I awake to the balmy, yellow haze of sunlight peeking through the gap between the window and my stained curtain. I sit up on my dirty mattress on the cold hard floor.

I sigh, the reaping was tomorrow. I was to have my name put into the selection process 52 times for The Hunger Games for extra food for my family. The Hunger Games was first created when the 13 districts had rebelled against the richest area of Panem - The Capitol. The Capitol had destroyed District 13 to show their power and punished the rest of the districts by making every district give a male and female child to fight to the death in an arena. That was 63 years ago, and it was now the 63rd Hunger Games. I raise from the 'bed' and walk towards the curtain and peek through the window. I lived in the poorest part of one of the poorest districts – District 11 – the agricultural district.

I see our small garden around the back of our house. Green was as far as the eye could see. There were white fences around our garden, blocking my view from anything on the other side of it. The yellow and red roses were dotted around the garden, adding a beautiful pop of colour. Everything was trimmed perfectly. I loved it.

To my left, I hear my mother fussing over my baby brother profusely and quietly tip-toe into the kitchen as I didn't want to disturb my mother at such an early hour.

My kitchen was rather impractical, but my favourite part of the small shed-like building we called home. Compared to the other rooms in our home, it could be called large and elegant. The flimsy wooden door to the pantry didn't open and showed how vacant it was. Although I lived on the farming district, it was illegal to eat the food we grow – it all went to the Capitol. If you were to be caught eating your own food, you were sentenced to two-and-twenty whips to public display. Picking up the small piece of bread in the dusty corner, I place it atop of my tongue, savouring it. I swallow it and enter my parent's room.

My father sat on his bed. He was bald but had little stubbles of hair on his head. He had a small, dark moustache upon his face. He wore a yellow and blue shirt with pictures of little smiley vegetables on it. That was always my favourite one of my favourite of his T-shirts. He had brown trousers that once upon a time were black and he had matching brown shoes.

'Hey, Dad,' I said and beam at him.

'Hey, how are you?' he says and smiled back.

I know he wants me to talk about The Games.

I stare at him in the eyes. 'Perfectly fine, and you?'

'I'm good- are you worried about the reaping?' (The reaping was the selection of the child).

'I'm feeling fine about it, Dad.' I say.

'Okay, sweetie, don't fret. You most likely won't get chosen.' He says.

I glance at him and he understands the look in my eyes. I leave the room and re-enter my bedroom.

I look into the mirror. My curly black ringlets of hair sitting atop my head like a crown. It contrasted perfectly with my dark skin and hazel eyes. My nose was rather small, but my lips were slightly bigger than average. My clothes were torn and dirty from farming and my shoes were black with mud. I strip and change into slightly cleaner clothes.

I exit my room and bump into my mother in the little hallway between the bedroom and lounge.

'Hi, Mom,' I say to her.

'Hey, darling,' she leans over and hugs me, 'you couldn't go and sort out the crops could you?'

I grin, 'Of course, Mom.'

'Don't forget, don't eat ANY of the crops' she calls after me as I leave.

'I won't,' I call back as I close the door behind me.

I leave my home and look behind me as I am far enough away to see my house.

The building was once a single square, but there had been many extensions. The roof curved across these extensions and looked unnatural and unplanned. The windows bulged out of the house rather and lying flat or sinking in.

I shake my head and trot along.

Lush green trees and fields yellow with little lines that make up crops surround me. I follow the muddy paths until I reach the closest village. The brown buildings were varied in sizes and rather boring, to say the least. They had some sort of charm about them though. Maybe it was the multi-coloured banners hung all over the small market places. Or maybe it was the bustling people, all with long smiles spread across their faces. There was one thing that I didn't like about the town, and that was the peacekeepers.

They wore white outfits. Armour sat atop these outfits. There were all at least six foot tall and had small stripes of black on their shoulders. Atop their heads were white helmets. They completely covered their faces, but they had a black visor on the white of the helmet.

I take a left and traipse over to the family field and begin my jobs. Burning rays of sunlight beat down on me as I begin to start – it was harvest day. Harvest day was one of the most fun. All you pretty much did was chop away at the crops and put it in a bag. I pick up my reasonably small machete and my basket and begin to chop away. I chop for hours and hours and hours. I return home with seven baskets full and place them on the little table next. I say hello to mother. The sun was beginning to set in the sky. There were lines of colours gradients into darker colours as it got closer to the top. I get into bed and fall into a deep slumber before my head hits the pillow.