One year ago was the failed rebellion. When District 13 was destroyed. The Capitol likes to call it the Dark Days because it was the time where everyone was against them. With good reason, too. My parents say that the time before the Dark Days was prosperous. Every district traded with one another. People had full bellies and didn't worry about starvation. The Capitol tried to intervene and that didn't go over so well.

The rebellion lasted five years. I wanted to be a part of it, but friends and family said no. If the rebellion failed, which it did, they didn't want me to be one of the ones executed. I lost several of my friends to the rebellion because of the Capitol.

When it was over and District 13 was destroyed, Capitol officers, Peacekeepers, were placed on every corner of our district. My brother and sister got used to their presence almost immediately. I didn't. To me they were always there. When I went to school, when I helped with the fishing, and when I went home, they were there, watching my every move. Some tried to fight back, but they were shot publicly so that everyone could get the message: no one fights against the Capitol and lives to tell the tale.

Then suddenly, they disappeared. People whispered rumors that something big was going to happen. I could feel it as well.

The television broadcast came the week the officers left. There was to be this thing called the Hunger Games. Each of the twelve remaining districts will send two tributes, a boy and a girl, to fight to the death on national television. If we made the decision to rebel, then they have the decision to make us pay for it. The winner, called the Victor, is wealthy for the rest of their life and the winning district is showered with gifts for a year.

Today is the day of the first reaping. My district will have to send our first tributes. The only one in my family that is eligible is me, since my brother is nine and my sister is five. My name is entered only four times since I'm fifteen and my family doesn't need any tesserae, grain and oil, since we're one of the more affluent families in District 4. District 4 is pretty affluent itself, but there are still poor people. We call them Fishmeat behind their backs.

I walk out onto the empty fishing docks in my bare feet, trident in hand. Dad has told me not to walk barefoot, I'll get splinters in my feet from the wood, but I don't care. I love the feel of the wood under my feet almost as much as I love the water.

Like everyone here, I'm a true watergirl. I was raised near the ocean and take easily to the water. I can hold my breath for long periods of time and I know the poisonous fish from the nonpoisonous.

You would think that since the fishing district has a lot of fish, we eat fish right? Well, that's almost not true. We do eat some of our fish, but most of it goes to the Capitol. During the rebellion, we would purposefully send them poisonous fish just to watch them die.

Our Peacekeepers watch us fish so that we don't screw up. If we do, we die.

Thankfully, my family doesn't fish that often. We have a clothing store that sells regular clothes as well as fishing gear that does pretty well, but we can't wear the clothes we sell unless they get damaged enough so that they can't be sold anymore. That happens rarely.

I sit down on the edge of the dock and dangle my toes in the water. They break the surface. The water feels cool on my feet. I trace patterns in the water. I write my name: Ari. It's short for Ariella.

I sigh, wishing this could last forever. Just me and the water. One and the same.

Too soon, I hear my name being called. I look around and see my brother. "What?" I call out.

"Ari! It's time to come in!" He turns around and marches away from me in the direction towards our house. I sigh, get up, and follow him.

My family is nervously bustling about getting ready when I put my trident on its rack. Tension is so thick, it could almost choke you. Mom and Dad keep staring at me, drinking me in as if I will be the one who is leaving. My siblings hug me over and over until I tell them to stop. I'm close to crying, and I don't want my family to see the tears.

"Ariella, your father and I have something for you," Mom says. She holds up a brand new aqua-blue dress.

I wish I could say I was happy, but I'm not. Even though new clothes are the world to us, I felt depressed. If it takes my almost-reaping to get a new dress, then I am not asking for new clothes. I put the dress on anyway.

Mom steps up to me and puts in earrings. She whispers, "If you are chosen, then wear these as a token."

She holds up a mirror and I smile. They look like little fish.

With one last look at me, we all walk somberly to the Mayor's house, where a platform is set up. On the platform are two chairs. One has the mayor, one has a cheerful-looking woman. Surrounding them are different areas sectioned off for each age, 12 through 18. Everyone else who is not participating surrounds the entire stage area. I squeeze in with the 15-year-olds. We all glance at each other nervously and look up at the stage.

"Hello, welcome to the very first reaping! Isn't this very exciting!" the woman blubbers. "My name is Sadie Palmer, and I will choose the first tributes for District 4. Ladies first!"

She reaches into one of the clear balls she has on the platform. You could hear all of the girls inhale deeply, hoping and wishing it wasn't them. She pulls out a slip of paper and breathes in.

"Ariella Waughtel!"

Suddenly I can't breathe. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see the cameras zooming around, trying to find the girl. I force myself to step forward. All eyes watch me go up as a collective sigh comes out the girls and their families. All but mine.

I step onto the platform and meet the beaming woman.

"Very good, very good!" she says. "Now for the boy tribute."

She goes over to the ball with the boys' names in it and chooses one. She comes back and reads it.

"David Mason!"

I know him. He's twelve years old and one of the best young fishers we've had. I have worked with him before, and he is one of the more serious people I've met.

I hear a person cry out in the audience. I look around in the audience and see his mother crying for all she's worth. Which, seeing their house, isn't much. His father died from a shark attack years ago and David dropped out of school so he could support his family. Even during the rebellion, he would go out to the ocean and fish just so they could make it to the next day.

The mayor says this speech about the history of Panem, which thankfully is short because Panem hasn't existed for very long. Supposedly, an apocalypse came and out of it came our country, under the jurisdiction of our Capitol. Because of the rebellion, the Hunger Games started and is now in its first year.

The mayor tells us to shake hands. We do so, staring at each other's faces. David's is stiff, his chin wobbling. He too is trying to hide tears. I have the feeling that our tears won't be the last shed in these Games.

I honestly can't tell you how often I can update, but I'll try to as much as I can. All I can say for now is to please review!