Yo! Hope you'll read this story and enjoy it haha! If you really enjoy it, maybe you could review to tell me where I can improve? I would really appreciate it! I know I'm not perfect, but I'm wiling to work hard to make this a success. Btw, I'm sorry that you don't see any Peeta or Cato yet so far, but trust me they'll come real soon, like the next chapter! :) ENJOY!


Lunging forward, I aim the knife straight at the heart, my target already locked in sight. It leaps back, it's hooves digging deep into the soil and trembling uncontrollably. Clearly unused to this form of backward movement, it's legs give way after seconds of fighting for purchase on the unrelenting surface of the soil, giving me the perfect opportunity to claim my kill. One clean stroke was all it took. The deer lay down on the ground, its blood pouring from its throat like a miniature waterfall.

I shuddered at the sight. Despite hunting being a relatively common occurrence in my life, I would never be used to the sight of a dead animal immediately after the kill, still ripe and flowing with crimson liquid. Hastily, I sever the limbs from the torso for convenience when transporting the deer back home and then to the black-market. It was illegal, this form of poaching of animals, which was ironic since the Capitol never really cared for the environment with their buildings and countless festivities which undoubtedly contributed to as much pollution as all the 12 districts put together and multiplied by a million. Okay perhaps the transportation and technology districts weren't so innocent of this crime themselves, but I didn't let it get to me. This was about survival after all, and everybody needed to make a living.

And while I multi-tasked, dismembering the deer into smaller sizes and letting my mind wander off simultaneously, I heard the cry of a rooster nearby, signaling the start of the curfew. I hurriedly wrapped the limbs up in a humongous rag I brought with me and briskly tucked it beneath my favourite hangout, which consisted of a broken rotting log situated next to a tall tree, which provided much needed shade when I cleaned my kills. Peacekeepers would become suspicious, if I were to be seen lugging a package of such great size around the streets after curfew. Besides, no one dared to break the law and wander off into the forest, which was equally dangerous with the countless evils which lurked in every nook and cranny. It would be safe, he concluded, to leave his kill here and return for it the next day. Currently, the problem was getting home without getting caught by Peacekeepers, as they would begin patrolling the streets on the lookout for rogue civilians who had the courage and foolishness(like yours truly) to be out at such an unearthly hour. I would have to take a huge roundabout path, which meant I would be reaching home much later than I had expected I would when I left the house earlier this morning. It wasn't fair, as there would be no one really to feed the family if not for the food I obtained by bartering my kills. Then again, nothing was really fair in this world, and deciding to prioritize getting home safely and not too late instead of engaging myself in a one-sided debate in which I would always come to the same conclusion, I leapt onto the trunk of a nearby tree, and began scurrying in the direction of the town lights.

"What were you doing young man? Staying out till such an hour! If you were caught I… I…" my mother admonished the moment she caught me sneaking along the hallway towards the stairs which lead to my safe haven. Shit. This was bad. Really bad.

"Give it a break mom! It's not like I got caught right?"

Her eyes immediately flashed an angry read, and right before the retort could leave her lips, I raised my arms in defeat, plodding over and wrapping my arms around her.

"Oh my dear, I'm really just concerned for you… I don't want anything happening to you, especially when you're out there without me by your side. Just promise me you'll be safe," my mother spoke, her tone noticeably calmer now.

"I promise mom." There. It always did the trick, and with that I climbed the stairs up to the refuge which was my bedroom, collapsing on my bed in extreme exhaustion. What a day it was. But at least I got something out of risking my life out there in the woods, and my mind began wondering off to all the things I could buy for her with the money I could get from selling the deer. Before long, I succumbed to my fatigue, and slept dreamlessly and peacefully.

The next day, was the day that many of us at District 8 have been waiting for. The Reaping, where this year's tributes would be picked for the Hunger Games organized annually as a way of commemorating the defeat of the rebellion by the districts 74 years ago. It served as a reminder for us citizens of the district, that no matter what we do, we would always be at the mercy of the Capitol, and the best way to survive was to obey their every order like mindless lapdogs.

As all of us children began assembling at the town square, I surveyed my surroundings, and began my yearly habit of guessing who the next pair of tributes will be. Maybe it's the boy from the small, family run eatery down the street, who looked like he probably wouldn't be able to lift a sword, much less kill with it. Maybe it'll be the star athlete of our school, who I've always admired from afar, and stalked whenever I had the time. It was an exhilarating thing really, to be following and watching your idol's every move and gesture as he wandered about town.

Of course never once in these games of mine did I envisage myself being reaped. That would be like a taboo, like cursing myself to be reaped. Besides, who would really want to imagine bad things befalling them, unless they were already planning their deaths and deciding that they would much rather-

"Ahem." My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a shrill voice alerting me to the presence of one who clearly didn't belong in these filthy parts of the world, like beef in my breakfast of stale bread and unripe berries. Oh wait, maybe that wouldn't be too unnatural, considering that I probably would have my beef overcooked or undercooked, if I could even lay my hands on such a luxury.

"Ladies and gentlemen." The Capitol escort's voice jerking me awake from my perpetual daydream. "Before we officially start this year's Hunger Games, let us first show you a film to give you insight into the history of the games." Oh not this again. It was just a load of bull put together by the Capitol, hoping that there would be some brainless idiots among us district citizens who would actually believe that the Capitol was treating us well and support them. Fat chance.

"…this is how we safeguard our future." With that, the film ends, and the escort reappears with a sickening smile on her face. And was that a ring hanging from her nose? I was beginning to believe my eyes were deceiving me. Surely no one could have such terrible fashion sense.

"Now, is the time you've all been waiting for. Who do you think will be reaped this year?" the escort smiles as if it were a light-hearted topic for discussion in which all of us would gladly voice our positive opinions. "Let's start with something different this year. To save them of getting their knickers in a twist, we'll start with the boys this year." Trotting over to the bowl containing the names of the boys, she reaches her hand in and slowly groped around. There was complete silence, and everyone held their breath for a few good minutes. At last, she fished out a slip of paper with an unlucky boy's name on it, and leisurely returned to the microphone.

Oh dear, wonder who it'll be this year. I began to contemplate my chances of getting reaped. I'm fifteen this year, and I should have signed for at least 4 portions of tesserae. That would be… Ah forget it. I've never been good with numbers anyway. At any case, my chances of getting reaped are probably pretty low, and hey, I've survived through 3 years of this already haven't I? No point worrying myself by thinking of the impossible.

The escorts inhales and exhales slowly, seemingly trying to subject us to even more torture as we stared at the miserable slip of paper clamped between her index finger and thumb. That bitch. As if it isn't bad enough for us. Just hurry the hell up and say who it is, or I suspect someone around here would be wetting their pants.

What happened next was entirely unexpected.

"Linen Pelletier."