Chapter 1:

"I look into the window of my mind

Reflections of the fears I know I've left behind

I step out of the ordinary

I can feel my soul ascending2

A/N: OK. I am alive. Apologies may be in order? PLEASE READ THISSS.

Basically, things went a little crazy this summer and I wasn't in the right mental space to read, or write or do anything. BUT, I'm ok now. Everything is fine. So, I have a chapter for you! I am only doing short, two POV chapters, because I don't like reading long chapters nor do I like writing long chapters soo woola. I was going to do three POVS, but just as I finished this chapter, I had a couple of people withdraw their tributes. THEREFORE, I have a couple openings, I'm looking for a male from India and a female from South Africa. If you're interested message me! AND if anyone else wants to withdraw, now is your chance to tell me.

Chapter 1: A Letter

Amahle "Ama" Nkosi | Female | Zimbabwe

The cool water splashes up, shocking my warm face as the cooling sensation spreads down to my cheeks. The water roars into the basin as I bring another handful to my mouth, allowing the coolness to trickle down my hoarse throat.

The mirror tells me it's gone ten am. I'm late. I sigh and allow the water to wash away the sweat from my cheeks.

Looking into the mirror, averageness reflects back at me, as well as a growing blue mark below my right eye. I wince as I prod the bruise and a sharp pain rockets through my cheek. I hiss a curse under my breath as I dab the blueness with more cold water in a lame attempt to cool the pain.

'Amahle, you are looking radiant today' the mirror utters under old, static sounds. I roll my eyes and shut down the electronics with a slide of my fingertips. 'Radiant' they say. Yeah right. I look tired, hurt, fed up, anything far from radiant. I try offering a smile, but it's all the same.

Turning off the sink, I air dry my hands and bring a towel to my face, dabbing off the moisture. Suddenly, my wrist lights up. Usually, I simply ignore any notification, but today, my wrist lights up a bright red shade which makes me drop the towel and answer the call immediately. Red means Pano, and Pano means hell to the yes. Pano's face replaces my reflection in the mirror and his large smile diminishes the dullness of the room.

"Where you at girl? Your father's been out in the field for hours," he laughs.

My large lips curl into a smirk. "I'm going, I'm going. I had to help Mum with breakfast."

He nods. "Of course." His dark eyes squint together as he examines my face. The tops of my cheeks begin to heat as his eyes prowl over my features. My heartbeat quickens and I glance away in discomfort. A long, awkward silence passes in the air and I don't know whether to say something, to laugh or to cower in fear, so I just stand there like the tense statue I am.

Finally, he leans back in his chair and a hissing sound escapes through his teeth. "Youch, what did you do this time?"

"Cut the grain wrong." I laugh. "Same old, same old."

Pano shakes his head. "Tut tut missy."

"What can I say? I'm a terrible daughter."

He laughs. "Anyway you, get your butt to work and then come over later, ok? I'm making chicken!"

I nod. "I'll be there."

Then, his face disappears and I'm left with looking at that same old, angled face which is shaped by dark, straight hair and high cheekbones. I give myself another small smile. 'Come on girl, work time' I tell myself. Pano wraps my head in so much nonsensical emotion and it almost seems like I am no longer myself. It's intolerable, but strangely refreshing. It's like the 'L' word is stuck to the rough my mouth, and my lips won't be happy until I utter that phrase, but that will have to wait for another day.

Everytime I see his face, I try my best to understand what he is thinking, I try my hardest to understand how he feels about me, but it's no use. I can read almost everyone, reading people in today's society isn't the hardest thing to do, but reading Pano is a whole other matter. He loves me, but in what way exactly? That is where it becomes confusing.

Soon, the lights in the bathroom swith off, throwing me in complete darkness. I groan and wave my arms around like a maniac before they flicker back on. F*ck technology.

The sound of my young brothers laughing and playing down the hall pipes up and almost drowns out the gut-wrenching sound of The Hunger Games theme tune echoing from the living room. I roll my eyes and quickly pace down to room to see some new victors-reality show on TV.

I plonk down onto the sofa with a sigh. "I really don't know why you watch this nonsense.," I say to my sister, who sits on the chair by the window, legs and arms folded as she texts away on her device.

She shrugs and shines a bright smile in my direction. "You love it".

I shake my head. "No actually. They're 's a bit ridiculous".

"It's life". She stands up and slides over the fridge. "Want a drink?"

"Nah, I need to get going. I'm already late."

"I'm surprised you're not in a rush already."

I shrug. "Dad's in one of his moods again lately. I think the less time I'm with him the better." I laugh.

Mosa smirks. "True that. Anyway-" she chucks me a water bottle. "Take this with you, it's hot out there. And stay out of trouble." She laughs. "In the meantime, let me enjoy my show."

"Yes ma'am" I chuckle. Giving her a two fingered salute, I jump up and head out of the door.

Waiting on the front step is a small white envelope with my name on it. I furrow my brow in confusion. Why would anyone send me a letter? These days, letters are reserved for mostly romantic gestures, and, unless Pano is suddenly expressing his love to me- which I doubt- it can only be some sick practical joke, right?

I fold the letter up and stuff it into my back pocket before running off into the field. I can read it later.

Maybe today can be a good day, no punches, no arguments, no nothing. I just have to stay focused and keep quiet. That's all you can do in this messed up society.

Silence is key, no matter how much people like to pretend it's not.

"I'm on my way

Can't stop me now

And you can do the same"

Barnaby Hodge | Male | United Kingdom

My stomach tightens into a knot as I struggle to control my laughter. Mallory and I have been laughing for what seems like almost an hour. The room shakes with our stomachs and our happiness almost drowns out the sounds of hustle and bustle outside. We're both lay on my bed, staring up at the patterned ceiling. The room is full of 'almosts' and 'laziness'. We're surrounded by an array of unfinished paintings, unfinished books, and unfinished projects that scatter across my walls and along my desk. Well, they can't say I've never tried new things. It's completely things that's my main problem.

"So, how did you manage to get sent to his office in the first place?" she asks. She shakes her head in disbelief.

I shrug my shoulders. "Think it was something to do with me not being bothered to do maths, and throwing paper aeroplanes out the window." She giggles softly. "Mr Briggs wasn't too happy about it, which, if I must say is very offensive, because they were best aeoplanes ever made."

Yet again, I manage to send us both off into hysterics. This is why I love saturday's. There isn't a care in the world, you can chill with those you love the most, you don't have to do work, and you can pretend the world is your oyster. There's no expectations, no failures, just you and your friends and a barrel of laughs.

"Has your Dad found out yet?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I haven't seen him since yesterday morning."

Mallory sucks in a sharp but hesitant breath between her teeth. "Well, good luck with that then."

I laugh. "Thank you, I'm sure he's going to as proud as ever." My words are soaked with sarcasm and we both end up giggling once more. We both know he's going to be the exact opposite of proud but he's going to have to just deal with it.

There's a slight knock on the door and for a moment I tense, ever so slightly worried it's my father here to talk about yesterday's airplane-fiasco, but instead my mum walks in with a letter in her hand. She smiles softly. "This is for you Barnaby." She places it on my desk. "I didn't know sending letters was an "in" thing nowadays."

I shrug my shoulders. "Neither did I. Thanks mum!"

Her hand glosses over one of my unfinished projects on my desk and her lips purse into a perfectly straight line. "Why don't you finish this one? I really think you were getting somewhere with it."

I raise a brow. You have to give it to the woman, she tries her best. I sigh. "I don't know, maybe one day." I offer a gentle smile and with that, she vanishes.

Mallory grabs ahold of the letter and furrows her brows. "It's from…" She let's out a little gasp. "Barnaby, you might want to read this." The tone in her voice makes me sit up for the first time since she got here. Her voice is wary, timid, almost as if she's about to tell me my father's died.

"What's up?"

"Just…" she forces it into my hand.

The letter is sealed with an official wax imprint. I have no idea what that means, but by the way Mallory's eyebrows curve together, it must be serious.

She rolls her eyes. "It's the official emblem of Leona Patterson."

I raise my brow again in confusion. Why is Patterson sending me a letter?

An exasperated sigh leaves her lips. "You know, the President of…"

"The Hunger Games," I say. "I know." I bite my lip and slowly undo the back. Inside is a ruby red piece of paper, decorated with specks of gold dust. I pull it out and start reading.

"Dear Mr Barnaby Hodge,

Congratulations! We are writing to announce your selection for the live Hunger Games reapings. You are one of 100 lucky men who will be attending the reapings in the city centre. From the 100 who attend, one lucky young man will be reaped as this year's UK tribute for the Hunger Games."

I raise my eyes to see Mallory, her face is as pale as snow as her shaky hand covers her mouth. I give her a small smile.

"Chill your beans will ya," I chuckle.

Mallory throws her hands up in the air. "How can you be so chill, this- this is serious Barnaby."

I laugh and place a hand on her shoulder. "Mal… 99 other guys in the UK have received this same letter this year. It's fine. In fact, it's great!"

She takes a deep breath and nods. "You're right. I'm sorry." Her voice remains shaky, but her fixated gaze is replaced with a wary smile.

I laugh and slightly nudge her shoulder. "You weirdo." I carry on reading.

"You can bring one family member or friend to accompany you to the reapings. A member of our team will come to escort you at 10am on Wednesday 13th of April.

Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour.

President Leona Patterson."

I'm grinning as I finish reading the last line. "This is cool," I say. How many people get an opportunity like this? To attend such a prestigious event- something most people will only ever see on TV. "Do you want to come with me?" I ask Mallory.

"Shouldn't one of your parents go?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I want you to come. Come on," I laugh, "I'll be fun."

"But Barnaby, what if?..."

"I won't, ok? Things like that don't happen to guys like me. Plus there's a 1% chance, ok?"

She nods, before bursting out in laughter.

"What?" I ask.

"Did Mr Hodge just do maths?"

I laugh. "Maybe I did. So you'll come?"

Mallory nods. "As long as your stupid butt doesn't die."

"I won't, it'll just be a fun little road trip for me and my best friend."

And that's all I hoped it would be. Perhaps I was naive to think that, but the chances were so small, how was I to know what was really coming for me?

"You could be so many people
If you make that break for freedom
What have you done today to make you feel proud?"

Proud- Heather Small

Questions:

Thoughts on each tribute?

Placement predictions?
How would you feel if you got a letter?

Boom! Ok, remember, i have at least two openings for tributes sooo message meeeee! Please reviewwwww! Adios!

Next chapter should be up in the next couple weeks at the most.