Truth Unveiled

The quiver and its arrow felt strange in my hand, hands built for painting, decorating, wielding a knife; not firing arrows.

'Steady,' my Mother said, in her own hands she held her bow and arrow, yet hers were sure and steady, whilst mine nervously shook and almost dropped the arrow.

'You have to become one with your weapon, think of it as an extension of yourself, aim and shoot!' upon the last word she released her arrow and shot a squirrel in the eye, it fell from its tree to land with a thud on the ground. I felt my stomach turn over at the sight of how neat the kill was, mine were always messy and full of blood and guts.

'Come now Nelda, shoot,' I started as I felt my Mother's whispered words close to my ear. Taking a deep breath I shot and was rewarded with a loud thud, from a tree branch falling; I heard my Mother sigh behind me. 'Well it was close Nelda, you'll get there soon enough, learning how to aim well takes time.' My hands clenched around the bow and I cast it to the floor,

'Nelda!' my Mother cried, 'how dare you!'

'Yet I do dare Mother! I can make a kill just fine thank-you very much and I don't need to learn how to do it with a bow and arrow!' to prove my point I yanked the small knife from my belt, spun and flung it into the back of a rabbit that had been rustling around nearby, in almost five seconds. 'Just because I look like and act like you does not mean I have to learn to hunt like you!'

Two years later I stand in the shadows of the alder tree for which I am named with a sure hand steadying a bow and arrow. I smiled slightly as I recalled how angry I had been that day, how childish and unnecessary it had all seemed during a time where food was so scarce it really should not have been an issue of with what I hunt with but how. The pestilence has long since died out and people of District 12 had begun to live again instead of merely getting through the dismal days; Panem itself was another story. From what I could gather from eavesdropping on my parents late at night, the new president, Plutarch somebody, was petitioning to begin a new season of Hunger Games.

From what I have learnt over the years is that the Games were a horrific time of year for anyone in the districts. I knew that Haymitch- long dead, my mother and father had all competed and had won their Games and how it had led to rebellion but that is all; the Hunger Games are a forbidden topic in our home and district. The lessons of the Games had stopped being taught in schools when I reached the age of 8, just when the history of the Games became interesting; I do not fully understand what were the fundamental reason behind them Games, what an Arena was or how my parents won. Listening to their discussions late at night and seeing my Mother staring blankly at a wall for hours before my Father arrives home to revive her, makes me never want to find out.

I zeroed in on a deer ten metres away pausing for a drink it would never finish, my arrow plunged into its eye as its tongue met the water. Feeling victorious I jogged towards my kill, arrow loaded ready for other predators. As I pulled the sodden deer from the pond a large rustling to left had me spinning around with my knife in hand ready to strike; although I am rather good at archery I prefer my knife as I weapon.

'Easy,' a hasty male voice spoke stepping out of the bushes with his arms raised, the sunlight glinting in his hair, 'it's only me,'

I sheathed my knife in my belt, 'sorry dad.' He smiled slightly noticing the deer at my feet.

'Your Mother wants you home right away, no, leave the deer,' he said as I reached down to drag it home, 'this is vital.'

When we arrived home my Father lead me directly into the living room where my Mother sat holding my brother David tightly, I could tell he wasn't too comfortable with this.

'Katniss, Nelda is here.'

Upon hearing my name my Mother spun around to gaze at me, her face filled with pain, the scars on her face intensifying the emotion more than I thought was possible. Quickly I went to her side and crouched down low,

'What is it Mother, what's happened,' my voice catching the hysteria she was expressing. In reply she simply turned on the television, the programme was a speech from the new President and it appeared to be half way through.

'… the pestilence left Panem in tatters and control is a necessary factor in regaining strength and power. To demonstrate the strength of our country, each district throughout Panem shall willingly give two tributes, one boy and one girl from the ages of twelve to eighteen to fight to the death. In hope of bringing strength to Panem from watching the strength displayed to us from the very youngest of our great nation. All children from all districts shall submit their names to the reaping ball by midday tomorrow and reaping's shall begin the week anon. I look forward to meeting those lucky winners of this years reaping as they begin a new era of Hunger Games!' President Plutarch received his applause with open arms and a large smile before the seal of Panem was shown and the programme ended; my Mother switched off the television. Silence. All four of us stared at a blank screen for a few moments before my Mother let out an animalistic scream and threw the remote at the screen smashing it.

'No!' she screamed pulverising the television with swift kicks and punches, 'no, no, no! Why? Why? Why?' her voice began to be filled with sobs and blood ran down her arms from the smashed glass. My Father ran forward and pulled her into her arms; she clung to him and hid her face from David and I, whilst hoarse sobs tore up her throat. 'It will be okay Katniss, it will be okay,'

She pulled away from him, her eyes blazing now and fists clenched, 'How Peeta? How will this be okay? We have two eligible children, two! If you honestly believe that one of them, children of Victors won't be chosen say it now! SAY IT!' At my Father's silence she broke down again only this time she ran for the door, I knew where she was going, the woods.

'Katniss!' my Father cried running after her, but she was long gone, faster than my Father whom couldn't move to fast due to his forged leg.

Throughout all of this David had sunk further into the couch in shock whilst I had stood in shock in the same position I stood now, my hands clenched by my sides staring at the television. A sharp pain in my hand made me look down and see blood dripping from my palms where the nails had dug in. Blood. I was used to seeing the blood of animals, but not my own, I watched in fascination as it fell to the floor and wondered what it was about it that made many people feel nausea. I looked at David whom was silently crying at age fourteen he would never survive what I knew the Games may hold. I however, age sixteen, strong, young would. If anyone was going to end up in the Hunger Games from this family, it would have to be me.

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