Author's Note: Johanna's story. And I know, Peter Lemmark, haha.

The Cowardly Killer

The Reaping

I wake up with a groan. "Good morning, Johanna," says Kimberly, the woman who manages the orphanage where I've lived since I was nine. "You'd better get up, the reaping starts at twelve," she adds roughly.

I groan again, slamming the pillow into my head. The reaping. This is where the tributes for the annual Hunger Games are chosen. The Hunger Games are a fight to the death on live television with twenty-four kids between the ages of twelve and eighteen competing. Here in District Seven, it's just an unpleasant occasion that we put up with because the Capitol makes us. I'm fifteen, so this year, the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games, my name will be in the glass ball in the town square four times. Slim odds compared to the skinny, poor kids from the other side of the district, who sign up every year for tesserae.

I roll out of bed and look at a clock mounted on the wall. Eleven-thirty, much earlier than I would usually get out of bed on a reaping day.

After Kimberly forces me into a long green dress, the entire population of the community home (about forty kids and five adults) walk past the large paper factories and sawmills in our district before arriving in the town square. I see some of the kids from my school snicker at us as we walk past. I clench my fists and my teeth and continue walking.

There are three chairs on the stage before us. Sitting in them are the mayor, the District Seven escort, Sirocco Paddock, and the mentor and past winner of our district, Peter Lemmark. There's no female mentor because, to be quite frank, District Seven has never had a female victor.

The mayor tells the dreary, stupid story of Panem. Then, he reads the list of District Seven's past tributes. Three men. That's it.

Sirocco Paddock hops onto stage. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" she declares. She rambles on for a while about the honor of being here and how excited she is to be our district's escort, again. Then, with barely a notice, she more or less skips toward the glass ball with all of the girls names in it. She pulls out a single slip of paper and smiles. I'm wondering wonder which unlucky girl will die in the Hunger Games this year when she reads the name on the paper.

"Johanna Mason!"

Oh, that unlucky girl.

Usually, I'm so hard. I handled my mother's death without a tear, and dealt with Kimberly's less-than-nice shouting fests without wavering. But, for some reason, something snaps inside, and I start to cry. I must look like a sniveling, cowardly fool, but I hardly care.

I'm going to die.

Sirocco seems very awkward as she congratulates me, and the applause that comes afterward is tight and tense. Nobody volunteers to take my place, but who would? There's no reason why they should.

The boy's name that is drawn is Jayden Ashfield. I close my eyes, hoping he isn't big enough to kill me. When I open them, there isn't a human boy standing beside me.

There's a giant.

It doesn't matter. The kids from Districts One, Two and Four, who have been training their entire lives for this, they'll probably kill me before Jayden ever gets a chance. They're what we call the Career Tributes.

After the playing of the anthem of our country, Panem, we are taken into the justice building to say goodbye to our loved ones. The peacekeepers who brought me in have just left when Kimberly bursts in. She doesn't look happy. "Look," she mutters. "Just don't disgrace yourself out there, and good luck." She leaves briskly. Huh, that wasn't exactly heartfelt, but she's busy and she still took time to say goodbye, which is good.

Nobody else comes, but I'm lucky I got Kimberly. Besides, I've started crying again. What is wrong with me today? I wonder.

I approach the car that will bring us to the station. Jayden is waiting there. His eyes are dark and unfeeling and his face turns into a scowl when he sees me. Whether it's because I'll soon be trying to kill him or because he can see my red eyes, I can't tell you.

When we reach the train that will take us to the Capitol, Jayden turns to me. "You ready?" he asks gruffly.

I sigh, looking at my district, my home. The place to which I will never return. "No," I whisper, my eyes growing blurry once more. "Not really."