Thanks to my reviewers, and the people who sent me notes. You're all awesome.
--x
When I opened my eyes, I felt a warm blast of air from the heater across my room. Not as fine as some, but still warm. It was dark outside. I had at least three hours to train before the reaping started.
I had only slept in my shorts, so I slid a thin shirt over my exposed chest, and picked my spear off the dresser. Pity I couldn't bring it into the arena. I was used to this one, and every spear has a different feel to it.
We have a training room underneath our house, where my sister and I spend hours a day. It's not fancy, just a bag suspended from the ceiling, some weights, and human-shaped targets on the wall. On each one, the painted red splotches that cause critical injury are worn out.
Nobody else is awake this early. Reaping day truly is a celebration in our family. My uncle Klash won when he and my mom were 14, so the Hunger Games are a main contributor to my family's status.
I've trained in this room since we moved here, when I was only three, so when I pick up my spear and aim, I'm able to keep casual. I know this place like I know myself. It's no surprise when my spear embeds itself a few inches from the target. I'm warming up.
My second throw connects just barely with the target's elbow. Not a fatal blow, but a hit. Better than a full miss, but my enemy would survive. And I can't have that.
After retrieving it, I aim again. This time, the throw feels right, and my spear solidly connects with the edge of the red, close to the heart. A near-perfect shot. If not an instant death for my enemy, a fatal wound that will become infected, eventually.
Every throw after that hits, though some better than others. Twice, I hit the middle of a red spot. Score. I try to imagine the target is a living person, and that makes it even easier. I am hunting now, and my spear fits my hand perfectly.
After nearly an hour, I stop to rest. A sheen of sweat all over my body is making it difficult to aim properly, so I pull our a towel from a small cupboard and dry myself off. I feel better, so I decide to try my sword again.
It's a frustrating weapon. My arm is built for throwing, not swinging, so the bag sustains very few injuries that are worth noting. I'll be looking for a spear at the cornucopia, no question. But it's important to understand the sword, so I keep going until I get a legitimate blow in, and the bag has several deep slashes. Almost another hour has passed.
I haven't even bothered to try archery. The tiny arrows require precise, exact aim, unlike my spear, which I can just level out and throw. Instead, I turn to a small throwing-knife. My sister favors them, but I feel like they're lost in my hand the second I grab one. I abandon the knife, and walk upstairs to eat some food.
My mom made omelets, with chunks of beef. I ate about twice as much as everyone else.
After I showered, and put on a navy blue shirt and some comfortable pants, my mom, dad, and sister all headed out to the square where the reaping is held.
I was ready.
The square was crowded. My little sister wished me good luck, before she and my parents disappeared. I don't think I'll need it. To get even more money (and more chances at entrance) I have a huge amount of tessarae. Mom gives most of it to the people next door, who lost both their son and daughter to the games.
Finding the Eighteens is quick enough. District One is not known for tall tributes, so I'm the biggest there. Good. If I'm picked, I'll be able to 'discourage' other tribute-hopefuls from taking my place.
I paid absolutely no attention to the speech the mayor is giving. Elle Cyan walked up shortly.
"Happy Hunger Games! Enjoy the reaping!" She chirped.
The perkiness was overwhelming. She must have been recently bumped up, because I haven't seen her before. Her teeth practically blinded the Twelves in the first row.
"Without delay, let's pick our lucky tributes!"
She had this horrible capital accent, and I wished I had my spear. I could shut her up. My ears wished they had hands, so they could cover themselves.
There's this huge fishbowl, and she walked in quick little steps over to it, and digs around, pulling out the name of the female tribute, who's a tiny girl from the Twelves. Another girl, this one form the Seventeens, volunteers. She strode up to the podium, grinning widely. My first competition. She looked fast enough to dodge a spear, and pretty muscular. Probably she'd been training, like me.
Elle walked to the second fishbowl, and dug around for a bit, before pulling out a name. Royce Emelin. It was mine. I made the journey to the podium, grinning just like the girl was.
I gave the tribute hopefuls a good glare, to let them know they were not to volunteer. Then I continued up to the stage, and shook hands with everybody to the applause of my district. My grin could've lit a bonfire.
I had refused visitors, and the Peacekeepers put me in a cramped room with the girl. She was staring stoically ahead. Neither of us made eye contact, though we were pressed uncomfortably together.
She was probably thinking of the best way to kill me. I decided to do the same. Through the corner of my eye, I see that she is very pale. She'll stick out a lot in whatever terrain we are put in though, because her hair is black. But she looks strong, and difficult to chase. Fast.
A good ally for a distraction, I realized. She could run in, and with the pale face, and dark hair, be spotted almost instantly. Fast enough to lead a few tributes on a merry chase while I pick them off with my spear.
"We should be allies."
She looked surprised for a second, then nodded and went back to staring at the wall. I still know nothing about her, not even her name.
"If we are going to be allies, I have to know your name," I chided.
"Paris Stetson," She replied. 'Paris' remained unfazed.
I leaned back into my seat. Yes, Paris and I were allies. I made a decent choice on my first. Ally, I mean. Now I just have to kill her. Shouldn't be too hard.
--x
I'm sorry, but there will be several more careers before I start posting the real district kids.
You won't be able to send in gifts until the action starts.
