it, as much as the logical side of me had denied it as a complete impossibility, a small part of my brain had always thought, why not? Why not me? I could win. Stranger things have happened, stranger victories have occurred. All I needed was some resilience - and to be able to run. With this thought in mind I had taken to rising early and running the streets of the District every morning, and by my fourth week of this I had managed to convince myself I would win. I was fast, I knew this, and reasonably strong, and I had felt for sure there was nobody in the District better prepared than I.

It was then, perfectly timed to prove the laughable extent of my naivety, that I ran into Dex. Literally. I rounded a corner and there he was, towering over me, and as I collided with him in surprise I found him immovable, as strong as the stone walls guarding the perimeter and twice as threatening. I sprang back from the impact but he caught me before I fell.

"Whoa there, missy. Watch yourself."

His voice was almost inhumanly deep, and as strong as the arms which held me in a vice like grip. I didn't know him but I'd seen him around; he lived in the Community home like me, but we'd never spoken. He was too old, too strong, too handsome, and I wasn't sure he even knew my name. But I was wrong.

"You're Tyla, right?"

I stared dumbly back at him as he steadied me, too amazed to respond as he looked down at me with a frown. "You're not a mute are you Tyla?" he asked, and I swallowed quickly, getting a hold of myself as I choked out a few words.

"No. Yes, it's Tyla."

He nodded, releasing his grip on my shoulders and straightening up. This didn't make his presence any less threatening, and I felt my insides curl as he gazed down at me.

"I've seen you running Tyla. For what purpose?"

My eyes widened at this news. He had seen me? I'd never seen him whilst running, not even once, and it was humbling, that this beast of a boy could be watching me and I wouldn't even notice. For the first time I felt a little less like a potential winning tribute and a little more like a foolish girl running the dirty streets of the District. I looked up at him, wondering whether to trust this terrifying stranger who looked so much like an adult, before swiftly deciding there was no reason not to. After all, there wasn't a single adult alive who would object to my plan to volunteer for the games; many would likely encourage it to spare their own simpering daughter, so I couldn't see it making a difference even if he did say something. This thought gave me strength, and I lifted my chin and looked him in the eye.

"I'm training. Training for the games."

He raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest, making him appear even bigger. Not to be outdone, I folded my own.

"You plan to volunteer?"

He was smirking, though I was unsure if this was due to my inadequate mimicking of his stance or the idea of me volunteering. Either way, it fired my temper, and I narrowed my eyes defiantly. "Yes." He studied me for a moment and then nodded.

"Me too. You can train with me if you like. I could do with a partner."

I had started slightly in surprise but tried not to show it. I had not expected him to ask me why I was training for the games- as a fellow Community kid I assumed he would know my reasons. But the revelation that he was training too, that I wasn't the only one with such a scheme, was disconcerting enough to leave me gawping at him like a fish. He raised an eyebrow.

"If you'd rather not then say. But if you're serious about volunteering then you'll do it. Just running around the District isn't going to help you kill a career."

This pricked both my pride and my interest and I closed my mouth, glaring. "Oh yea? Well what do you do?" He grinned.

"Something better. I'll tell you, but only if we're partners."

I looked at his hand as he held it out to me, dry and rough but big enough to enclose two of mine, and didn't consider for a second before I shook it. He grinned, his first proper smile, showing a row of strong, almost wolfish teeth, and then turned on his heel, striding away.

"Come on then, Tyla. Let's prepare you for certain death."

I felt afterwards this was probably a last minute attempt to check my commitment, but at the time all I felt was rage at his assumption that I would die. A burning urge to prove him wrong pounded in my head as I jogged after him, taking several quick steps for each one of his long strides, and as we walked he filled me in.

He had started training 6 months ago, he told me, after one of the colder winters we had had in a while had demanded more wood for Panem, and longer working hours for District 7. His 12 hour days had turned to 14, then 16 as the District struggled to meet the increasing targets demanded by the Capitol. Working for endless hours in the frost bitten air was hard enough, he had said, but worse was Shasta's refusal to lift the curfew she places on the house. Night after night he would beg to be let out early from work so that he might get home before the doors were bolted shut and still have a bed for the night, but he was always refused. He would return to a dark and silent house, unresponsive to the beating of his fists against the heavy door, and it was during his third week of sleeping in the doorway, hunched up with his back turned against the biting wind, that he had decided that nothing in the Hunger Games could be worse than anything he would have to bear in the District. He had immediately decided that this year would be his last, and his own training regime had begun. He too had spent time running the streets, until as he put it "I got serious."

He had begun collecting weapons, started planning a strategy even- though he refused to indulge it to me. But he was ready, he was sure of it. He was fit, strong, he could fight, feed himself- and he could climb.

"Can you?"

We had stopped suddenly, him looking down at me expectantly as I stared dumbly back. "Climb? A little." I replied, and he nodded. "Well, get better. We're going up."

It was only then that I had realised where we were. We had not, as I expected, gone in the direction of the forests- I was glad of this, as the fences were guarded and I had not been looking forward to confronting the Peacekeepers. Instead we were at the other end of the District, the housing area, close to the boundary wall, beyond which lay the woods we did not harvest that extended backwards towards District 6.

I looked up to where he was gesturing and immediately saw what he meant for us to do. Growing over the wall, barely visible from this angle, was a tree branch. It was blocked from view by a roof, but it was there. I looked at Dex.

"We're breaching the wall?" I asked, and he nodded. "Up and over."

The woods on this side of the District were strictly out of bounds, and this combined with the dark and ominous way they towered before me had started my heart racing, but before I had a chance to think he had swung himself onto the roof and was leaping clear over the wall. I heard a rustle on the other side that signified he had made it and felt my stomach dip. The stone wall itself was no problem, but it was lined along the top with poisonous barbs, glass, wires and stone shards, and I wasn't sure I could clear it as neatly as he had. But I had to, I reminded myself. There could be far worse waiting in the arena.

I quickly and quietly scaled the house as I had seen Dex do, and without giving myself time to hesitate pushed off hard and sprang forward. I just cleared the wall, but made a less than dignified entrance as I missed the branch and instead clung haphazardly to the trunk as I slid to the ground. Dex laughed as he pulled me up, watching me wince as I tugged shards of bark from my hands, and patted me on the back.

"Not bad for a first go. You'll get better."

We walked for barely ten minutes until we reached a clearing, where I realised the seriousness of his intentions. Work tools, shears, knives, hammers and large blocks of wood lay scattered, along with definite splashes of dried blood. I looked at him in alarm and he smiled.

"Animals. Come on."

I quickly realised I was not here for my benefit but for his, but this was unsurprising given that he had invited me to join him. My job was not to train myself, but him- I threw things, moved targets, gave chase and fought back, but I didn't mind. It was still more training than running would ever have given me, and so we quickly settled into a routine. After a month or so, whilst we had not become friends we were comrades of sorts, and I had even developed skills of my own- I was handy with the axes, and though my hand to hand combat left much to desired, my skill at throwing knives and spears came so naturally that it more than made up for it.

"You're dead if anyone gets close to you" Dex had declared in exasperation more than once after easily deflecting my feeble hits, but I decided it didn't matter. I too had been working on a strategy- climb and throw. Whenever I had the chance I would scale trees, buildings; everything I could, and force myself to leap from one to the other. I kept this from Dex- we were to be opponents, I reminded myself, and I had to have some tactics he did not know about. I discovered he had been thinking the same one day when, out climbing, I discovered him wrestling a wolf. It was not too large, slightly bigger than me, but it was still an animal with teeth and claws, and to see him overpower it was brutal and terrifying- a reminder of the potential abilities of those who awaited me in the arena.

"You're better than any career I've ever seen" I had blurted during sword practice later, and he had grinned widely, pleased at the accolade. I noticed he did not return it, and it was around then I decided not to volunteer that year. Having my District partner know me so well could only be a disadvantage, and I didn't want to run the risk of being unable to kill him when the time came. Emotions led to weakness, and while I was certain that I didn't hold him in any regard high enough to hinder my progress in the games, I wasn't prepared to risk it.

At the Reaping that year I was nervous, for once, knowing that if my name was called then Dex would beat me for sure. But it wasn't- Ana Wallis was the name drawn that year. I remember, as clear as day, her trembling face as she took the stage, her tearful eyes as she found her parents in the crowd, Dex's confused eyes pinned on me as they asked for volunteers and I kept my head down. He was hailed a hero when a young boy was called and he stepped forward and volunteered. He had many visitors, as many as they could allow, but I didn't visit him. Nor did I visit Ana, though seeing her parents' tear-stained faces was as close as I came to feeling anything like guilt. It should have been me I thought as I passed them in the street, but I brushed it aside. She had been chosen, fair and square. And why should I volunteer? I was only 14. She was 17, and from a well-fed family- she had a far better chance than I did.

I had watched the games with renewed fascination that year, particularly the interview stage, where I watched Dex strut and preen and accept compliments for his bravery in volunteering in a town where it was uncommon. It turns out that the strategy he had kept so closely guarded was one so simple I could have guessed it- arrogance. He bragged about his size, his strength, his abilities, his determination, mentioned numerous times how the careers should watch their backs- that he was going to be in it until the end.

As it was, he didn't last a minute. The moment the whistle blew he ran for the Cornucopia and armed himself, but before he had a chance to use the spear, the axe, the long, impressive sword I knew he would adore, he was taken upon by all 6 careers at once. I'd never seen anything like it. He was dead within the first 60 seconds, leaving Ana to take the mantle. She did little better, lasting less than a week before she was attacked by Muttations. She fought them off valiantly but was severely weakened, and was killed by a tribute later that night as she lay sleeping.

I wasn't sure if I felt sad or not that Dex had died so suddenly, but I quickly decided I didn't care. We were not friends, I had been right about that; he was just another victim of the Hunger Games, another life. I also knew I had been right in my instinct to not volunteer. I would fare better, now I had seen his strategy fail. I would learn from his mistakes, just as I would benefit from his training.

Our District mourned his loss as a great tragedy, and the boy whose place he took collected his body when it was returned to us. That had blackened my mood for a while, as I had wondered who would collect my body. I spent a little time allowing my gaze to hang on the faces of the younger girls in the District, wondering, but I did not linger on this thought for long- I will know next year, I told myself. But I didn't. Not next year. Not the year after that. Every year my best intentions failed me and my head stayed down. Every year I decided I was not quite ready, that I needed more training. But not this year. This year, I've decided, I'm ready. This year I'll volunteer. This year I'm going in.