Chapter 1
I wake up to a very loud, familiar screaming. I pop my eyes open to see my best friend, Marty, screaming bloody murder in his sleep. His body thrashing from side to side.
Oh no, another nightmare.
I jump out of bed and quickly shake the zebra's shoulders to wake him. He shoots up, tears streaming down his cheeks and gasping for breath. As soon as he sees me, he grips me tightly.
This isn't the first time this has happened. Ever since we came here three years ago, Marty's been having nightmares about being picked for the Hunger Games.
Of course, he will never be picked. His name's only been in there once. His chances of it getting pulled out are literally one to a million. But still, he's terrified at the mere thought of it.
"I w-was picked...and, and I...I". He stutters, his voice muffled as he whimpers into my shoulder.
"It won't happen. I promise." I whisper into his ear, trying to soothe him. I rub my paw up and down his back to slow down the sobs that rack his shoulders.
When he finally stops crying, he lays back down on his side and quickly falls back asleep.
I glance out the dirty, cracked window to see that it's still dark out, but early morning. I turn to the others who are still sleeping; Melman and Gloria share the largest bed, snoring away. My mom, Florrie, has the bed closest to the door. She sleeps flat on her back, her paws lain across her stomach. She looks so peaceful, even in a place like this.
Since I'm already up, and I definitely am not going back to bed, I decide to get a jump on the day. I walk to my dresser to get some clothes, careful not to disturb the others, when I hear a low, almost quiet hum coming from outside. It's an all too familiar sound, like the beating of a hummingbird's wings. I peer out the window again to see a large aircraft, pure white, zoom through the sky like a bullet.
That's when it hits me; today is reaping day! The day when the Capitol picks two people or animals to fight in the Hunger Games.
I immediately feel sick to my stomach. Today, two people are to be chosen to go into an arena with twenty-two others and be forced to fight to the death.
I so hope it isn't me.
When we first got here, we had no way of getting food. So we had to do this thing called tesserae where we would get a month's amount of food supplies if we entered our name into the reaping again.
I wouldn't let any of the others do it. I couldn't risk them being picked for the Games. And out of all of those slips, forty-three of them are mine.
I pull my head out of that thought and get dressed. I take off my night clothes and put on a simple black shirt and brown trousers with an old hunting jacket. Since we can now talk to humans, the Capitol requires that all animals wear clothes, whether we like it or not.
I grab my hunting bag from the closet and move out. As I pass by the kitchen, I hear a high pitched growl pierce the silence. I look down to see Marty's yorkie, Goldie, sitting on the floor, glowering at me in what anyone could describe as pure hatred.
We found him on one of our many errands in town laying in the middle of the road. Little pup was as skinny as a twig, belly swollen with worms and his fur filled with fleas. I was sure he wouldn't make it, but Marty insisted on keeping him. Even though I told him again and again how I couldn't help him, that I could barely provide for us and he would just be another mouth to feed.
I even tried to drown him in a bucket once, but then I thought of how heart broken Marty would be and decided against it.
So later on, Melman healed him up and was as good as new within a month. We've had a hated relationship towards each other, have been ever since he almost died in a bucket of ice water.
"I'll still cook you." I warn. He only snarls and leaves the room to rest with Marty.
I shut the door behind me with a loud creak and I'm off. The morning air is warm and moist for it is now early June. The earth is wet and slightly slick under my bare hind paws. The tall, stringy grass tickles my tail as it sways behind me. I walk through the Meadow that's located right behind our house and to the fence.
It's suppose to be electrified and chain-linked all the while bordering off District 12 from the woods 24/7, but the Peacekeepers here never check if it really is. They could care less if we even get a few hours of light during the day. So usually it's off.
I wiggle my way through the hole that I had dug up a while back and grab my quiver and bow from a hollow log.
Before I came to District 12, I didn't know zip about the bow and arrow until our neighbor taught me. He was an older man, a hermit and retired coal miner, who took pity on us, who were a bunch of scared, starving animals at the time.
To say that it was a hard task would be an understatement; my large paws fumbled with the arrows and my arms weren't strong enough to pull back the taut string. Everyday I practiced, and boy did I hate it. Plus, the old man wasn't the best teacher at all. But then I became a natural at it. It's much better and easier than doing it the old fashioned way, if you know what I mean.
About a year later, the old man died of black lung disease. I never knew him well, he never liked to talk about himself much. And anyone who did were not willing to shed a tear for the grouch. But it still hurt to see him leave.
As I scavenged his house for anything valuable to sell one day, I found that he had made me an extra bow as a gift before he had passed on. It is bigger and thicker than the others I had trained with and contorts into a strange crescent shape in the middle as a special hold for my paws. Made of fine spruce and oiled with dark, black paint that makes it smooth and clean. And engraved in the wood, a carving of a lion painted in mustard yellow is displayed among the black background. I've used it ever since to catch game and sell it at the Hob, a black market in an old coal factory.
As I ascend a steep hill, I can feel the muscles in my face start to relax as I emerge from a thicket of brush. A sort of weight lifts from my shoulders when I reach my destination, relieving me and I let out a sigh. The corners of my mouth are already perked up.
My friend and hunting partner, Tigress, says that I only smile in the woods.
I make it to a hedge and squeeze my way through to a barren cliff. Here I meet Tigress everyday for our daily hunting routine. I find her sitting on a large boulder with her paws resting behind her, face down on the rock. I sit next to her, not wanting to disturb the tranquil environment around us. She doesn't acknowledge me until I speak up.
"Morning, T." I greet. She turns her head to me, her bright yellow, red eyes glowing like burning embers in the growing rays of the rising sun. She gives a small smile.
"Morning." She says back. "Look what I caught today." She digs through her thick coat and pulls out a large loaf of bread with a knife impaled in the middle. I laugh as I take the bread into my paws and press it to my snout. Fresh from the bakery, unlike the flat, burnt loaves we make from our grain rations.
"How much for it?" I ask her.
"I got it for free. I think the old cat was feeling a bit giving today." She answers.
"Vitaly? Giving? Free?!" I ask ludicrously. We both laugh.
Vitaly is the Russian tiger who owns the bakery. And let me tell you, the words "Vitaly" and "free" are usually never in the same sentence. Let alone in a paragraph.
I slice up the bread with the knife and we eat the baked good together.
In everyday life, moments like this are hard to come by, at least in District 12; spending time with a friend and sharing a good meal together, even if that meal is nothing but a small loaf of bread. And not just plain old bread, either. Inside are bits of nuts and cranberries. A rarity.
Is Tigress sure he gave it away for free? No strings attached?
We both stare off into the distance. Below us, a deep valley filled with giant groves of trees and vegetation overflow the cavern to the brim. For miles and miles, all we can see are the sprouting, deep green tops of the oaks and aspens sway in the gentle wind. Such a sight can be a once in a lifetime experience.
Tigress and I are lucky, though. Supposedly, we are the only, repeat the ONLY, ones in the Seam brave enough to venture beyond the fence. Others say that they are too scared of the penalty that comes with our line of work. I, for one, could get a bullet in my head everyday for poaching, but I know how to find food. I know how to make my way through the black market. I know how to dodge the punishments. I know how to stay alive.
I almost forget about the reaping, the Hunger Games, everything, in these few moments of peace. The scent of wildflowers and pine make it all the more enjoyable. I wish it could last forever. But unfortunately, Tigress interrupts it.
"We could do it, you know?" She says.
"What?" I ask.
"Leave District 12. Run off into the woods, me and you." She says as her eyes travel over the lands and back to me.
"You know we can't do that. We have too many mouths to feed." I say.
On occasion, Tigress and I have talked about leaving District 12 behind. Running off and making a life for ourselves away from this miserable place. But in all, we both know that it can never happen. We have too many responsibilities on our paws. Nothing good will ever come out of it for them.
"Yeah, if we didn't have so many kids." Tigress says. She turns away from me, clearly upset about our current situation.
We don't have kids. Tigress and I are not mates and nothing romantic has ever wedged between the two of us. But since Tigress is the unofficial caretaker of the orphans in the Seam, they might as well be. She and I are the main providers for the young kids. Although we are not entirely allowed to do so, we get the young children food from the forest. There are well over twenty kids there, and if we were to leave they would starve to death.
"I'm never having kids." I announce. I'm not sure exactly why I say that, but it's true. I can't imagine myself ever bringing a cub or two into the world. And if I did, I couldn't watch them grow and suffer from the constant fear of the Hunger Games or starve like I have.
"I just might, if I didn't live here." Tigress says as she picks at a clump of grass. I don't say that she already lives here because she of all people already knows it. She doesn't need to be reminded.
The conversation dies and we just sit there for a while.
I glance over at the said female tiger. Her swirling black stripes on her head and arms seem to pop out against her short, chinese orange and white fur. Tigress is beautiful, there's no doubt about it, although I'm not attracted to her. If she wants children, she won't have a problem with finding a proper mate.
She is very powerful, too. When she wasn't living in District 12, she was a kung fu warrior in China. I've never been to China, but she told me that it was the most beautiful place she ever laid eyes on. She lived in a village called the Valley of Peace, where she trained her whole life in the art of kung fu to protect others. Coming here, life took a turn for the worse.
Her best friend who had worked in the mines, a panda named Po, had been obliterated in a mine explosion. There was nothing left to burry.
There was a ceremony at the Justice Building to honor those who had perished in the "unfortunate event", as the mayor put it, and we attended out of respect.
Everyone in the Seam knew or either heard of Po. He was kind and polite to everyone, always one for a laugh. It was devastating to watch his funeral.
Standing there, in the large, marble dome, was when I saw Tigress for the first time. With a young child in her arms, Tigress looked as if she had been hit with a truck, metaphorically speaking. Her shoulders slumped forward, her posture crooked and broken like her spirit. I too know what she was going through. My dad's lost left me with a cracked heart, never to be truly mended back together.
Later on, things got better. She took the position of helping out at the children's center and began to illegally poach. I met her not too long afterwards and we started hunting together. But it took even longer for us to become friends. Since then, we've exchanged a number of talents and ideas among one another; she taught me how to fight and I taught her how to use weapons. It's been going on for a good two and a half years and I can now say that I know her like the back of my paw.
"So, what should we do first?" She asks after a full five minutes of silence.
"How about we set up the poles and hunt for a bit?" I suggest. She nods in agreement. We stand up, wiping off the dirt from our trousers and make our way up to a small lake in the heart of the woods. We set up some fishing poles to catch trout before we start off in the more dense part of the forest, where most of the larger foul are.
I can't help but notice the beautiful music playing around me; crickets ending their chirping songs, a stream nearby bubbling with fresh, cold water, and the unforgettable melody of a mockingjay.
They are my favorite birds. Every now and again, I'll come across one and whistle out a few notes until it sings along. It's the highlight of my day.
No focus, Alex! We have to get this hunt done and over with. We at least need two geese and a duck to provide for today's meals. We can gather plants later. Hopefully it will be quick so that I can get home and get ready for the reaping.
It's starting out slow, but then we creep up on a flock of geese.
Perfect.
I put an arrow in place and aim from behind a tree. I have it pointed at a particularly fat one. Tigress gives me a quick thumbs up. I nod, breath in and release on the exhale. It sails through the air and hits home with a satisfying thud.
Author's Note:
Sorry this chapter was really long. Please review and comment. And thank you for reading my very first fanfic