Welcome welcome welcome (I sound like Effie here) to the second chapter of this fanfiction. Hope you enjoy it and please review!
Also please take note that some chapters will be longer than others depending on what's going on in the story at the time – e.g. if there is lots of action coming up I will generally write a shorter chapter first then another one. It also depends on how busy I am at school – I have loads of information evenings at the moment and am having loads of exams.
It's tense in my house today. Very tense. At breakfast we barely talk – usually my brothers and I always chat about school or general life, joke about peacekeepers and Capitol people, discuss fighting techniques and debate about what weapons and skills are most important for survival. But today, we don't even chat. I have two brothers – Niall and Jack – who are both eighteen. They're twins but aren't at all similar in any way: Niall has chocolate brown hair and Jack's is hazel; Niall is vicious and an expert hand-to-hand combat whereas Jack has much more stamina and can shoot arrow whilst sprinting at full speed through a forest and still end up with a perfect kill; Niall is very outgoing but Jack is quieter, much quieter. But I love them both as much as eachother and they're my brothers, no matter how different we all are. I, personally, prefer knife throwing and archery than hand-to-hand combat with spears and swords. I am a short-distance sprinter just like Niall (I can't run any further than a mile before stopping). My hair is a dark red, exactly like the colour of a squirrel. All three of us have the same sea green eyes though, and the same face.
The Reaping starts at half two in the afternoon, giving us in Zone A a chance to spend the morning with family (every public place here is closed today so we have no chance to fit in some last minute training should we be planning on volunteering or just seeing if we'll be picked anyway, and we can't go shopping) however we like, as long as it's legal to do so especially with the whole district packed with peacekeepers, cameras and Capitol people. I tend to start getting ready at eleven or so, then have a bit of lunch and then off to the square it is. Better to be early than late – I don't want to be queuing up for forever, thank you very much. When you are late, the peacekeepers and Capitol people start to get very stressy and rough with you, which, from what I have heard, is not the nicest thing ever. All the outer district's kids will be arriving late after what probably is a long walk to the main square. They might actually be walking here as we speak. I am very grateful that my house is only half a mile or so to the square, so I have plenty of time.
District Four, being one of the richer districts, has a reputation for the richest kids (especially the girls over sixteen) coming to the Reaping dressed in the most expensive clothing. Glittery dresses, high heels, long silky skirts, plenty of makeup and perfectly kept hair are not too rare, even if they aren't as commonly worn as they are in District One, the richest district of all when you don't include the Capitol as a district (as it isn't really a district, more of a city). I come from a pretty rich family – well, we have a bigger-than-average sized house and have more money and food than we need – but don't wear the glamourous costumes and incredible accessories. A shirt and skirt or some pretty dress will suit me fine. I don't need makeup and my hair will look just as nice in a plait than a bun. The same is with my brothers – obviously they don't wear skirts or dresses, but they don't dress in expensive suits either – who will just wear some nice-looking trousers and a shirt. No ties, unlike every other boy in the district. Today I am wearing one of my mother's old dresses. My mum died last spring due to an illness, so I inherited all of her clothes and jewellary. This dress is my favourite – it's a beautiful shade of blue with a white floral pattern. It's quite tightly fitted around the top but short and flowy at the bottom. I'm also wearing some white leather pump shoes and a silver necklace and turquoise earrings. I stare at myself in the mirror, barely believing that this is what my mum wore to her fourth Reaping, the year of the 50th Hunger Games and second Quarter Quell where double the amount of tributes than usual were fighting for the prize. I can imagine her in it, with her dark brown hair and matching eyes. She used to tell me about when she was younger and how the games were like then, how they weren't as well planned out as the games we have now and that arenas were smaller and the mutts weren't outstanding. She enrolled me in the training academy, the same one that she went to when she was young, and would help me with my theory work. Then, last year, everything changed. District Four had an outbreak of a disease, and thousands of residents were infected. I was one of the lucky ones not to become ill, but my mum got a more severe version and died in less than a week. The disease was unknown and we had no clue what it was caused by and only knew that it could be deadly even though loads of people who became ill weren't any worse for wear.
I could've died with embarressment as I walked down the stairs to the living room of my home. My dad, my brothers, even the dog were staring at me. I could see that my dad, as tough and strong an ex-Career as he was, had a tear in his eye. It was strange – my dad never cries. Even when mum died he wasn't too bad, even though he probably cried away out of our sight when we were at school or in bed or just out. My brothers are staring at me. I feel awkward. Niall's jaw's dropped, eyes fixed on me. Jack is pretending to be stroking Wolfi, but he is staring at me too.
Urgh, I hate getting attention.
Then the worst thing ever happens. They clap. I don't want applause, thank you very much. I am in my mum's favourite dress, get over it. It's nothing special. It's just a twenty-year-old Reaping dress. And I don't look like mum. Go away.
My dad comes over to me and embraces me in his arms. I stand there, not really wanting to be hugged but not wanting to pull away either. He says I look great. I look normal. He says I'd be a great victor. I don't have any plans on volunteering or going into the games, not this year anyway, and especially not winning. I'm ok at fighting and I know what's safe to eat and what's not safe to eat, but knowing me putting too much trust in everyone I meet (except peacekeepers, obviously) I would probably be killed in my sleep or turned on behind my back. My dad compliments me more and more, for over fifteen minutes at least, until I get bored of it and am barely listening to anything he says. I am so grateful to Jack for pulling us apart.
"It's midday," he says. "We'd better go to the square before it gets busy." I breathe a long, loud sigh of relief that I am no longer being babied by my dad. Thank god. Enough is enough. I rush into the kitchen and grab a tuna sandwich. If I'm am going to the Capitol after all then I might as well make use of the District 4 tuna.
And then I walk out the door.