It was a normal, cold morning in District 4. I saw so as I looked out the frosty window, watching as the morning ice pickers made their ways to the many lakes and rivers nearby; ready to bust the ice for the fishermen and women, so they could get the trout and tuna.

"Kat! Kat, honey." My mother comes in my room, adorned in her apron. "Oh, darling, you look gorgeous. Put on a sweatshirt, though. It's terribly chilly."

I reach for my favorite grey sweatshirt, but my mom stops me. "Oh, honey, that's not something you'd wear to a day like today! Get that beautiful pink one that your grandmother sent you. Oh, it'll go so beautiful with your hair!" She twirls around and leaves.

I suppress my sigh. Regretfully, I pull the hideous pink sweatshirt over my head. Today is the day of the annual Reaping.

The Reaping is a selection method for the Hunger Games. The Hunger Games are a twisted contest that consists of 24 teens getting forced into an unspecified arena, and being forced to murder each other until only one remains. Each District must offer a male and a female between the ages of 12 and 18 to fight in the games. It can be incredibly brutal, and the outcome is normally predictable – some one from District 1, District 2, or District 4 usually wins. There are rare occasions where some one from another District will win, but, like I said, they're rare.

I go downstairs. My little brother is already seated, eating his breakfast. My mom hands me a plate and I turn it down.

"Now, dear, come on. You have to eat." She persists. "Not eating breakfast is unhealthy. We don't want you to end up like those poor people in the lower parts, do we?"

I bear a grim face at that. My mother always referred to the unwealthy as "those poor people". We're not totally rich (more like middle class), but we have enough to maintain a we're-not-totally-dead-yet lifestyle. I just hate it when mom uses them as an example of why not to do something or why not to not do something.

I sit down and drink a glass of milk. I really hope I won't get picked this year. I'm glad my brother is too young to be picked yet. I'm very eligible, though. I'm 16, and I'm going to have my name in quite a bit. I think this year, I won't be so lucky.

Up until two o'clock, I idle around, brush my hair and teeth, rub my eyes, and chew my fingernails. I flip uninterestedly through a magazine, barely reading the pages.

My mother comes in. "Sweetie, are you ready?"

I look up from the magazine. "Yeah, I guess."

She comes over and sits next to me. "Honey, listen, I know you have a big chance of getting chosen, but don't you worry; if you've made it this far, there's no way it's going to happen. I promise you."

I hug her and thank her. We get my brother and walk to the square.

The all of District 4 has gathered in the square. A large stage is set up. Capitol banners are hung all around. It's the perfect setting to pick two kids to go die, don't you think?

I go over, and they sign me in. I see small, folded cards with my name on them being place into the hands of Peacekeepers, who take them over to the large, clear ball which holds countless other cards. I take my place with the other 16 year-olds.

I manage to find my friend Rachel. "Kat, you look so beautiful."

"Thanks Rache. You too."

"I hate this." She sighs. "I know that my brother is going to be picked. He's 18 today. That's seven entries. Seven! There's no way he won't be picked."

I refrain from telling her about some of the unwealthy people have to take a bunch of tessera just to keep their family alive, and that their names could be in the ball over 30 to 40 times. But Rachel's from the rich part of the District, so it's only expected of her.

"You should really worry about yourself. We both have five entries." I joke. She laughs and playfully punches me.

The screeching feedback of the microphone pulls our attention to the stage up front. Our District representative, Kelly Matridox, has stepped up. In the seats behind her sat our mayor, and the winner of the 97th Hunger Games, Micheal Tell.

Micheal's victory was actually something to be proud of. He was left to fend off the other five Careers in his game – and he actually survived. It was astonishing, and we really couldn't believe it. But now, Micheal has become a shadow of his former self. He's self-absorbed and lazy, and rarely does anything to actually help people. He spends a lot of his time at home, watching TV. It has to be a sad existence.

"Hello District 4!" Kelly says to us all. "It's that happy time again, the Hunger Games! I know you're all dying to know who our lucky tributes are this year, so let's get right to it!"

She goes over to the guy's ball. "Let's see what handsome young man is going to participate this year!" She digs her hand through and throughout and pulls out a single card. She unfolds it and returns to the microphone.

"Nick Maslow."

I know that kid. He's a pretty nice kid. It sucks that he has to do this. I always though he'd—

"Excuse me!" A voice came from the back. "I'd like to volunteer!"

We all turn to see who it was, but I turn around as soon as I do. My heart turns to stones and crashes into my stomach with a thud.

It was Luke Willow. He's the self-proclaimed "school hottie", and undoubtedly the most popular guy in school. Rachel babbles about him constantly, saying how much she'd just love it if she could marry him.

Me? He makes me sick. He hits on me constantly, thinking that I'll take to him, that I'll give up my hatred and go out with him. Fat chance. I hate his guts. He's such a pig.

"Oh." Kelly looks off-guard, but shakes it off. "Well, then, come on up here."

Luke walks past us all, winking at me as he walks by. I give him the finger. I hope he dies slowly.

"What's your name?" Kelly tilts the microphone over to Luke.

"My name is Luke Willow."

"What a name!" Kelly gasps. "Well now, let's see what lucky lady gets to go along with you." She walks over to the girl's ball.

As Kelly dives down to grab a slip of paper, I feel fear rise in my throat, like acidic vomit. I don't want to be forced into these games with Luke. He's not only a pig, he's incredibly tough. I remember two years ago, he beat the living hell out of this kid who bumped into him in the hall. The kid has a broken arm, 5 broken ribs, and almost went into a coma. I can only imagine what he'll do when he gets permission to kill some one.

Kelly pulls up the card, bringing me back to reality. She unfolds it and treads back over to the microphone. She clears her throat, adjust her lapel, and reads,

"Kat Smith."