It was a pretty bleak morning, in her opinion. The sky was a very dull gray-blue and there were storm clouds heading for the direction of District 9. The sun was bright, but it was also blinding. It hurt her eyes too much. She was resting on the side of the old wooden house, with her upper back supporting her. Her knees were bent and her arms were folded over her chest. She inhaled the musty air and yawned. Must have fallen asleep outside again. Azalea thought. She shook her head to start her mind and looked down at her clothes.

She was still wearing the 'holey' jeans (her only pair) which were filthy from the mud bath she was given yesterday, courtesy of some kids at school she really disliked. She was wearing a forest green zip up hoodie; which was big on her and the sleeves had been cut off to the elbow before she received it. And she wore her necklace, the only one she ever dared to wear. The beads were made of wood, from some distant land she knew not of the name, and at the end was a peach stone, shaped like the tooth of a lion. Her grandfather had given it to her, the day before his death. Just to prevent it from being stolen or broken, she told the other kids that there was a curse on it; the last kid who tried disappeared. (There was conveniently a kid who went missing only a few months before.)

As she rose she cracked her neck, exposing it to the sunlight. Her hair fell back. It wasn't extremely long; it only went a little past her shoulders. And until about a year ago, she couldn't keep it straight down.

Azalea stretched her limbs forwards and shut her eyes, trying to think of a peaceful land beyond. It was quite difficult, considering the reaping was tomorrow. The 99th Hunger Games; this was going to be a mess. Nine years ago the Capitol decided to change the rules up, every three years they sent another boy and girl, four total tributes for each district. That made 48 tributes. Fascinating. It just raises everyone's chances of getting in higher. She guessed they had decided that because the 89th Hunger Games had been so short, even though 24 was still a big number of people to her.

Just as she was about to calculate odds, a warm voice pierced the air. "Azalea!" it called. "Azalea! Where are you!?"

"Right here, mum!" She stretched her arms upwards and walked over the log-pile to meet her mother. She blinked the weariness from her eyes to get a better view. Her mother looked young for those who were her age. Most people said she looked exactly like her mother, save for her eyes. They both shared the same fair skin, round face, close in hair color and length, and Azalea was only about a centimeter shorter than her mother at the time. Only their eyes could let people see the difference. Her mother's eyes had a rosy, spring-like feeling to them, Azalea's reminded people of a small summer fire.

"Where were you?" she asked, though not sternly. No, she could never really be stern, even if she tried.

"I fell asleep out by the log pile again." Azalea rubbed her eyes. "Sorry."

"Did you finish that homework?" Azalea nodded in reply. When do I not finish it? She was up higher with her grades than most of the kids her age. She wasn't irresponsible in the slightest. "Good." Abelia sighed, (that was her mother's name.) Azalea knew she wouldn't have to worry about homework tonight. They didn't get homework the day before they called the tributes. "Did I miss breakfast?"

"Nope, you're up early. You haven't missed a thing. Why, are you hungry?" Any other week Azalea would have immediately accepted and her mouth would have watered tremendously. But today, more than any other days earlier in the week, her stomach seemed to have shrunk into a small pit. She wasn't hungry. She shook her head. "Nah, if I'm early…" she rubbed the back of her head as she walked back into the cozy home with her mother. A small voice in the back of her head was taunting her. You'll need as much as you can get. Who knows? You could be the next tribute. I mean your odds are higher this year. For now, she decided to ignore it.

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"Near the log pile, again?" Luke asked with his mouth full of sweet herbs. Her older brother's real name was Lucius, but no one called him that. From almost the start, he was known as Luke. Azalea nodded, just staring down at her full plate. She was torturing herself by looking at it. "You're really weird."

"I understand that. What's better than falling asleep with a clear view of the heavens?" Azalea didn't look up, but a smile broke her face. Good youthful Jasmine. Her younger sister usually backed her up on these kinds of things, she looked up to her. Azalea had taught her a lot of what she knew, and helped her get high grades in school. And Jasmine taught her how to relax and enjoy life sometimes, lay back and not think; (which was a very difficult thing to do for a person like Azalea.)

"I can tell you." Luke said, pointing a bent fork at Jasmine. "Not getting chosen as a tribute, and second helpings." He lifted up his plate. "Speaking of which, can I?"

"No. There is little left for your father anyway. And don't speak of that so soon, will you?" Luke loved food. He had grown up around it. And he loved trees, for he had grown up around them too. He also, at the age of 18, had not been picked for the Hunger Games, yet. And it was his last year he could possibly be a tribute. A lot of the neighbors said his chances were high this year though; having the number of tributes raised didn't make that any better. Jasmine's chances were higher too, although she was only 12 and a half. Azalea didn't like thinking about that.

"Fine." Luke rose to his feet and began the pile of dishes. Then at the door he picked up a burlap sack. "I'm off then. I'll be back by dinner." That usually translated to, 'Save some of supper for me because I probably won't be back 'til late' for Luke. Azalea had lived with him too long to not know. Luke didn't go to school; he had always liked hunting better. Not that he wasn't intelligent, or a good strategist, he just preferred a life without boundaries more (less boundaries, considering there had always been boundaries around the Districts.)

Just as the door slammed shut, her father came down the stairs. "Luke's gone?"

Abelia nodded. "Good then, he didn't steal my breakfast!" he laughed as he put his hand on Jasmine's head and the other on Azalea's shoulder. His name was Brutus. He was a little taller than average height, with brown, graying hair, spectacles and forest green eyes. He had a charming grin too, contributing to what won her mother over years before. He was a pretty humble man, but when he was in the middle of doing something great, you didn't disturb him. He may have been born and raised in District 9, but he had the heart of one in District 3 or 6. He liked to invent things, without the Capitol's consent. But rules never stopped him. It puzzled Azalea why a man like him didn't defy the Capitol in the first place.

"You two excited for tomorrow?" he asked teasingly.

"No way!" Jasmine exclaimed, in a horrified tone.

"Oh most definitely." Azalea liked to go with her father's jokes because he was the only one who couldn't be less serious about the games. And his brother (he had been one of seven) had gone to the Hunger Games when he was only 10.

Abelia slapped him with a dishrag. "Brutus! This is not a joking matter! Especially at the table!" She was worried for all her children; they were all qualified for certain death.

He laughed. "You're right." He rose to his feet. "I'm sorry Lia." He pulled her close and kissed her.

"Aww…" Jasmine crooned. She liked that kind of mushy stuff. Azalea wasn't one for it, but she watched. Her father held his mother in his arms; she rested her head on his shoulder. Azalea smiled. She was glad her parents were close. These days a lot of couples were bagging each other. She watched for another moment and she saw her father wink in her direction. As smart as she was, she couldn't interpret the gesture. Was it to keep her secure? Was it for good luck? She wished she knew.

But she was sure of one thing; she wished she could be like him. He was so calm about this mess of the country they called Panem, and all the struggles of life. He could care less about the Hunger Games and the Capitol and the boundaries of the Districts. And he could make anyone else feel secure and determined too. There were no… What's the right word?... flaws. He didn't have any flaws about him, none. He was perfect to her. She was proud she was his daughter, but she wanted more. She wished she were him.