I love you . . .

And the winner of the 72nd National Hunger Games is . . .

"This isn't giving up, this is letting go . . ." -This is Letting Go by Rise Against

[ C h a p t e r 1 ]

The reflection stared him dead in the eyes, water trickling down his face. To Captain, this was just another ordinary day. Wake up, wash up, eat the breakfast your guardian has put out for you, then head off to work, because, here, in District 7, that was all there was to live for. It was a boring cycle. Captain had been working officially in the lumber yard since he could remember. The knobs on the aged, metallic sink squeeled as the teenager twisted the water off. He groped for the nearby cloth, which could be described as a sweat rag, and wiped his face clean. It couldn't have been earlier than five-thirty in the morning, and they were already chiming the waking bell. In all reality, this was no ordinary day. It was Reaping Day, most feared it, some were not bothered by it. Captain, on the other hand, did not care for it. He knew the odds of him getting reaped were less than likely, but this year. This year was going to be different...

Captain waltzed over to a wooden dresser, hand-carved by his father who had a little too much time on his hands sometimes. The dresser creeked as the boy pulled open the top drawer, reaching in blindly for a tank top and pants, something to get him passed breakfast this morning. He knew he would later have to find something especially nice for Reaping Day. The lamp stood alone on his bedside table, and did not provide much light, causing Captain to fumble around when he opened the second drawer, searching now for pants to slip on. Because it got humid and sticky at night, the teenager went to bed shirtless, in his boxers which varied in style. Tossing the tanktop to the twin-sized bed not even ten full feet away from him, he struggled to get the faded, worn blue jeans on. They were stained with sawdust, and the pants had obvious holes in them. It was nothing Captain could help.

He then reached for his black leather belt, and looped it through the hoops on the waist of his pants, when his father had entered the room.

"Mornin', Cap."

Arik was an older man, and his tone spoke true to his age. He was warped physically, but was as young and as childish as ever psychologically. Captain buckled the belt, then looked up at his father with a faint smile, "Morning, dad." he was tired, and it should have been obvious to anyone. It felt as though he'd gotten no sleep that night. This day was going to be long, and hard, "How long have you been up?" The elder man was now leaning against the wooden door frame, his arms crossed across his chest, caloused hands tucked beneath his arms, which pronounced the bicep muscles, "Since five. I didn't sleep well." Captain turned away from his father to reach for the hunter green tank top that was sprawled across the bed. Throwing it on over his head before turning back to his father, who was in mid yawn, "Early bird...It's because of the Reaping, isn't it?" Obviously... Captain gave a shrug, standing there now with his hands in his pants pockets, "I guess." The boy was not much of a talker in the morning, and moments like this, on Reaping Day, every conversation seemed like your last, and it just felt so awkward. A pounding in your chest, you don't want to argue, because it may be the last fight you will ever have with a sibling or parent. You don't want to leave someone after arguing with them.

For Captain, this would all prove true. His parents had no idea what he would be pulling today at the Reaping. His parents have recently brought home a wonderful baby girl named Mallisomn, but there was something wrong. She was deathly ill from birth, and the procedure to nurse his new little sister back to health was very, very expensive, and required a trip to the Capitol. Mallisomn is two months at this point, and has only grown progressively worse. It killed Captain to have to hear his little sister cry in agony because she found it so hard to grasp air at night, listening to his mother weep, she was afraid to lose Mallisomn, as was his father. That was when the baby began crying, bawling from her crib. Captain averted silver eyes out the window, staring at the moon that was setting, attempting to ignore Mallisomn's crying. He loved her, he truly did, but craddling her pained him so much, she never stopped crying until she fell asleep. She was only growing worse, so he was going to volunteer as Tribute. He had to, there was no choice. He needed the money more than anyone in District 7. He had to win, he had to save Mallisomn. Arik walked away to tend to the girl, while his mother could be heard in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

Once Captain had his logger boots tied to his feet, like deadweights straped to your ankle, is how a newbie logger would describe the heaviness of the boots. However, Captain had built up enough muscle in his calves and could lift the shoes fairly easily now. Walking casually into the kitchen, Jordy; his mother, was attempting to feed baby Mallisomn, while Arik had taken over the stove, "She's not taking the bottle so easily now, Arik." She whispered, trying to rock the child into downing some of the formula. Mallisomn gave the occasional whimper and jerked her head away from the nipple of the bottle, "I don't know what we're going to do, sweetheart." Captain's father replied in a hopeless tone, pulling the skillet off the stove and setting it aside, turning to face his wife.

The teenager approached the small fridge, growling and flipping the light on, casting a long silhouette when the boy opened the door. Captain reached in for a bottle of water. Particularly quiet this morning, he was afraid to tell his parents that he was willingly volunteering as Tribute, he was afraid of their reaction, that they might make some excuse to keep him from going. It was all they needed, to have no children by the time the National Hunger Games were up. Because surely, if he doesn't win, Mallisomn will die, as well as Captain being gone. It was a win and lose situation here, everything can go wrong or right with one swift thought. Soft rays of orange casted across the lumber yard, and people began to emerge from their huts, offering baked goods for breakfast, such as bread and cheese, or milk and various combinations of plants and grain. Black boots crunched against the dirt pathway as Captain made his journey to the rear of their cabin. A small box stall rested at the end of the yard, inside was a mule, a cross between a horse and a donkey, the creatures often used for lumber work because of the weight they can pull. Fresco was one of the many mules used to pull lumber back to the yard, but they were also used as transportation. Captain remembered the day he got him, too. It was only three years ago, on his fifteenth birthday. This was also the age where Captain was actually allowed to begin using mules to help bring lumber back down. Fresco had a scarf around his neck, it was tied up to look like a bow. Fresco, at first, was not accepting of domestication, as he was bred and never really handled. So when Captain got a hold of him, he was jumpy, not only that, but he was young and needed training. Every chance the fifteen year old got, would be spent with Fresco, and now at four and seventeen years, it was almost hard to separate the two.

Fresco popped his head through the window in his stall when he heard Captain approach. He could not be in the same room with Mallisomn crying like that. Heart wrenching...The teenager scratched Fresco's snout before reaching for the harness and slipping it on with ease, "I'm sure you got a better nights rest, huh Fres." Captain cooed to the mule, attaching a lead rope to the harness. By this point, the water he'd grabbed from the fridge was sitting on the sil of the box stall, wavering as the door was opened, Fresco exiting without hesitation. The grass beneath his hooves must have felt welcoming, "I swear, Captain, you hang around with that mule more than me sometimes!" came the all too familiar, womanly voice. It was Shurshire, a carpenter. She was clad in jean overalls, golden brown boots and a white t-shirt beneath the overalls. She trotted over and her golden blonde hair danced in the morning breeze. Fresco began to nibble on a stray patch of grass while Captain's wrists were pressed to his waist, "That's only because you come around when I'm spending quality time with my mule." He offered a joyful smile, and Shurshire only kicked dust in his direction.

"Always so violent..."

The boy grinned, approaching a hitching post and tying up Fresco before walking into the tack shed to retrieve a brush, the teenaged girl following him, "I didn't even touch you!" She proceeded to playfully punch Captain in the shoulder, causing him to whirl around, dropping the brush in the process, in a dramatic manner of course. He instinctivly reached for the shoulder she hit. Granted Shurshire did not hit him hard at all, and he could take far more than a punch to the shoulder, he was joking around with her! "That time you did!" Captain then bent over to pick up the brush he'd dropped, when the teenaged girl returned the grin. Deviously lifting her foot in a swift motion, aiming for his rear which caused the boy to fall face first on the dirt flooring of the shed. He was not having a very clean morning, "That wasn't fair!" Captain called up to her, bringing the brush with him as he stood. Sweeping the dust from his tank top with his hand, before setting the brush on a wooden table, "Life isn't fair!" Shurshire shot back at him, her hands now on her waist, and her smile mimicked his own. Though, Captain being Captain, he could not help but break his partially serious expression and tackle Shurshire to the ground, where he pinned her by her shoulders, "And I can't help but to agree with you there, Shire...But fairness is not on your side today." The boy snickered, showing no sign of removing himself at the moment, "Oh ya?" The smirk that crawled across her fine features had almost scared Captain away, but he could not find himself getting up and moving at the moment, then Arik appeared around the corner of the house.

"Cap, come inside. Reaping is in a little bit and your mother says you're a fat mess."

Captain glanced up at his father as he spoke and nodded his head before turning silver eyes to Shurshire, "I'll get you later." Rising to stand, he helped the teenaged girl rise, but she didn't let go of his hand, "Fine then, lumber boy." Shurshire allowed her nose to come within inches of Captain's, before turning away and jogging off, her ponytail flying behind her. It was funny, they had both practically grew up with each other, Captain met Shire when they were five and seven. Ten years later, their relationship was brotherly and sisterly.

Captain wanted that to change...

Wandering into the house, he' given Fresco a quick brush down and supplied the mule with feed. This morning, the yard was silent. Nothing much was really going on, only people moving to trade and get daily tasks finished before Reaping. Because the Reaping required everyone from every District to be present in their designated areas, unless you were practically sucking your last breaths, no new projects were started until after the ceremony. As soon as Captain walked into the cabin, he was immediately confronted by his mother, who seemed to be successful in getting Mallisomn down into bed after getting maybe a few sips of formula in her system. Arik was more than likely taking up residence in the restroom, "Look at you, you're such a mess!" Jordy scoffed, shaking her head with balled fists balancing on her tiny waist. The dress she was wearing made her look a lot thinner than she actually was, as well. The apron around her hips, tied in the back carelessly gave her the appearence of a hourglass. She looked like a cook, too. This was not how she normally dressed. Jordy was still in the process of getting ready for the Reaping herself, "I'm not that much of a mess." Captain rose his palms innocently, covered in mud and dirt, he also smelled like a mule. Jordy shook her head, "Go wash up, please. You need to be presentable." The woman turned away, moving to her little corner, where she kept pictures of her mother, her father, and her favorite pet dog that had passed away several years ago, all set neatly on a fine grain vanity. Captain rolled his head to the left, then to the right, popping the bone in his neck in the process before waltzing down the hallway.

Although everyone appeared to be putting up a cheery front, they were afraid inside. Afraid their child, best friend, brother or sister, was going to be picked at complete and total random for the Games. Captain was feeling the knot form in his stomach now, as well. The clock ticked by, and with each coming second, the Reaping hour came closer and closer...

Black hair was dampened by the quick wash-up, but Captain had figured it would be dry by the time they reached the designated Reaping stage. The boy chose to wear one of his nicer t-shirts, and an unmarked pair of dark gray-blue jeans. The sleeves on his shirt had come down and bunched at his elbows, almost thankful is a was light shade of gray, it would reflect the blazing sun which was reaching brutal temperatures. Lack of variety of shoes, he ended up wearing his work boots. His sneakers were far passed unexceptable, and barefoot was truly out of the question. When returning to the den area, both Arik and Jordy were seated on the couch, craddling baby Mallisomn.

By the time Arik, Jordy, Captain and baby Mallisomn had reached where this years' Reaping was being held, it was already packed full of waiting loggers, carpenters, exporters. Various people, with various jobs. All from District 7, waiting to hear the fate of those around them. Whose names were going to be drawn today? Everyone stood organized in row after row. The parents were separated from their children, the ones who were still eligible to be drawn from the two glass bowls of doom. Twice to his left was Shureshire, over the talking, she could not hear Captain calling to her, and no one beside him seemed to care to help get her attention. It was not their fault, though. They were more than likely lost in their thoughts and worries, or stuck on conversations with other District 7 individuals. Waiting always took forever, they always wanted to make sure everyone in Panem had their undevided attention, focused on the Reaping, and were all in attendance.

The faces of those around him, Captain could read what some of these potential Tributes were thinking... Am I going to be Reaped? What's going to happen to my family... or even things such as, I won't be able to do this, I'll be dead the first minute of the Games! But Captain, he stood there, once he realized trying to get Shurshire's attention proved futile. Totally and completely thoughtless.

Captain was growing aggitated after fifteen minutes of standing in the complex that was just big enough to occupy all the District 7 families or stray individuals. Then the mayor, Orbenkleine, stepped up onto a stone platform, wide enough to be called a stage. It was elevated off the ground by two feet, and supported by some of the strongest wood District 7 had to provide. The scene behind Mayor Orbenkleine seemed all too peaceful for todays occasion. The trees stretched high above his head, towering over the stage. The man stood at a cedar oak podium, on either side of the wooden object were two glass bowls. Papers full to the brim with peoples' names, including Captains. Mayor Orbenkleine was fairly up in age, but still a rather bright man. Like the rings in the trunk of a chopped down tree, the crevices of his long, warped face told his age. He had deep, dark brown hair, speckled with gray and strands of white, and eyes so dark, they appeared black some times. In a certain light, you could tell they were brown, "It's that day again, Reaping Day. Where we all fear for ourselves, one another, family and lovers..." Orbenkleine attempted to lighten up everyone's mood, he could read every single face that stood before him, no one was smiling, this was no time for happiness, joyousness. Everyone's heart was pounding, and Captain could hear his own. He thought it was going to shoot out of his chest. Oh yes, the nervousness had caught up with him, and now he was regretting not having a meal this morning, or even something small to snack on, because he felt like he was going to vomit. Whether they called his name or not, the teenaged boy would be entering that ring with a fifty/fifty chance of winning and losing.

Orbenkleine had started explaining what the Hunger Games was actually about, as if no one had a clue. The boy, for sure, could recite the exact happenings, in the exact order they had come in, the reasons for the Games. The cruel Games. No one was a friend, an ally. It was kill, or be killed. But there was far more than just killing one person, no, this would be twenty-four other people, including Captain himself. It was him, a logger from District 7, whose only positives were his upper body strength, and the power he had to weild an axe.

The Hunger Games was just a cruel; harsh, and to Captain, an unneccessary reminder of what happened to the land before it formed into Panem. The Hunger Games was a pointless way to keep its District individuals from rebelling once more against the Capitol. His views on the Games were lowly, he thought the entire thing was a giant waste of time! It was dumb, he little understood how the Capitol could think a murder game would keep Panem's citizens from rebelling against them. One winner each year, but they usually came home mentally scarred and ruined. There had been quite a few psychologically altered individuals return from the Games and just go insane. He'd seen it before, of course, because watching these Games was mandatory. You had to watch the fate of a fellow District member, family member, friend. But not only your own District, no, but other Districts. Their ages varying. You were eligible for the Hunger Games as soon as you turned twelve, your name would be thrown into one of those glass bowls, depending which gender you were. Male or female. Sure, your name is only thrown in once when you're twelve, but each year you grow older, your name will be entered once more than the previous year. At thirteen, the individual would have their named entered twice, fourteen; three times, fifteen; four times, all the way until you are eighteen, when your name is entered seven times. Each year, the people from any District is more likely to get chosen, but has the same chance as anyone else. One would almost be suprised to see how many twelve year olds are tossed into the games, only to have their life snatched up by someone with more experience, someone who was older, bigger and wiser than some little twelve year old boy or girl.

But this year, Captain's name was thrown in six times, being seventeen and never having done a Hunger Games before, he only knew what he saw on the screens. And he saw quite a lot.

Mayor Orbenkleine was finished reminding District 7 why the Hunger Games existed, but also brought up disasters. He walzted to the odd end of the stage, and stood there with his hands folded behind his back. Then the District 7 escort, Tair Andrade, walked to the podium, resting large hands on the smooth surface. His eyes stared out at his audience. He'd be taking the two District 7 Tributes to the Capitol, like he'd always done. His face was expressionless, extremly drawn out and tired. The suspense was building, but Tair wanted to get a good look at everyone. He would be pulling names from the glass bowls shortly... "We've had Tributes return before, so I have faith in any one name I pull from each bowl." Tair was successful in making some of District 7 feel a little more calm, or alright, but you had to have been inhuman to not be scared of having your name drawn. Tair pushed himself from the podium and wandered over to the woman's glass bowl and reached in with his right hand. His muscles flexed, and you could tell he lifted quite abit here in District 7. He was finely chiseled, but all he was, was an escort. His job was not teach to teach the Tributes from District 7, that was the mentors' jobs. And this years mentors were Osceroe Styner and Johanna Mason, both District 7 victors from previous Hunger Games.

Tair pulled out, and opened up a folded piece of paper and stared at the name before turning to all of District 7.

"Masque Styner, is our girl Tribute."