Chapter 1

I toss and turn anxiously in my bed as I stare at the ceiling. Frustrated by the lack of progress in sleep I get up and sit next to my window. Tomorrow is the day of the Reaping. I wonder who will get picked. Will it be me? No, I don't think so. Not that I'm untouchable, but it's highly unlikely that I will be picked, I'm only 17, so my name has been entered only 6 times. No, I'm more worried someone I know and care about will be picked. Which is likely because I know everyone in District 12. I'll be forced to watch them die a gruesome death they really don't deserve at all.

The whole thing sickens me, really. The way the Capitol treats us, how they keep us caged up like wild animals, letting us all starve. And how they "punish" us by having each District send a boy tribute and a girl tribute into the Hunger Games to fight to the death. This is purely for entertainment and control. Just another way for the Capitol to show us how they own us. And, in the eyes of the Capitol, this is "Justice" for the rebellion of the Districts, so many years ago. Oh, but I would never say this out loud. I would surely be punished for a comment like that. The severity of that punishment just depends on who I say it in front of.

If I were to say this in front my parents, for instance, I know for sure my father would give me a big long speech about how fortunate our family is. Which is true, we are. I live in a two story home, my father brings in enough money to at least have a meal a day, two if we're lucky, and when I'm 18 I don't have to sign up for a job in the mines, I'll work in the bakery. Most of District 12's population lives in the Seam where many are starving, but most are able to provide for their families. Yes, I can expect a speech from Dad, but my witch of a mother would just beat me and take away my food for an unreasonably long amount of time.

If I were to let this comment slip in front of some Peacekeepers, I would probably be tried and convicted of some ridiculous crime of rebellion against the Capitol and be whipped. Whipped to a hunk of meat and left to die. So, you see, I keep these kinds of comments to myself.

Yet as I stare out my window at the poor and starving District 12, I can't help but find it beautiful. The way the moon and stars light up the dark streets in the night. And how the houses give off a yellowish light through the windows, like candles. Pretty beautiful if you ask me.

I sigh and crawl back in bed, knowing deep down that I really do need some sleep, because the Reaping isn't until 2pm but I still have a lot to do in the bakery until then. Plus I have to look good in case I'm picked as a tribute, I can't have bags under my eyes! No, that simply won't do for the glamorous people of the Capitol. And on that bitter note I close my eyes and wait for sleep that will never come.