Chapter Two

Click. It all fits. "May the odds be ever in your favour." This is what he meant. The last Hunger Games, the final revenge of the districts on the capitol, it will be our children that suffer this time. And as it favoured the rich and powerful in the districts, I am sure it won't this time, it will be people like me who will be at the disadvantage. I look back to the screen where Paylor continues to talk "The reaping will begin the day after tomorrow, attendance is mandatory."

It is several hours before I can move, but eventually I do it. Separating myself from the sofa is a lengthy process, my brain is misted over, movement seems to help. I pick up a belt of knives and strap them around my waist, before leaving the office and once again going into the rain. The rain helps me think straighter, clears out the shock and brings on the emotions. I start to run. It takes 5 blocks before my brain starts talking sense. I am one of thousands and thousands of children in the Capitol, what is the probability that I'm chosen? But the nasty voice in the back of my head reminds me of my father and his words "...and more than anything, stay in the game." Don't be stupid Caela, he couldn't know, there is no way he could know.

I keep running wishing my worries would go just as quickly as the pavement beneath my feet. But no matter how hard I run, how far I get, they keep coming back. The sun goes down and tiredness eats up my body, there is no way I can make it back home before my muscles collapse. I look up into a tree, its branches are spread out and durable looking, before even thinking about it I begin to climb, higher and higher into the tree, occasionally slipping on a branch which is still wet from the rain. I find a wide branch that has a soft pillow of moss at the end and lie down, head resting on the moss. I look down, it's a long way to fall. Remembering the acts of the 'Mockingjay' and winner of the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen, I use my knife belt to strap myself to the tree, very glad I'd brought it.

I wake at first light, it takes me a moment to remember where I am, all I know is that I am starving. I try to sit up, and wind myself on my knife belt, I unbuckle it and try to sit up again, more successful this time. I look blearily around me. A large rabbit is grazing happily beneath a nearby tree. My stomach rumbles. I take a small knife and throw it, the sound of the knife alerts the rabbit and it turns just in time for the blade to soar straight into its eye socket. I climb down and walk towards the rabbit. I pick it up by the ears, take out the knife and start on my way home.

By the time I reach home, it's almost dark. I light a fire in the grate before turning my attention to the rabbit, chopping off its legs, tail and head. Ignoring the blood that's seeping over the white carpet, I take out a pan and slit the rabbit's stomach over it, so all the guts spew into the pan. I look at my knives and am reminded of what tomorrow will bring. The reaping. I try to distract myself once more with the rabbit, readying myself to cook it. I return to the fire and knock out the remaining flames before placing the tin-foiled rabbit on the hot coals.

My mind floats back to the games, horror fills my body. Why would they do this? Sink so low as to use our own Games against us, punishing children for the adults' crimes. Hypocrites. These are the very things they rebelled against. I throw the rabbit flesh, now cooked, into a pan with an assortment of vegetables and stock before pouring it into a large bowl. It occurs to me that this is the first proper meal I've eaten since...I banish the thought and finish my stew.

An alarm that I didn't set wakes me up the next morning, I glance at the time, it's half eight, the reaping starts at ten. I lift myself out of my parents bed, where I had spent the night, and rifle through my mother's project wardrobe once more, but this time right to the back where the dresses and suits lie. I take out a blood red dress, the colour seeming somewhat appropriate, with elbow length sleeves, a wide neckline and a slight flair at the bottom. I tie my hair into a messy bun, with loose strands of hair curling gently down. I cannot understand my need to look nice, I feel like I owe it to my mother to show the world her creations. I leave my face free of make-up, and slip on some black ballet shoes. I stare at myself in the mirror, the red of the dress has the desired effect; it brings out the two scars on my cheeks brilliantly.

I step out the front door, knowing that this could well be the last time I ever do so. I join the crowds of children marching towards the presidential house; I'm the only one I can see without anyone else, except a dark haired boy. His face looks familiar and I resolve that I must have seen him in school. He sees me staring and smiles nervously, I return the favour and he heads towards me.

"Caela? It's been ages, I hardily recognised you. You've changed." The last two words sound a little pained, but I pretend not to notice, instead I concentrate on his voice. Old memories begin to surface. I'm not the only one who's changed.

"Emery?" he smiles a little and nods. Our parents had worked together as Game Makers, leaving us to play together as they worked. And then it hits me, "They're..?" he nods again, lowering his brown eyes. "Same." We walk for a while in silence.

As we come up to the gates he takes my hand, I look at him and understand him perfectly. Our shared pain has reinforced our old friendship. In a world that has taken everything we had, we have only each other left.

"You have to sign in." says an irritated boy, as Emery attempts to break down the electronic barrier. He glares at him and the boy's resolve weakens. He fumbles around with a clipboard, dropping his pen. I pick it up and throw it to him, it falls to the floor again and we smirk.

"Names?" he says struggling to reacquire his authority on the situation.

"Emery Scatern" he glanced at me. "And Caela Fyers." The boy searches through the papers and it is him who smirks this time. He takes two sticky labels writes on them and hands them to us. Mine reads 'Caela Fyers. 83.' I look at the number in confusion and peak over Emery's shoulder to look at his it reads his name and then the number '78'.

"I don't understand?" I say staring at the smirking boy.

"It's the number of times you are entered into the reaping."

Emery takes my hand and pulls me towards the barrier, we climb over it and mingle into the collecting crowd.

"But Em," I shout as he pulls me in. "I don't get it?" He turns around so quickly I walk into him, he doesn't seem to notice. He stares down to me his face grave but before he can explain President Paylor's voice fills the space.

"Children of the Capitol, today is the day we will find out which 24 children will be competing in the last Hunger Games. Each child can be entered up to 100 times, dependent upon how closely related to those in power during the Capitol's run. Once the 24 children have been chosen, the Districts will then bid on which two children they want to represent their district."

My hands tighten around Emery's. My heart is beating hard, my breath chokes in my throat. He knew about it, my father, he knew that they would keep on punishing him, even after his death. Emery's eyes sought mine, I stare back hopelessly, trying to figure out his facial expressions. He turns away and I hear him whisper "I have nothing" my eyebrows thatch in confusion. But I don't have time to pay any more attention, a silence like death falls over the presidential grounds. The reaping is beginning.

I look out over the heads and up to the steps, where a stage has been erected, on which stand 24 chairs and two big glass domes full of little slips of paper. The president moves forwards and dips her hand into the bowl marked "boys" she pulls out a little slip, the crowd collectively shudders. There are at least 2000 children in the square, the chances of Em being chosen are slim. She opens out the slip and reads the name written on it: "Corbin Nekrewess"

Gasps of recognition echo out as a tall, raven haired boy pushes his way through the crowd and onto the stage. His face is magnified on the large screen- he has light grey, unforgiving eyes and cheek bones that look like they could cut diamond. He sits down on one of the 24 silver chairs. The chairs start to fill up, as more and more girls and boys are picked from the dome, and after each pick my heart lightens, every pick makes it less likely on me. Two picks that made a particular impact on the crowd was that of Bellona Snow, the granddaughter of the old capitol President Snow and her brother Maichal, they both have white hair and the same colour skin.

The time wears on, and finally only two silver chairs are left, as each chair had filled my grip on Emery's hand loosens until we are just linked at the elbow. We are both considerably happier now, I start to imagine what life will be like after this. We will be free. We can go off into the countryside, live off the land, anything to escape the pain. Paylor unwraps the penultimate slip of paper and reads out the name as I watch Emery's face, it contorts in pain and his hand grips mine tight. The president's words echo in my head. "Caela Fyers."