I know, everyone HATES authors notes blah, blah, blah. But I feel like I should warn you. This is my first crossover fix, so it might not be all that great. And another thing, reviews are greatly appreciated, because everyone who writes on this lovely site doesn't get paid for writing their beautiful stories. Alright, I'm done with the note now. Onward with the story.
A silver knife flashes, and scarlet blood pours out of the gaping wound. A shrill scream pierces the still night.
I sit up, my body covered in sweat. My gray eyes scan the small room before me, seeking out the nonexistent knife from my dream. My dream, which could only be triggered by one thing. The Reaping. My body shivers involuntarily as the word passes through my brain. No. I can't be afraid. I have to be strong, if not for myself, for my brothers, Bobby and Matthew.
Speaking of which. . .I look over at my half brothers, studying their calm faces. When they're asleep, they look almost harmless. But sometimes I'm not sure if I hate them or not. Ever since my dad married that witch. . . Anger and hatred course through my veins. I know that my hatred towards my stepmother is unfair, seeing as she's been nothing but kind to me, but I could never forgive my dad for marrying her.
"Annabeth?" My father's voice suddenly croaks out of the gloom, startling me.
"Dad?" I whisper, matching his tone. I see him standing next to the kettle, probably brewing some thin tea.
"What are you doing up so early? I thought you'd be sleeping in today."
"I can't," I whisper back, unwilling to say too much to him. "Why are you awake? This is your only day off."
My father shrugs half-heartedly. I guess I can fathom what he's feeling. Worry. Hatred. Fear. At least, that's what I think he's feeling. I can never tell anymore. I haven't been close with my dad ever since he remarried.
I crawl out of bed and sit at the table, across from my dad. He smiles timidly and pours me a cup of hot water. We sit in silence for an immeasurable amount of time, sort of enjoying one another's company. Eventually, my stepmom wakes up. She joins us at the table, her eyes dull, barely acknowledging me. It gets awkward after about a minute, so I leave. I get up, and pull on a thin jacket and oversized boots on top of my pajamas.
"Annabeth?" My stepmom's voice breaks through the prolonged silence. I look at her, unsure what to expect from the woman who replaced my mother. "Be careful." She finally says.
"I. . .I will." What else can I say?
With those last words, I crunch across the gravel around our house towards the road. There are few people up now. A couple of homeless people stare at me as I pass by, and there are a couple of citizens milling about in the side streets. All of them are avoiding town square.
My large boots trip me up one or two times, but I eventually make it to my destination. A small house not unlike the one I call home. The sun has just barely revealed its entire being in the sky when I knock on the door, my sun tanned fingers looking paler than usual in the bright sunlight. The door swings open, and I involuntarily step back. A face beams at me, the worry lines etched into their pale skin marring the grin slightly.
"Hey Brenda," I say, trying to keep my voice light. "I just thought I'd drop by."
Brenda frowns at me. "Annabeth, I've known long enough to know why you're here. I know what you're worried about. I'm scared too."
"Brenda, I've been entered twenty times. The odds are not in my favor this year." I try to laugh, but it sounds like I'm being strangled.
Brenda's face hardens. "And I've been entered twenty-four times." She gestures for me to come inside, and I do.
We sit at the table inside her house and talk quietly for a while. But we avoid talking about today. Thinking about the Reaping will probably make it worse. After we talk, Brenda and I just sit in silence. On a regular day, we'd be hard at work in the orchards, laughing at jokes and teasing the mockingjays.
We stare at each other for a while, sharing our pain, when Brenda finally says: "So, I'll see you at the Reaping in an hour?"
I grimace. "Sure."
I begin the short walk back to my dismal house. I trudge past many houses, the atmosphere around me getting worse and worse with each step. Only an hour until two kids are chosen to die on live television. Only an hour until I know whether I'll live to be seventeen or not.
The hour passes by too quickly. I get dressed, and do my hair. My family and I sit in silence for a minute. Then, we're being herded towards town square. I'm pushed with the other fifteen year olds, all of us standing straight with tight lips and bloodless faces. About half of the children of District Elven are here today. The other half anxiously waits at home, wondering who will get chosen this year. Every other year, my half of the District files in and waits to see who among us will be chosen to die. Every other year, I stand in anticipation, horrible thoughts filling my mind. I find Brenda and grasp her hand, fear starting to spread rapidly throughout my body. My other friends Posy and Mary join us. We clutch each other's hands while the mayor reads off a speech about the history of Panem. Finally, the moment of anticipation arrives, and a bubbly looking Capitol man goes over to the Reaping balls.
"Ladies first!" He squeals, his Capitol accent practically raping the words.
His thin hand slides into the glass ball containing our names. Posy takes in a few deep breaths, and Brenda starts hyperventilating. I squeeze her hand reassuringly, but her eyes are filled with fear.
Then, the man has the slip in his hand and he's calling out the name. I'm hoping with all my heart that it's not Brenda, or Posy, or-
"Annabeth Chase."
So? What do you think? Good, bad, lame? Review please and tell me what you think!
