11:00 - District Eight

I stirred in my bed, feeling the dim grey light of early morning poking me. "Good morning," I muttered as I pushed the warm cotton-brown blanket off and clabered down the ladder of my bunkbed.

My mind goes off, reminding me that it's Reaping Day. Being 14, I'm eligible to go into the Games. However, I won't let it change my feelings of practice today.

I weakly muttered "Good-bye," to my two younger sisters. I could tell that Spindle, the five-year old blond was awake, watching my. Thread, who was six, was laying down silently, her short brown hair splayed on her pillow.

Not caring to change out of my grey tank-top and brown short or brush my brown pony-tail, I slipped on orange flip-flops and left our bedroom.

Walking down the stiars, I twirled some cloth to keep my hands occupied. I dropped it off by the ront door as I ran out.

Not even three minutes later, I was running along the electric fence, sinking deeper into the shallow woods of my District.

Finally, I stopped, and bent to listen to any humming: Silence. "They never turn this stupid thing on," I grumbled. It's true. They never did. Each District had it's own fence, but they didn't care enough to make ours electrified.

I climbed up the four feet, and swung my legs over, jumping onto the dead leaves that littered the ground.

"Now where is it again?" I asked myself, flicking my head to the side. "Oh, yeah." I headed over to the little patch of trees, retreiving my wooden bow and boxy-quiver with three arrows, each with feather fletching. I looked around for a good thing for practice, moving back to the small clearing.

"Hmm..." My eyes focused on a target, the little wrinkle in a tree.

"Spool! Spool, where are you?"

I gasp for a moment, and then the small voice registers are my little blond sister. "Spindle! What're you doing? Ugh!"

She stands behind the fence, walking closer, her unbrushed hair tangled from sleep, navy blue shirt with a puppy on it rumpled, and purple leggings toching her ankles which had no shoes under them. "Mommy didn't see you in bed, so she told me to come off and find you!"

I knock my arrow, staring at the taut string, then I stare at her for a moment. "Tell mom I'm trying to do something here," I said harshly, looking back at my weapon.

Spindle doesn't give up. Instead, her small hands wrap around the wire of the fence she clearly doesn't care about. "Well," she says, a smile spreading across her cheeks, brown eyes glittering. "What're you doing?"

I've had enough of her. "None of your buisness!" I shout loudly, not caring if anyone else heard.

Clearly it frightens her because she lets of the fence, her grin wiped clean, and runs out of the forest, back towards home most likely.

Lifting my bow, I enjoy the silence. Without hesitation, I let the arrow fly. It sails through the air, landing in the dip, exactly where I had aimed. "Perfect shot," I say plucking the string. "Just like always."

Walking to the tree, I rip my arrow from the bark, and head back to my little clear patch. Suddenly, the train horn whistles, and I know that I only have 20 minutes to get home, get showered, change, help my mother and sisters, and leave. "Oh, shoot!" I say angrily. "I'm late!"

And I run.

11:10 - District Eleven

I ran up near the side of the Justie building, my short sandy-blond hair in a messy pony-tail. "Evergreen!" I shouted, a giant smile smeared across my freckled face. I smooth down my pink shirt and checkered sea-green pants, glancing around the grassy hill for my friend.

Finally, I see her, sitting infront of the ten foot long patch of flowers and two giant trees.

Running up to her, I sit down, and find her frown and angry blue eyes contrasting my happy hazel saucers. "What's wrong?"

She looks at me, her deep blonde hair with giant strokes falling off her shoulder. Today she's chosen her normal afternoon outift. A pink headband with a bow on it, a green shirt, and jean shorts. "Your late. Again," she says rolling her eyes.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, my arms under my legs. "I have chores at home, I'm sorry."

She shrugs, looking up at the blue sky. "It's okay... Besides, I've been thinking by myself."

"About what?" I ask, my eyebrows rising, stretching my 'what' out.

"Berry," she says stonily. "It's serious."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I say, the smile creeping back onto my lips.

"It's the Hunger Games," she admits. "It's scaring me."

"Why?" I ask. "You're never gonna' be in it." My tone sounds almost indignant, but it's true. People like her are almost never picked, and it makes it a little harder on me to have her as a friend considering she's rich, and I can barely afford my pink tennis-shoes.

"Why? We have it this year?" She says huffily. She's right, I guess. We did turn twelve this spring, so we've got our names in the bowl.

"You're-you're the Mayor's daughter- you'll never get picked," I say, my smile gone, rocking a bit.

"What if we did?" she asks osunding on the verge of anger, if not there already.

"I don't know," I said queitly.

"What would my family do?" she persists.

"I don't know," I repeat, this time a little louder of the loud wind that's picked up.

"What would your sister do?" she whips.

Ouch. I don't really have to think about this one. "Cry." One simple word that cannont be more accurate.

"Exactly," she says, opening her eyes wide, straining.

"Uh," I say, my smile coming back. "Whatever."

"I can't beleive you being so..." she pauses, then rolls her eyes, shaking her head. "Normal about this." Then, she hops up, running down towards her houses back door.

"Evergreen," I say getting up. "Wait, stop!" I pause running as she turns around.

Her eyes flare, reflecting her dis-content. "You have nothing to say to me, Berry. Nothing." Without waiting for my reply, she turns and walks to her porch, reaching for the door handel.

"I'm sorry!" I say loudly. "Evergreen, I'm sorry!"

But I know that no matter what I say, she won't turn around. And with a sigh, I think to myself: Did I just loose my best friend?

Arena Time: 1 Month, 4 Days, 9 Hours, 16 Minutes, 39 Seconds

Our TV screen was turned onto the Games, and the girl from Eleven, I think her name was Spool, was ripping up leaves from her hiding spot. Her grey shirt had blue piping and a large orange "8" printed on the left shoulder, and the back, near her neck. Her hsirt was little ripped with blood on the front.

Suddenly, Cladius Templesmith's voice boomed around the Arena. "Attention, congratulations to the final five Tributes! In... honor of yur accomplishmeny, we will have a feast with a little food and supplies at the Cornucopia in 1 Hour,"

The screen flashed to the District Eleven gir, the tiny blond named Berry. Her green shirt had blood on it too. "We hope to see you there."

Then, it showed the two remaining Careers., The girl from One, Karat, with her blond hair braided, bow in hand, and the District Four boy, Fisher, with a bloody gash in his blue shirt, nodding tow eachother.

Soon, the tributes had all arrived at the feat. Spool stared at the hill, her eyes focusing on the small pail of five things: A pack of cracker, a pack of muffins, a flashlight, a bottle of water, a roll of bandages.

"They didn't lie!" she whispered excitedly. "It does have food!"

Without another thought, she ran up, grabbed the red flashlight and crackers, and ran away.

The Careers looked at eachother. Fisher looked at Karat, his cinnamon-brown hair moist with sweat from getting to the Cornucopia said: "Next Tribute."

Karat nodded, her blue eyes fixed on the pail. "Sure."

Then the screen showed the boy from Two, Axl, run. His black shirt was ripped on the side, revealing his pale skin stretched tight over his ribs. I think he'd abandoned the Careers, but I couldn't quite remember.

Anyway, Axl grabbed a thick stick from a dead tree as her ran, and once he'd arrived at the top of the hill, he leaned over the pail, sifting through the supplies as if he had all the time in the world.

Fisher ran up, hands bare like he was going to choke the boy or something, even though he wasn't as big. Maybe he had a hidden knife. He didn't quite get there, because Axl saw him, and smacked Fisher with the stick from his chin, crunching his neck back.

A cannon didn't go off, so Fish- who was in a crumpled pile on the grass, wasn't dead. Axl returned to his picking, long stick still in his tight grip.

The camera changed to Karat, who sighed. "Never send a District Four to do a District One's job." She raised her bow, arrow already loaded, pulled it back, and uncurled her fingers.

The arrow was completely perfect. It stuck into Axl back, and must've struck his heart because a loud cannon boomed, and slipped to the gronud, falling forward on his knees.

"Amazing," Karat said, shaking her head. "Just like always."

Then she walked forward, up the hill, towards Fisher. "Now, to go retreive the goof."