You had a lot of crooks try to steal your heart
Never really had luck, couldn't ever figure out
How to love

~Lil Wayne

I look out my window, thinking about what lay ahead of me today. It was Reaping Day and, well, I wasn't the most excited person.

I sit all the way up and let the blankets pool around my lap, the cold seeping in slowly to my bones. Damn District 2, I thought. It was always so cold here, even in the summer. I suppose it had something to do with living in what used to be called the Rocky Mountains, whatever those were.

Anyway, I stand up and open my heavy door, walking out the door. I smell something downstairs that smelled like polished wood. I inhale the heavenly scent and walk to the bathroom slowly, still trying to shake the sleep off.

I look in the cracked and chipped mirror in my shitty house. Everything in this hell-hole-of-a-house was poorly built and lousy. Even the thought of being in the poorest part of District 2 was a huge knockdown to my ego.

I brush through my beautiful blonde hair, carefully counting the strokes because I want to look best for Reaping Day, I mean who doesn't? Especially in District 2.

I hear harsh sounding door hinges being swung open and knew it was my father, stumbling out, in a drunken stupor. I pray that he doesn't come in the bathroom. I cross my fingers and hope that old wood door doesn't open. Unfortunately, it does.

My perverted father gets close to my face and flicks my hair, getting close to my face. The scent of alcohol was strong in his breath, nearly knocking me out. "You look pretty," he says, still close to my face.

I nod curtly and try to gently push him off, but he catches my wrist and slaps me across my face, bruising my fair skin. "Don't you try to push me around," he says. "Just like your mother," he says again, a sick look on his face. He had pushed me too far.

I push him away from me, leaning him against the wall. "Don't you ever talk about her again, you bastard!" I scream at him, feeling the tears starting to stream down my cheeks.

He smirks and says, "What you gonna do 'bout it?"

I knee him where a man never wants to be kneed and leave the room as quickly as possible, avoiding the merciless beating I surely would've gotten.

I rub the forming tears away and walk to the training center, shaking in rage and sadness. Then I remember the huge bruise that would surely be forming on my cheek. I pull out my mirror and look, horrified at the sight.

A rainbow of blue, black, and yellow had seemed to have exploded on my cheek and jaw, which were puffy and swollen. I run my elegant finger over the welt and wince in paint. It hurt to even touch it. Great, I thought. Not like this day could get any worse, oh but wait, it is the Reaping.

I roll my eyes at the obvious stares I was getting from the rest of my District. They all acted like they had never seen a kid with a bruise before, geez.

Then I felt a heavy, callused hand be placed on my shoulder. My heart races and I whip around, only to discover my uncle, Brutus there, a smug look on his face from the obvious scare he had given me. Jerk.

"Well, well, well," he says, looking me up and down.

"Well well what?" I ask, a hint of attitude in my voice.

"Nothin', you look great Kat," he says, leaning in and planting a dry kiss on my forehead.

I smile warmly at my uncle. He was the only one of family I could actually stand. Even though my real name was Katana, I didn't mind the name Kat.

"Well I know you didn't come up to me just to do that, what else is on your mind?" I ask, looking into his dark brown eyes.

His usual cocky smirk had left his aged face. "Did you hear Cato was going to volunteer this year?"

"No, and I don't care," I answer, half true.

He just raises a brow and opens his mouth slightly in questioning. Then his head shoots up at the call of his name and turn around to see who it was. It was Beck, the winner from a few years ago, I don't really remember which one.

He was pretty attractive, with darker skin and longish black hair. He was usually a pretty good guy and had a smile on his face 99.99% of the time. Plus, he was only 22.

Anyway, I step out of my uncle's way and wander to the Check-In Station, where they take your blood and make sure you're not too young or too old.

The lady there quickly took my hand and pricked it, planting the blood on a piece of paper in a rather large book. I look momentarily at the book and see a name that sticks out for some reason. Then I realize why. It was Cato's.

I shrug off the feeling and walk to my age section which was the 15 year olds. Most had a look of nerves about them, but, of course, there was always that arrogant boy from our district that got himself killed the first five minutes. I just happen to know this person.

His name was Frill Young and he was a total douche. He never doubts himself and he's always right. God forbid you to contradict him.

I take another look around and see nobody else I know, so I go to stand by a shorter girl with black hair and freckles. She gives me a dirty look and walks away. I roll my eyes. Grow up.

Then I hear a loud screeching sound and half of District 2 covers their ears in protest. I smirk to myself and bring my attention to the Justice Building, where the stage for the Reapings were always held.

I remember my first time being lined up to see the Reaping. It was when my mother was still alive and she took me to see. She had to hold me up on her shoulders so I could see. I was only eight at the time.

Looking back on that, I thought it was pretty ridiculous I cried when I saw the tributes being led away. I worried if they'd ever return. And that particular year District 2 lost.

I focus back to the stage and see our escort, Barrio Offed at the microphone, tapping it. Apparently they were doing a sound check.

When he was finally done with that, he introduced himself in the usual manner, the high pitched Capital accent and all the other jokes he cracked. He kind of reminded me of Ceaser Flickerman.

He went on to talk about the terrible war and all that and the "special film" we got every year. Most tributes were doing the same as me, looking around the crowd, trying to see if we could find our friends.

It took me less than a minute to find him. His head stuck over the other kids in his age group. Obviously, he was the tallest. His blonde hair was done in its usual style, spiked at the top.

From what I could see, his lips were curled into that smug look he always had. His arms were crossed and he was looking at the crowd too, more than likely scanning the one he'd have to either kill in the arena or here to volunteer. Although I highly doubted my second theory. District 2 always made sure the very possible future winner was our best chance of winning and Cato was by far the best they had seen in years. He was downright vicious and knew how to fight, rather well too.

His bright blue eyes, scanning the crowd, found mine. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second and I pull away, not brave enough to look him in those malevolent eyes.

I bring my attention back to the stage and see Barrio already walking to the bowl with the girls' names in them. My heart was racing and my throat was watering. My hands start to sweat profusely and my stomach hurt. Why the hell was I so nervous. It wasn't like me at all.

I start to grab at my fingers, a habit I apparently had when I was nervous. I move my eyes in quick, jerky movements, looking at those around me. I notice the bitch that had left to go stand somewhere else earlier and I was promptly pissed to find her not breaking a sweat or shaking. I did notice the intimidation in her eyes though. I smirk.

Then I bring my attention back to the stage, ready for Barrio to get there a little faster. He seemed to be taking a lifetime…

He finally got to the bowl, taking his strangely clawed hand out of his pocket and fishing around in the bowl, finding the female tribute-to-be for the 74th annual Hunger Games.

He took a thin piece of paper out of the bowl and walked to the microphone, in the slow manner as before. I impatiently stamp my foot and look around, finding him again. He still had that smirk.

Then I felt a sharp jab on my shoulder and look back in anger, ready to lay out whoever had the audacity to touch me. It was the bitch. "Go, he called your name," she says with a strange satisfaction on her face.

What?! I had been called? When? How? I look back and see Barrio's face smiling and gesturing for me to come up to the stage. "Well come on now, Katana Spencer."

I stumble over my feet to the stage, still in utter shock. How had I been called? What the hell were my odds?

I go up to the stage and look at Barrio's frosted looking makeup and hair. He shakes my hand and tells me to go over to a place on the stage. I stare for a bit before walking over, catching Brutus' eyes. I could've sworn I saw a tear streak his cheek.

I stand on my designated spot, looking at my District. I could see the mountains in the distance and pine trees on the mountains. The clouds seem to be sitting on top of the trees. I notice the birds flying and the children holding onto their mothers in the crowd.

Then I see a shape obstructing my view and realize it is Barrio, walking over to the other bowl. He was still walking in his slow manner, obviously taking his time to get to the bowl. He did the same process as the girls' and calls out a Rufus Tim, a huge oaf that lurches forward, nearly knocking Cato over in the process.

The look on Cato's face was priceless as he looks back at Rufus, looking like he was going to kill him. Rufus backs up and walks away, realizing Cato was going to volunteer anyway. Barrio watches in confusion for a while before that Capital brain started to work. He nods as Cato graciously steps forward and says, "I volunteer." He arrogantly walks to the stage, pushing those who were "lesser" than him out of the way. He doesn't even acknowledge I was there and brushes past me, to his spot.

Barrio looks us up and down and nods in approval. "Here you have it folks. The tributes for District 2 in the 74th Annual Hunger Games!"

Cato just crosses his arms and, as you guessed it, smirks. I don't think he ever stopped smirking. Then he starts to walk off the stage and I would bet you my life that he was thinking of all the ways he would kill me in the Hunger Games. Didn't what we used to have mean anything to him anymore?