The 24th Hunger Games: Innocence 1

Author Note: Random inspiration is fun ;)

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I am in deep in the land of my dreams when my alarm clock goes off.

My hand goes to the other side of the bed, as it always does in the mornings when I wake up. The emptiness of the other side, how the handmade quilt is made up on his side reminds me every day that he's gone. I walk over to the other bed, touching the pillow and feeling the rough canvas on the mattress, since I am still making the new quilt for it. This emptiness reminds me she is gone as well.

Gone. Just like a piece of my soul.

I begin to wrestle with my red hair, attempting to straight it a little more. Everyone dresses up on Reaping Day, and that's stupid, since it's such a gruesome event. I stare at the cracked, dusty mirror in front of me, pleased inside of how my face is plain and expressionless.

Nobody will know that I am tortured by the date now.

I open my closet, slipping on a flower print blouse. It may be a bit big on me, but it smells like Mama, and the boots I put my feet into remind me of Dad. For Rose, I put my shoulder-length red hair in a ribbon high on my head, and for Leslie, I wear the ring I always loved to suck on when I was little.

My face remains expressionless as I walk down the street. I can feel them on every inch of my body as I stand among the other twelve year olds, and the tears are pushing to free them. Blinking once or twice, I manage to keep them at be as Fergilane Yamless wobbles her way over the bowl of names for girls who may go into the Hunger Games.

I can see a few glance at me curiously. I am afraid, and I feel weak and exposed. But I stand there, not moving, like I don't care. Mama once said I could become as solid and strong as the oak tree that we manage to grow for a while inside our house in the little kitchen.

That tree died. The seed was small in the beginning, and the roots didn't have room to grow. But it was a strong thing, even it was small, and I even named it Hope.

I will be strong like Hope. But I will not let myself die out, even if I get….

"Frosting Swimjane!" I am picked, which it doesn't really surprise me.

I feel small inside as I walk onto the stage. I can finally image what it was like for them to stand on the stage, Leslie three years ago, and Rose just a year before. Fergilane adjusts her blue, red, and brown hair which I think is a wig, tucking a loose blonde hair behind her ear and her tan, plump little face lighting up as she rereads my name to herself.

"Swimjane?" she squeaks out, "oh, wonderful, wonderful! Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to not only this year's female tribute, but the sister of a past tribute of ours! Perhaps she will be stronger, eh?"

I stare straight ahead, not responding when she asks for her name. She was my sister. And I watched her die, just like I watched my best friend die. But no, they won't know that. I know what will happen if I tell them.

My eyes will string. My knees will quack. My voice will choke up and stutter. I will cry, and they will not see me cry.

I am strong, like Hope. I am quick, like Leslie was. I am unbreakable until the end, like Rose was. I am fierce, like he always was.

I am Frosting Swimjane. And I will not die in these Hunger Games. I will avenge them all, even he, who was never in them.

"Jayden Hendrawl!" my hard light green eyes follow him onto the stage, and in the screen, I am satisfied to see I look tough as nails.

He is bigger than I, with short cropped coco hair and mysterious ice eyes, broad shoulders, and a solid-looking chest. He will be someone I will not be able to beat, since he is so large and looks about seventeen. Maybe a Career will kill him off, or he'll go mad, or the Gamemakers will finish him off for me.

I am not afraid of him, though I do feel small.

He's giving me a wicked grin as we are lead inside the Justice Building. There is nobody for me to say goodbye too, but I see what looks like his mom and his sister sobbing from a distance, reaching for him even though he has his back turned to them. The expression on his face says he does not care, and the feeling of betrayal rises within me.

He does not care his family will never see him again. He does not know this…he is probably cocky and over confident. He does not know he will die….he does not know this yet.

Maybe it's more doable to kill him than I thought before…