I'll never be able to forget my sister, Rue. I dream about her every night. I stroke the rough, tightly woven fabric of my quilt, keeping my hands busy so I don't relive the memory of the nightmare. It has always been the same since the 74th Hunger Games. Since the day my sister died. I watch her getting speared every night. Her name getting called at the reaping. The arrow entering the District 1 boy's neck. Katniss, singing Rue's lullaby and burying her in a flowery coffin. Me glaring at Katniss on her Victory Tour, for not honoring Rue. The old man in the faded red overalls, falling to the ground with a bullet in his head. Jumbled flashes of the 74th and 75th Hunger Games and my life thereafter. This is what crosses my consciousness when it turns dark.

But last night it was different. More bloody, more action, more sorrow. Because today is reaping day. The day we are chosen to die.

I stretch out my fingers, hoping that today will never begin. But being the eldest in my family for eight years, I know that my younger siblings will get scared when they wake up if I'm not there to comfort them. Assure them that even though we lost Rue to the Games, no one else in our family will get hurt, even though I know in my heart that is a lie.

I hear a quiet, yet frantic knock that can only belong to my beloved younger sister, Rosemary. She sleeps with my parents because she is the youngest and there is not enough room in our little shack for another bed. I watch her silent shadow slip into the room that I share with my other two sisters, Lavender and Willow, and my brother, Olive.

Rosemary plonks herself on my bed, upsetting the springs and making them creak in protest. "I can't sleep," she says simply, shaking my shoulders.

I pretend to groggily sit up, as if I've been sleeping for hours, when the truth is I woke up the moment dawn started to break through the thin moth-eaten curtain that covered the window above my head.

"What's wrong?" I ask, even though I already know the answer

"The reaping. You have at least thirty entries. Lavender and Willow have maybe fifteen! And Olive, he has five! Anyone could get picked! I might- I might-" Rosemary says before she bursts out, "I might lose one of you, AGAIN!", and starts sobbing hysterically that Lavender and Willow immediately sit up and look around in confusion. Olive is still snoring softly in the corner, oblivious to the commotion around him.

"Sh, sh. It's all right. District 11 is the largest district. Theres a small chance one of us could get picked. Okay? Nothing to worry about. It's all right. It's all right," I explain

softly.

Lavender is making these weird yet soothing sounds, which is probably meant to comfort Rosemary, while Willow is patting her hair.

She sniffled "Just-Just be careful, okay?"

"I will," I tell her. Rosemary doesn't have to worry about herself because she's only ten. She's got two more years until her name can be entered in the reaping.

Rosemary forces a smile and wraps her arms around my neck.

"Should we wake up Olive? It's almost time to get ready" Willow says, looking at Olive with a disapproving look. I look at Olive's peaceful face and immediately know not to wake him. To disturb him from his blissful dream to stark reality.

I say, "No. It is reaping day, after all. Let him sleep in while he can."

I slide my lucky charm over my head as I prepare for the day. The necklace is woven from a rare type of grass, called Hope Grass. Legend has it that Hope Grass is a blessed grass that was formed after the apocalypse, symbolizing hope that it was named after. Hanging on the grass is a star carved out of wood. I remember the day I made it. It was years ago, when I was only eight. I was the orchids during the harvest, picking the fruit from the slimmest of branches with Rue.

The sun was harsh, burning on my back, but the cool breeze rustling through the leaves was the perfect antidote to the heat. When I saw the clump of Hope Grass, swishing in the breeze by the trunk of the tree I was climbing, I was shocked. Hope grass is scarce, so you had to be very lucky to find one in a place as everyday as the orchids.

I gathered two handfuls of the grass and stuffed it in my jacket pocket. When I got back home, I laid out the grass in the drawer that is where I keep my belongings. Then took my knife, and cut out a good apple-sized portion of a thick branch of an old pine tree that grows behind my house. Each day after that I would carve the wood, and weave the grass strands.

The morning before the reaping, the morning before Rue had her name drawn, I finished it. There was two Hope grass necklaces, each one adorned with a roughly carved flower. Or a star. I still hadn't made my mind up.

I'd given one to Rue, and the other I'd kept. As I gave it to her, I said, "I'm not sure whether its a star or a flower..."

She'd poked my nose and said, "I'll have the flower, and you can have the star," as I giggled.

I gasped, my breath coming in loud rasp. I had forbidden myself to think of Rue after the Quarter Quell, because it was just too painful for me to bear. I shook my head, trying to clear it. I had to put my calm head on for today. I straightened my brown skirt and a white short sleeved blouse, and dragged a brush through my knotted brown hair, getting ready for the reaping.

I smiled, watching Olive chasing a laughing Lavender around the outside of our small little shack. "Give...me...back...my boots!" Olive spluttered. He was only twelve, so he couldn't catch up with fourteen year old Lavender.

"No!" Lavender giggled, raising the boots high in the air, while Willow danced teasingly around Olive.

"Lavender. Willow. Give your brother back his boots," my mother said.

I turned around, and saw my mother looking sternly at the twins, Willow and Lavender, with her hands on her hips. But it didn't look so serious because we all could tell the she was holding back laughter.

Me, Olive, Lavender and Willow collapsed on the floor, laughing hysterically. Even my father managed a smile.

Olive snatched his boots from Lavender, and stuck out his tongue at us. He managed to get halfway to his room before he started chuckling again, causing a fresh wave of laughter.

We're funny that way. Any small amusing thing that happens, we burst out laughing. I guess its our way of forgetting the past.

Rosemary has finished dressing up in our parents room, and I'm slowly savoring the taste of the sliced bread I am having for breakfast. We each have one slice of bread each, topped with a small serving of cheese. Its hardly enough, but we don't complain, because we know its all we can afford. Olive and Rosemary tries to lighten up the mood by trying to start a conversation, but the rest of the family knew Rue more, so we just sit there, in silence, remembering Rue. It is our unspoken routine.

While the twins are cleaning up the table, I button up the back of Rosemary's yellow dress. She is putting on a brave face, as if she were smiling for a camera. I know her too well, because I know she is just a scared little girl that is great at acting. I spin her around and look her right in her wide golden-brown eyes.

"Rosemary. Whatever happens, you will not cry. Promise me that you will be strong. Promise me." I say to her strongly.

She widens her eyes, surprised by the suddenness of the speech.

Then she whispers, "I will. I promise. Only if you promise too."

I look at her for a long time, then I slowly nod my head. "I promise."

She smiles and she skips off, a bit too enthusiastically, and I watch as she wraps her arms around my mother. I quietly slip out of the living room, into the room that I share with my brother and the twins. I grab a thick book off the quilt of my bed and sit on the floor of my room, reading. It's a book about fighting techniques, plants, everything. I idly flip through the pages, the rough papyrus brushing my fingers as I skim the book. Everyday, I sit and read the same volume, again and again. Partly because its the only book we have in the house. Another reason why is because it's packed full of information, about how to survive. I read it because if I ever got picked, I would be prepared.

I hear a small click, and turn my head in the direction of the door. It's Olive. He walks over and sits down on the floor by me. "What're you doing?" He asks.

"Reading." I reply.

He shakes his head. "No, I mean, how could you be reading, now? Reaping day." He shudders. "I could never concentrate on a book today"

I shrug. "How could I not be reading this? It's important."

He opens his mouth, probably to argue some more, but he obviously thinks better of it and stands up.

"What time is it?" He asks.

I point to the clock at the other side of the room.

"Um..." He squints at the clock. His cheeks turn pinkish with embarrassment.

"I can't...exactly...see it..." He mumbles, looking at his toes.

"Oh! Right! Sorry, Olive. It's 12:16. We'll be leaving soon, okay?" I say.

"Okay..." He nods and exits the room. I stare after him. That boy really needs glasses. But we just can't afford it.

The rough surface of District 11 streets hurt the soles of my worn boots. I walking towards the expanse of land lined with gray, sharp gravel. The place holds twelve roped off areas, each surrounded by a cluster worried people crying and uttering sad goodbyes. The heat of the sun is scorching, and the humidity and the helplessness of the area feels like it's pressing me from all sides. I am holding Rosemary's hand, my lucky charm swinging at my neck, staring up at the Capitol Monitor, a gigantic television screen that sports the Capitol's latest news. District 11 is too large a district to fill everyone into the plaza where the Justice building is. So the Mayor decided to put up five oversized televisions screens around the district, showing the important news of the day. Its pretty simple. If you were at the main square last year, you would go to Capitol Monitor 1, this year. I was in Capitol Monitor 4 to watch the reaping this time. My heart pumps furiously as look down and slowly slip my hand out of Rosemary's.

"I got to go to the sixteen-year-olds area." I tell her.

"I know." She says simply.

I lean down, kiss her sweaty forehead, and say, "I'll be back after the reaping. We'll go and pick some flowers for Mother. Pink ones. I know you love pink."

Rosemary gives me a small smile, and slips away into the cluster of people who's names have not been entered, either because they are too young or older than eighteen. I go to the roped off area number 4 that holds the sixteen year old girls near this area. A peacekeeper shoves me roughly and secures the rope behind me, announcing "That's the last sixteen girl."

I give the peacekeeper a scowl then concentrate on looking for Olive. It's his first year in the reaping, so I know he's scared. I block out the red-hot sun with my hand, and my eyes find him, squashed between two burly twelve year old boys that look much too big for their age. His small face is drenched with sweat, and I see he's barely holding back tears as he pushes away the dark hair from his golden-brown eyes.

I remember what I told him before we left the house. I told him, clear and simple, that he must not cry if he gets picked. Keep on a calm face. I told him I loved him. Not much words were needed, because he's a smart boy and knows the message behind them.

As if Olive were thinking the same as I was, he juts out his chin defensively, blinks back the coming tears, and wipes his face of emotions as he waits.

I tear my eyes away from Olive, looking for another familiar face. I spot my mother and father with Rosemary, holding hands, and crying. Except for Rosemary. While my parents are standing there, sorrow plastered on their faces and tears streaming down their cheeks, Rosemary hasn't shed a tear. She is being strong. She is being strong for me.

The twins, Lavender and Willow, are crying softly in each others arms. Their bonds are stronger than twins, they are one part of a whole. I didn't need to comfort them, because I know they aren't crying for themselves. They are crying for Rue. There is no way I can persuade them that Rue is okay. Because she isn't. Not until the Capitol comes down, anyway.

I look up, startled, as I realize that the Mayor has started reading out the annual story. Its all nonsense about how the Capitol was our savior and rescued us from destroying ourselves and all that. All I'm truly worried about is the reaping. Because the moment your name is pulled out of the reaping ball, you know you have a one out of twenty-four percent chance that you'll come out of that arena alive.

The Mayor has finished reading, and is introducing the mentors, Isilee Malianna and Erudanus Danour, and the plump and curvy escort with her frilly dresses and adorned hair, Lovage Daisidy. Isilee is a pretty and thoughtful-looking lady in her twenties, with sharp chocolate brown eyes and curly dark hair that falls down to the middle of her back. Erudanus, the monstrous boy with the black eyes like dark pits, is leaning casually on his chair, his eyes glinting murderously, looking all superior with that cocky smile on his face. He couldn't be more than nineteen.

"Well, get on with it." Erudanus says in his deep, rough voice, smirking.

I decided I hated him.

"Okay! Happy Hunger Games, everyone! May the odds be-" started Lovage.

"Yeah, yeah. May the odds be ever in your favor. Just to let you know, whoever I'm gonna mentor has the odds entirely in their favor. So start with the boy tribute first." Erudanus interrupted, gesturing towards the giant glass ball that held all the names of all the boys aged 12-18 in District 11.

Isilee shot him a look, saying, stop being so arrogant. Erudanus just smirked at her, like he couldn't care less because he thinks that Isilee is beneath him.

"Okay. Okay. So. Yes. Boy's first then..." Lovage spluttered, her cheeks a bright pink with embarrassment. She hitched her skirt up and walked toward the reaping ball on those ridiculous high heeled shoes. She then waved her hand over the ball dramatically, and plunged her hand in. She pulled out a slip of parchment as I prayed that it wasn't Olive. Please don't be Olive. Please, please. Please. He's only twelve.

Lovage cleared her voice for effect then pompously read out, "Ryde Arvolor"

I let out a sigh of relief, as did most of the audience in 11. It wasn't Olive. I could see him in the crowd, relief obviously the prime emotion on his face. He was looking around, trying to find me, I guess, but he was not tall enough to see over the heads of his towering companions.

I turned my head back to the screen, where a boy about seventeen years old was starring. I almost gasped. He is as tall as Erudanus, and about as muscular. White scars crossed his arms and his face was obscured by a fresh cut that started from his left ear across his face to the right corner of his mouth. His split lips where tilted into an aloof yet conceited smirk, as if even he wasn't picked he would've volunteered anyway. He had the sort of look that made you sure he would kill you in a second if he felt like it. He looked like he had just been into battle, and won. I'd bet any money that he was a career.

Erudanus passed his eyes over Ryde, evaluating him, then looking smug, said, "Well, then. I don't think I could've gotten a better tribute. Better start thinking what you're gonna do with all that money when you win."

Ryde laughed.

I decided I hated that Ryde Arvolor, too.

"Okay. Time for the girls." Lovage announced before clasping her hands together.

Oh, no. Please don't be Lavender. Please don't be Willow. Lavender, Willow. Lavender, Willow. She dipped her hand in. Lavender, Willow. Pulled out a piece of parchment. Lavender, Willow. And read out a name. "Laurel Arendell".

I slowly breathed out, thankful that it wasn't Lavender, or Willow. I don't what I would've done if it was. I search out their faces, but find that their faces aren't full of joy. They are shocked, the eyes lined with pain and sorrow. I wonder why.

"Laurel Arendell, please come out!" Lovage says again, louder.

What is Laurel Arendell waiting for? Her picture will show on the screen and the peacekeepers will come and get her if she doesn't move, quick. It's a bit weird that Laurel Arendell's name sounds familiar. As if...as if...it was my name in a funny Capitol accent. My eyes find Rosemary. She is staring back. I understand. Lovage is calling out my name.