A/N: Okay, so we decided we wanted to write a previous version of the Games, focusing on three characters, and will be updated weekly (hopefully :P). However, we would just like to thank Jynx6 for letting us takeover her characters!
Also, this chapter could possibly be extended soon because at the moment, it's quite short and the title is most likely to change! Please drop us a review!
Smiling broadly, I step forward into the glimmering sunlight of District 1's town centre with my name still echoing in my head.
As much as I love the strange lilt to the Capitol woman's voice, the clipped tone and the hard vowels, I don't need to be told twice. This is the moment I've been waiting for, the moment that I've spent all my life training for, and I'm not going to let Ruby live it down.
She may be my friend, but even I'm not above gloating, especially when I'm the one selected to bring our District the highest honour – another victor of the Hunger Games. Striding forward to the podium, I let the moment form in my mind as I watch the sunlight play off my pale skin.
"And the female tribute is… Jasmine Silverflown!"
Those words had been music to my ears, and now they're mine, all mine. My victory over my District will become my victory in the Games; and I'll be damned if I let anyone try and take it away from me.
I'm still half in my head when those words cut through my thoughts.
"I volunteer as tribute!"
They come from right beside me.
Without thinking, I turn and slash my knife across their throat, feeling the warmth of their blood gush over my hands. No one is taking this away from me. No one!
The body goes limp and I let it fall. It lands with a soft thud that brings me out of my daze.
I blink blankly at the body. It scarcely seems to be a person at all, a mass of brown curls covering the face and the gash from which blood still spills. I don't need to turn over the corpse to know exactly who it is though.
That voice, how could have I not realised? That look, a flash of betrayal and shock that had struck across her grey eyes as I slit her neck from ear to ear with a simple slash. She's still wearing it, even though now her face is fixed in a firm stare at the hard stone of the sidewalk. I'm staring at the corpse when the Peacekeepers seize me by the rough sleeve of my top and haul me out of the crowd towards the centre stage.
The crowd is silent. No one else volunteers, they're too scared to raise their hand against me, and for that I am grimly grateful.
As they force me on to the podium, one of them is brave enough to wrestle my knife from where it's gripped tightly at my side. I don't bother to fight them as they push me to the forefront of the stage, forming a respectful barrier between me and the rest of the District.
They eye me warily. I could take them, and they know it. I could take all of them, that's why they're keeping a wary distance from me, why no one else will call themselves out for tribute. They haven't tried to wash the blood from my hands, they haven't even bothered to wrestle the blonde hair back from my face, and instead they've left me blood-stained, standing half-crazed before my District. I am a warning that we are not to be messed with.
As everyone stares at me in an uneasy silence, the Capitol woman clears her throat, attempting to gain their attention once more.
"And now for the male tribute."
Her hand dips into the bowl gracefully, rummaging around until her fingers close around a single roll of paper. She doesn't dare tease them, like she did the female tribute. Instead, she reads the name straight out.
"And, the male tribute for District 1 is… Garne Mirrorslash."
A hushed whisper moves through the crowd in a wave of movement as people crane their heads in to listen. They all say the same thing though, and it's the same thing that echoes in my own head as a tall, muscular brunette boy ascends towards the stage, flanked either side by Peacekeepers.
That's her brother.
Ruby Mirrorslash spent every day of the week training to be like her twin brother, constantly joking that she would win over him in a fight to the death. Now we'll never know, after I slit her throat with my own knife.
His knuckles are tightly clenched as he walks up the short flight of stairs and takes his place on the podium beside me. My heart would flutter if I had the capacity to care.
As it is, I stare him down, my blue eyes locking with his in a silent battle of strength. Neither of us win, instead, the tension is broken when a small smirk fixes itself on his face, and he leans towards me, level with my eyes.
"You may be one cold-hearted bitch, Jasmine, but be careful it doesn't get the better of you."
Then he steps back and grips of my hand hard, raising it in the air before I have any time to protest and glaring out across the crowd angrily.
"Does anyone else dare challenge us?"