-Disclaimer- All characters, locations and themes belong to the author of The Hunger Games,
Suzanne Collins -Apart from those I have made myself.
It's better to live on your feet
alright guys, this is my first story – Chapter 1 – hope you enjoy it.
I awoke, violently sitting upright one word escaped my lips before Elle slammed the door open "Reaping." every year it's the same thing. It's almost clock-work; the day of the reaping I have the nightmares, and then at EXACTLY 7:00am Elle dives into my room and goes about getting me ready.
I just sigh as Elle tears off my blankets; she flinches for a second, noticing my nakedness then shrugs it off and throws me some pants. She's been 'taking care' of me since my dad starting working around the clock on the new District 5 justice building. She's been here for my family ever since mum and jasmine got killed by the plague that ripped through the district 10 years ago. I was only 6 when I watched my baby sister succumb to the agony of the blisters, with no one to help her. In district 5, doctors only bother to aid the workers, the rest of us die in our homes, among our friends.
"You know that you have to be on time right" she scowled at me as I rubbed sleep from my eyes and fumbled with my pants.
"You can't just decide to NOT show up."
"Sorry if I'm not resigned to my fate just yet"
Elle just nods, being 18 she isn't required to put her name in the reaping.
"I'm going to head out, breakfast is on the table" she says choking back tears
I sigh again, more deeply this time. I have known about Elle's love of me for a long time now, but I have never acted upon it, or felt anything for her myself.
I pull on some calf-high leather boots and stomp down the stairs. "oh lovely, more porridge, I bet your made from my tessera." even the thought of how many of my names would be in the reaping bowl made me physically sick. i left it on the table and walk towards the only mirror we have in the house, i looked my self over. I'm about 6 foot 3 and i have long, unruly brown curly hair that covered my eyes, my white linen shirt was stained with what i assume has to be food of some sort, so i cover that with a light leather jacket; I'm wearing my good black jeans that drapes over my boots. I give my hair a quick brush with my fingers and with one look at the bowl on the table I shiver; and walk out the door and into the cold air of a winters morning.
CONTINUE TO CHAPTER TWO -