The sun has just begun to rise when I head toward the edge of the district, just outside the woods. Normally, people in the Seam would be bustling about, having begun their days mining just before the sun rose. They would be heading toward the mines and diving into the darkness, their lungs filling with coal dust.

But today is different.

Today is the reaping.

I know that people are still sleeping, taking advantage of what today means. For most families, they will sleep in, attend the reaping, then head home relieved. For two families, devastation and grief will follow them home...and probably for the rest of their lives. District 12 isn't known for winning the games.

But I need to hunt first, and am taking the opportunity to do it now while it's still quiet. There's plenty of time before the reaping early this afternoon. The Hob will still be open, still be operating as usual until later on. We should be able to have enough food for a proper dinner after the reaping.

As I think of this, I arrive at our spot. There, red hair shining in the sun, is my best friend. She hears me and turns, a brief look of fear on her face before she recognizes it's me. She visibly relaxes and gives me that bright smile of hers, the one that reaches her eyes.

Gwen Dawson and I had met a few years back, after both our fathers had died in a terrible mining accident. I had been hunting for my family when I noticed a rabbit caught in a snare. I had reached up to examine it when Gwen had appeared.

"You shouldn't touch that."

I jump and take a step back, my bow now loaded with an arrow. She doesn't even flinch at having a weapon trained on her. I lower the weapon without her even asking, determining that she was no threat to me. She walks over toward me and takes the rabbit down from the trap it was in. "What's your name?"

"Tom. And you?"

"Gwen."

We have hunted together ever since.

I open my arms for her and she enters them with a small laugh. I wrap them around her and bury my face in her hair. There was something about her that just calmed me right down. I don't know whether it's her smell or just her, but when we're hunting together, I know I am at my best.

We pull away from one another and share a laugh. Despite the heaviness in the air from the reaping, here we're allowed to be however we want. Whomever we want. We walk along in the woods, checking the snares she had set up before my arrival.

"I wish you would teach me how you make these," I comment as I examine one of her snares.

I see Gwen's bright smile as she chuckles. "Yes, but then you would have no use for me."

"I don't know about that," the words were out of my mouth before they could be stopped. Gwen's smile disappears and she quickly looks away, but not before I notice just the smallest hint of red in her cheeks. What is that all about, I wonder.

"We could do it, you know. Run."

Gwen's voice brings me back to the present and I look over at her. Run? From the district? "We could." I state simply, with a small shrug, as if to say 'so what?'

"The kids would make it difficult." She adds with a small smile. When she says 'the kids' I know she means our siblings, my Kieran and her two brothers and one sister. It would be hard to run with them, but I suppose it could be possible.

However, I choose not to respond. I can't bring myself to leave Kieran. After our father's death, our mother struggled. She couldn't even get out of bed long enough to cook for us. Kieran and I would have starved to death if I hadn't taken the initiative to hunt and gather our food. I can't leave Kieran and risk that happening again.

Thankfully, Gwen drops the subject, but the atmosphere between us has changed. I wonder if this has anything to do with the reaping today. There will be a bowl filled with names, and Gwen's will be in there too many times.

The reaping is the day where two names-one male, one female-will be picked. These two poor souls will have been selected as their district's participants in the Hunger Games, a battle to the death where there can only be one victor. The games are a way for the Capitol to remind us of the rebellion years back, where District 13 was completely destroyed. You become eligible for the games at the age of twelve, where your name will be entered once. This increases every year until you are eighteen, which is the last year of eligibility.

However, you can enter your name again in exchange for the tesserae, a small supply of grain and oil enough for one person. When I was twelve, I signed up for three, thus putting my name in a total of four times. This means that my name will be written on twenty slips of paper this year. Eighteen year old Gwen, trying to feed her family of five, will have her name written on forty-two slips.

"Happy Hunger Games."

I look up at Gwen and see her holding up a few fish. I grin and load my bow, having seen a squirrel through the corner of my eye. I let the arrow fly, hearing a soft thump. Walking over, I hold up the squirrel, arrow sticking out of its eye, with a wide smile. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"