Waking up after a restless night of sleep, my body feels tired and bruised. Before I even open my eyes, I'm disoriented. When I do open them, I quickly take in my surroundings, making sure to catalog every little thing, down to the tiniest little chain anklet laying on my dresser.
Because today is the day of the reaping, and this could be the last time I see any of it. Well, not the anklet. That I will take with me. I only ever wear it on reaping day, too afraid to break it, or lose it. Both of these would result in a break down, I'm sure.
It is the only thing I have of my mothers and it is extremely dear to me.
After she died, my father burned everything. Her clothes, the pictures. Madness, everyone says. I truly don't believe that. I think it's just too painful for him to be reminded of what he's lost all the time. My little, delicate anklet is the only thing I have left.
I stand up and quickly bathe myself before putting on one of my prettiest dresses. It's simple black, but the cut looks nice on me. I bend down and carefully put the little chain around my ankle. In District four, even though we are treated more like pets then most of the other districts, nice jewelry is still not a common occurrence. The only reason my mother even had it was because it was passed down from her mother.
I give myself a quick look in the mirror to make sure everything looks alright, but don't look too closely. It's not that I'm unattractive. I'm sure most people would even go as far as call me beautiful. But when I look at my flowing dark brown hair, or my blue eyes that contrast so nicely with the dark hair, or my full lips, or small but curvy body, I don't see beauty. No, all I see is my mother.
That is what makes me quickly turn from the mirror.
It's not until I get down stairs and my fathers eyes fill with pain and sadness that I realize what I've done. In my hurry to get ready, I didn't really pay attention to anything about the dress but the look. I didn't think back to when I last wore it.
It's only now that I realize it was the dress I wore to my mother's funeral.
"I'll go change!" I say quickly, hoping that the sight of me in this dress doesn't pull him back into the deep depression that he succumbed to after her death.
"Annie," He starts.
"No, no." I rush. "It's no problem at all."
But I can't make it up the stairs because he's grabbed me by the arm. Not painfully, but hard enough that I can't continue.
"I'm not that fragile anymore," My father says quietly. I search his eyes, his entire face, to ensure that he is telling the truth. "It's just a dress." He says firmly.
"Alright." I say, nodding.
Once I accept that he is fine, I carefully pull a spot of lint off of his nice, although very old and worn, black dress shirt. Then, together, we head to the streets for the reaping.
Being in a district that is much better off then most in Panem, some of district Four actually wants to be in the games. I never understood this, not being a fighter myself. We were one of the three districts that bred the Careers, the other districts name for the participants in the games that we already trained well in combat.
As I'm heading to my roped off area with the other girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen that I consider the fact that anyone here, the girl in front of me, tall and muscular, or the small child, probably just turned twelve, could be killed, or become a killer, in the next two weeks.
All because our ancestors decided to try and overthrow the Capitol. All because of something that no one alive today can even remember the full details of, let alone been a part of. We must suffer losing two children from each district every year. And there's nothing anyone in the districts can do about it.
Of course, the Capitol has given each person a chance to save themselves. If you manage to kill off the other competitors, known as tributes, and survive what ever the game makers throw at you, you can come home. But only one gets that privilege.
Either way, the districts still lose all twenty-four of those children because no one coming out of the Hunger Games could ever be considered a child anymore.
Instead of continuing these horrible thoughts, I try and distract myself with what was going on up on the stage, where the previous Games winners, the mayor, and an escort from the Capitol are. The Capitol man, Arterus, is there to reap the name of the girl and boy who will be put in the games. It is also their job to make sure those tributes arrive on time at the Capitol, and whatever else they do before the games.
Capitol people are so odd. Right now, Arterus's skin is dyed a grotesque purple that looks as if he's covered in one giant bruise, and his bright orange hair and lips contrast it in a very unflattering way.
I am puzzling over why anyone would dye their skin when the name is called for the girl tribute.
"Annie Cresta!" Arterus calls out clearly in his cheerful voice.
For a second I am to distracted by the anger building inside me at how cheerful and happy Arterus is to practically tell some poor child that her life is probably over, when the name actually clicks in my head. By that point I'm already being gently shoved up the steps and onto the stage. I feel so sick, my stomach wanting to throw up food that I didn't even have a chance to eat, when I feel myself start to sway dangerously.
I'd probably of stumbled, fallen off the stage, cracked my skull open and died if strong arms hadn't grabbed me.
I look into the beautiful sea green eyes but I am not comforted. Finnick Odair's patent cocky and seductive smile does not make me feel better.
I'm so caught up in my own melt down that I don't realize the boys name that was called. Eventually a tall, blonde, muscular boy joins me on the stage. I try to think of his name, but really all I can think about is how large, imposing he is.
His name really doesn't matter, though. What does matter is the fact that I know he could, without hardly lifting a finger, end my life. He's bred to do this. Even if we're from the same district, I never got the chance to bulk up or train to fight. I am as helpless as any normal tribute from the worse off districts.
I might as well have been seven instead of seventeen for all the power I have to fight someone his size with. I have no chance at all in these games. I am as defenseless as a bird with no wings. I am incapable of flight, and no chance to fight.
I am dead.