Scars from Tomorrow
Chapter One
Dappled sunlight streams down through the broken window, warming my skin and waking me up. I open my eyes and blink sleep from them. My lips form a smile as I watch my younger brothers and Cat sleeping in a furry huddle. I almost grin when I spot my older sister curled in a ball. Almost being the key word there. Who could grin on Reaping Day?
I drag myself out of 'bed' (really a mattress with scratchy woollen blankets- sorry blanket) and pull on my glamorous (who am I kidding?) Reaping dress. It's not a bad dress, a deep purple number with embroidered with gold coloured threads running through it. It is tight down to the start of my ribs, and then it flows down to my knees. My district is 8, the Textiles district. I search through the broken cupboards to find a decent pair of shoes; I find some gold ballet flats and shove them on. "Wake up Coby! Time to get up, Tam!" Coby and Tam are my identical little twin brothers. They sit up and yawn sweetly. They are so cute when their half asleep, bless their 12 year old hearts. I ruffle Coby's brownish-black hair to make it stick up. "Stop it Bronte!" mutters Coby sleepily and I smile at him. "C'mon, get up." Satisfied that the twins are going to get out of bed soon, I stroll over to my older sister. "Delcina! Time to get up!" Delcie yawns and stretches, the runs her hand through her gorgeously long hair. "Ok. Can we go get me a dress? I know I was supposed to steal it a few days ago but I didn't have time after getting stuff for the twins."
"Fine, but get up quickly, the Reaping is in a few hours and I want to eat soon. Can you get the boys looking decent? I'll get you a dress." Delcina nods and I climb out the broken window of our abandoned cottage.
Walking around District 8 on Reaping Day is quite creepy usually the streets are full of factory workers desperate to get to work to feed their families but on Reaping Day everyone gets the day off. Meh, I'd rather be working then have to go to the Reaping. Every year the children of District 8 between the ages of 12 and 18 line up in the town square outside the Justice Building to watch one girl and one boy be picked from the glass bowls to go into the Hunger Games. I have 1 from each year, 12, 13 and 14, plus 12 other slips to mark that I have taken tesserae every year to provide for my family. I guess with 15 slips the odds are in my favour, but you never know. I could be going into the Games in a week.
I stroll the streets quietly, trying not to be seen. Once I arrive at the Mayor's house, just outside the Justice Building, I look around for any Peacekeepers. None in sight. Slipping a window open, I slide through it into the mayor's daughter's bedroom. Perfect, Lola is asleep. I creep in, open her closet and take two random dresses. Without making a sound, I exit the building and sprint back to the safety of our 'house'. "Delcina! Got your dress! Can you just edit it a bit; mix them together so you're not caught?" Delcie greets me with a smile and presents two neatly dressed twins to me. "Ok."
Ok. You get it. We're thieves.
I don't know exactly when we started stealing, but it probably was when our parents and our oldest brother Vine died at a factory where they worked. With me aged 11, the twins 9 and Delcie 15, we had to steal and take tesserae to survive. We inhabit a small abandoned cottage on the edge of District 8, close to the Fence (a massive electric fence) which is the only thing separating our delicate district from the harsh desert outside our borders.
Once we are all dressed and ready to go, my family walks together through the now-busy streets of District 8 to the square. We are tested by the Peacekeepers and then lined up in our age groups. Oberon Stone, our district escort welcomes us all to the Reaping. "And may the odds be EVER in YOUR favour!" Talk about stupidity. "I'm going to draw the boy first! The lucky tribute is…. Rama Pease!" A tall and lanky red headed boy nervously walks up podium. "Ladies next! The lucky tribute is…." I sigh and wait for the poor chick's name to be called. "Bronte James!"
Oh crap.