I look at the apple. Eat it? Don't eat it? It's Finnick's. He gave it to me. So what's the problem?
The problem is my pride.
Soon enough, though, hunger takes over pride and I'm sinking my teeth into the sweet, juicy fruit. I stand at the edge of the cliff, where the Rock lies, before walking to my house. Uneven ground and small stones designed to trip me up do their job, even on a path I know so well. I finish the apple in minutes and toss the core over the side, watching it bounce down the jagged rocks jutting out down the cliff. The sea, its usual green-blue swirl of glitter, seems particularly calm. When I was younger, my brother, Saff, would tell me stories about how the sea reflects my mood. So, maybe a calm ocean means a calm Annie.
I'm wrong. As I reach the state of wreckage that used to be my house, my eyes widen, and my jaw drops.
The door hangs off the hinges. The windows smashed. As I step in, I see the small, cheap table knocked over, and the few possessions we have scattered across the floor. Bloodstains have splattered the wooden floorboards.
The Peacekeepers. I know immediately it's them, the men in white uniforms, who have done this. It's them, who constantly search for ways to punish me.
'Mum?' I scream, my feet flying up the stairs. My useless cripple of a mother, unable to walk without help, is gone. Where? No idea. Why? Because of me.
Her bed is empty. More blood is drying on the bed sheets. I crouch down, elbows on my thighs, clutching my hair.
After what seems like an eternity of me despairing, silently crying, not moving from the position I'm in, I hear footsteps. Light, barefoot. That's how much I can tell. A girl. I feel Genevieve's hand on my back, rubbing the place between my shoulder blades.
I open my eyes and stand up, shaking violently. 'I've lost them all,' I whisper.
Evie takes my hand. 'Annie. Annie, look at me.'
My eyes, I know, register nothing but cold hatred. Saff died mere weeks ago. Now my mother has surely followed him.
'Annie, it's okay, it's okay, don't cry . . .' Evie hugs me tightly but I stay frozen in place.
Tearing away from her, I fly down the stairs two at a time, and come to a stop at the front door – or what remains of it. Everything seems so newly done. The blood still glistening as the light catches it. The Peacekeeper boots' prints in the dirt outside still fresh.
Evie is pulling me backwards. 'Listen to me. If you go after them, you'll get yourself killed. You're no use to anyone dead.'
'Evie!' I shout, frustrated. 'We both know my name's coming from the reaping ball tomorrow!'
'Wait, what?!'
There's a long, awkward silence between us, as my words echo back and forth in the space between us.
'It would be simple,' I say, my voice empty. 'Kill the boy immediately. Then kill his family. Then keep his sister alive, so they can kill her on a television show. Capitol logic.'
'You really think they've rigged the reaping for you?'
I see the pain in her eyes, then. The realisation that she may lose her best friend to the clutches of the Hunger Games. I step forward, and briefly hug her.
'Evie, now you listen to me.' I pull away. 'Tomorrow. Don't come and see me in the justice building. Don't come and say goodbye to me. It'll just unhinge us both.' She starts to interrupt but I press my finger to her lips, silencing her. 'Please. Let go of any hope that I could win. I won't. I ignored Career training all this time – now I'll pay for it.'
I see Evie change, in this moment. It's hard to describe. But anything childlike about her is gone. She now has to fight for survival alone. She now has no best friend. Already, she's letting me go. And I'm glad.
I touch her cheek. The colour seems to have drained from her normally golden-tan skin, leaving her pale. Her dark hair, short and spiky, seems thinner than usual. Maybe Genevieve is dying. Maybe I'm imagining it.
'I love you, Annie. You're my best friend. The only person I still care about.'
'I love you too, Evie. Do try and fight.'
'Only if you do the same.'
I stand on the beach, the wind tugging at my hair. The Shoreline – another area of the district, like the Rock, but one that surrounds the coast at the bottom of the cliff – is glowing with light. From inside and outside the houses, light is everywhere, almost overthrowing the natural blood-red rays of the setting sun. The red reflects on the water, giving me a flashback to the blood sparkling on my kitchen floor.
I sit on the sand, and run my fingers through my tangled hair. I have to look pretty for tomorrow. The reaping's at ten. Up and early, then, for my time to shine.
I wonder what makes me so sure I'm going. Of course, it's a possibility, but what makes me so sure? I close my eyes, and remember Saff. His speech.
'I want to fight back!'
The whole square had gone into uproar after that. Peacekeepers had streamed onto the stage, at least twenty of them, and I'd frozen in my place. Then someone was screaming Saffron's name. Who was it?
Of course, it was me. I'd scrambled to the stage, watched as they knocked him down to his knees, forced my way through the crowd. 'Saffron!' I'd shrieked. 'Saffron!'
Stupid, really, to think I'd arrive there before the bullet.
As the gunshot had echoed round the square, everything and everyone had stilled. Even the air itself had stopped moving.
But I hadn't stopped running. I'd reached Saff, throwing Peacekeepers aside, spotting his dead body in a pool of blood. I'd screamed. Peacekeepers had grabbed hold of me; I'd been shoved onto my knees as well. The world had blurred behind my tears; the gun had pressed to my temple.
I'd closed my teary eyes. Waited for my death. But something had stopped them. The gun had been pulled away from me, and a disturbingly thrilled voice spoke in my ear.
'Guess you won't be let off as easily, sweetie. We have another punishment for you.'
Then they'd tossed me off the stage, and left me mourning my brother's death.
And waiting for the reaping.
A jolt brings me back to reality. I'm not standing anymore. I'm on my knees, the water lapping softly in front of me, the sun gone. In its place, a huge, glowing moon, situated in the centre of the sky.
I wonder briefly how long I've been like this, but all the heat has left my body, all the energy left my limbs, and not a cell in my body feels safe. I haven't even been reaped and already paranoia is settling on me.
'We have another punishment for you.'
I shiver, partly from the cold and partly from the memory. It's obvious that I'm going into the arena. So why don't I just put my fear aside and create a plan?
My reluctance is equally obvious.
I'm scared.
I don't want to die.
