A/N: Here is the long awaited first chapter. Special thanks to everyone who entered in my story earlier. Credits to kittyistwix for Gossamer!
Please remember, this is somewhat closer to our time, than Katniss' and Peeta's games, so some things are a little more normal!
I do not own The Hunger Games, or any Hunger Games characters, all content belongs to it's rightful owners.
I groan as I wake up to my mothers voice drifting through the house, calling for me to wake up. I sit up in my old, warm bed, and rub my neck. For a second, I wonder why I am up so early, seeing as the sun has barely passed through the trees surrounding the back of the house, where my room is placed. Then I remember; today is reaping day.
My eyes open in shock, and I jump to my feet, yank open the old, wooden dresser, and gingerly take the outfit that lays on top. It was thought out a while ago, a few months back, during the snowy months, and children under eighteen were not allowed in the woods to help with cutting lumber. I still remember the day it was picked, my only friend, Mariah, was over, clothes were everywhere, I was sitting on my bed, watching as she went through every piece of cloth I owned, throwing clothes she didn't deem wearable to the reaping, elsewhere. Finally she came across an outfit she liked, and threw me behind the changing screen, along with the outfit. I put it on, no questions asked, and felt beautiful. I came out from behind the screen, and she instantly loved it. It became my reaping outfit.
I lay it down on my bed, before grabbing a towel, and heading into the bathroom connected to my room. I instantly run some cool water into the tub, as I strip from my well-worn nightclothes. I get into the cool tub, shivering at the contact. I gently scrub every inch of my skin, and thoroughly wash my hair. After I dry off, I head into my bedroom, and examine my clothes. They've only been worn once before. The top is an off-white blouse, that just barely passes my rib cage, has elbow length sleeves, and a draped neckline, it goes with a high waisted, purple skirt, that is skin tight at first, then finishes with soft ruffles. I put it on quickly, but slowly enough as to not crease it.
I stand in front of my mirror and twirl, watching the ruffles near my knees flutter up slightly, then droop back down. Then I focus on my hair. I end up letting it all fall down my back, expect for my bangs, which are clipped backwards into my hair, adding an extra 'poof' to the style. I tuck a flower behind my ear, and leave my room, shutting the door firmly. I head downstairs, my feet lightly hitting the wooden stairs, as I am careful not to wake my family, and head into the kitchen.
I grab a small orange from the fruit basket, and begin to peel it. I take a first bite of the juicy insides, and giggle softly. Oranges are special, and very expensive in Seven, and on the night before reaping day, every family is issued one orange for every person participating in the reaping the following morning. It's a small tradition, a final goodbye to the tributes, since no one will know who they are for a few more hours, a final thank-you from the district's Mayor himself.
I hear a soft knock on my front door, and I race over to answer it, to find Mariah, with her orange, in a soft, ruffly pink dress waiting for me.
"Hello," I say softly, as I have not yet heard my parents beginning to stir.
"Morning," she says with a smile, and I invite her inside. We became friends the year my sister and her brother were sent into the Games. Even more convenient, they died at the same time, when the Careers caught them, at opposite sides of the cornucopia. Making them sent home at the same time, and had both family gatherings at the same time, but Mariah and I have learned never to speak about how we met.
"Ready?" I ask her, us both getting an orange slice ready to be eaten. She nods, and we both throw the orange slice into our mouths, and see who can eat it the fastest. It's become something we do, every time we get a fruit we might not get again for a while, for example, on your birthday, you are allowed one free tesserae, or an apple. Since my family doesn't ever take out the tesserae, I always get the apple, and Mariah's birthday is three days after mine, so I wait until she recives hers, and we both see who can eat a slice the fastest. It's very pointless, but nonetheless, it takes our minds of things, like the reaping, or the dangers of going into the woods while lumber is being chucked everywhere, along with axes.
I open my mouth, having swallowed my orange slice a half second before. I watch Mariah swallow hers, and I smile.
"Okay, you win," she admits, before sitting down on a chair, and I flick on the television. We begin to slowly eat our orange, enjoying the rare tastes, while watching the live reaping in a district who has the misfortune of having their reaping at sunrise. Although our reaping isn't exactly at sunrise, we still have a little while longer to prepare.
I tune into the reaping, learning that it's district Eight, and I watch hesitantly as a twelve year old boy gets picked. No one volunteers in his place, and he bursts out crying, the escort shoots him a glare as she walks over to the girls ball. She sticks a finger in, the boy still bawling his eyes out, and picks out a card. A girl named Gossamer is picked, and she walks up to stage, a beam on her face.
"I vol-" a girl says, popping out of the crowd for a quick second, before being pulled back into it. Gossamer's eyes bug out for a second, before her menacing smirk returns. For a second, I admire a red choker placed around her neck, that has a little bow on it, before she is pulled off stage, and the television goes to a different channel.
"Good morning girls, are you ready to go?" my mother's voice sounds up from behind me, no hint of emotion in it what-so-ever.
"Yes," I mumble, my eyes darting around the room.
"Let's go," my father says blankly, just entering the room. My parents have had three kids. My older sister was lost to the Games, six years ago, and my younger brother was killed by a disease called Depilo. They get a little, blacked out, during my reaping days, knowing they can be one slip away from losing all their children.
I walk with my hand clutching onto Mariah's, my father holding my mother's hand, and guiding her to walk, and she just moves blankly, no emotion shown on her face, her hand limp in my fathers, and her jet black hair whipping slightly in the wind. We reach the town square, were the reapings are held, and my father kisses my forehead, wordlessly, then guides my mother off to the separate area from the stage, where the adults gather, and some even exchange bets.
Mariah and I go over to a table, where peacekeepers puncture a small hole in our thumb, stick it onto a sheet of paper, and count the population of a district, and be sure every one is here, if someone isn't present, peacekeepers are sent to their homes to retrieve them, and punish them later. It's a very sick time to do it, considering two children are about to be, possibly, sent to their death, and all they care about is population counts? It would be more efficient, for the population, to do it at a later time, but I guess, they deemed it worthy to do it now, and questioning the capital is one thing you should never do.
Mariah and I walk into the roped off area for fourteen year-olds, and stand there, our hands squeezing each others, staring at nothing in particular. About ten minutes later, the mayor comes onto stage, followed by the districts only two victors, one of which only won a few years ago. They take their seats, and the mayor motions for the crowd to calm down, although most of us were silent, right before a dark skinned, cheery capital lady comes onto stage.
"Welcome district Seven!" she booms, a beam spreading across her face, as she stares over the empty gazes of my district's population. "Today will be very exciting, but before the excitement begins, let's tune into this clip, shall we?" she asks us, as if it's an option, before walking over to her seat, and sitting down, just in time for a clip to come on. It's a new one, different from last year's. I guess because of the new president elected, they would make a new one with him. It shows him over and over, the dark days that happened not to long ago, while the president's over voice talks about the origin of the games. Soon, the escort comes back up to the microphone, just as the clip shuts off.
"Don't you love that?" she breathes, with what I assume to be, a warm smile on her face. "Now, let's chose our boy tribute, shall we?" she asks, yet again, a question, byt we have no choice but to let her do whatever she wants. She gingerly walks over to a glass bowl, her dainty hand jetting into the bowl, and pulling out a slip. She then walks back over to the microphone, only two fingers still holding onto the slip, and opens it, the sounds of the paper being opened echoing around our quiet district.
"Matthew Foler," she annouces, a sigh of relief erupting from several boys. I've heard about him before. His parents like to keep in touch with their Canadian ancestry, his parents don't let him attend the district school, and they live in the coldest part of our district, claiming relations to the Canadian Eskimos. He's a bit strange, and under-educated. He walks up to the stage, a confused look in his eyes, as if he doesn't completely understand what just happened. The escort places a quick hand on his shoulder, and Matthew bolts up straight, as if the escort smacked his spine.
"Any volunteers?" she asks the quiet crowd. After five seconds of waiting, she gives up, and moves over to another glass ball, which I presume to be the girls' ball. Her long finger select a card on top, before she, again, returns to the microphone. The faint rustle as she undoes the tape on the slip, makes your heart pound faster, wishing she would just announce the tribute, and move on, but of course, she doesn't. Finally the rustle stops, and everyone can see the white slip of paper spread between her two, disgustingly pale, white hands. My heart pounds as she takes a deep breath in, and then annouces the name.
"Kilian Summers," she says, and my heart skips another beat. I can hear my mom squeak out a noise, as Mariah's hand tightens against mine. I look over at her shocked face, and she looks like she is about to yell. Or volunteer. I wrestle my hand from hers.
"Don't," I dare her, before walking out of the crowd, and claiming my spot on the stage. She looks forewarn as I glance over the crowd, her cheeks drained of any life that used to remain in them. This must be what my sister felt like. Except she hadn't already lost a sibling to the games, and her only friend hadn't lost her only sibling to the same game. I see my mother, her head buried into my father's chest, I look over the crowd, most of which, return my gaze, with a sorrow-filled ones. I look over every person I've ever hated, any person who has ever hated me, and know, in this one instant, I am forgiven by everyone.
"Any volunteers?" the escort offers, briefly taking all attention off me. My eyes find their way back to my best friend, who looks as if she is about to run out into the aisle. I grimly shake my head, my eyes firmly locked on hers. She pleads with me, and I shake my head again.
"May the odds be ever in your favor!" the escort chimes, and the population is free to go home or say goodbye if they wish. I watch my only friend walk with the crowd for a while, then make a run for the Justice Building. I smile, and stop in my tracks, as I am tempted to run to her. A peacekeepers nudges me forward, into the building, where heavy doors slam shut, stealing my best friend away from me, for a few minutes before our final goodbyes. Yet again, I am pushed into another room, heavy doors slamming shut the second my whole body is inside. I sit down on a nearby chair, my legs about to give up beneath me, and bite my lip, trying not to sob. I've been in this room before, when I was six years younger. The doors open, and my mother and father are pushed inside.
"You have one minute," the peacekeeper reminds them. My mother rushes up to me.
"You have to win," she demands, the same thing she did for my sister. I nod, too afraid to speak, for fear of weeping.
"Remember we love you," my dad says, peering over my mothers shoulder at me, as my mom cups my face.
"You're so young, and talented, and beautiful," she says, a tear rolling down her cheek. I wrap my arms around her, and tears threaten to fall
"I love you mama," I say, pulling her into a hug, and kissing her cheek. I move over to my dad.
"I'll see you when I get back?" I ask, and he nods. "I love you too, Papa," I say, pulling him into a hug also.
"Time's up," a peacekeeper says, slamming the door open. My father grabs my mother, and they rush out of the room, afraid to be hurt by the peacekeeper. A few quiet seconds pass.
"NO! I can't lose my last child! The rest are de-" my mother's voice screams, before followed by a loud bang. I hear a female scream, and a male begins to yell.
"No! Julianna!" my father yells, before another bang. Another female scream. The doors open again, making me jump, before my best friend is flung into the room.
"Three minutes," a peacekeeper says, slamming the doors shut. Now I see, my mother and father came in here together, earning them less time, tan coming in one at a time.
"Kilian, I am s-so sorry," she says, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I'll be okay, I'll come home a victor, and we won't starve ever again," I say, my voice quivering, and a loose tear streaming down my cheeks.
"No, I'm sorry about your parents," she says, her bottom lip quivering, her dirty blonde hair shaking slightly.
"What about them?" I heard them screaming, but then again, their last living child was being towed away to the games, but what were those bangs?
"They're dead," she says, before she loses it, and a shaky sob escapes her. I feel my own heart drop.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Please review! (Favoriting wouldn't be so bad either!)
Credits to Fluteorwrite for betaing my story! THANKSSSS!