The answer to my previous trivia question was: Pearls.
The receivers of those points were CalliLili who answered first and got six sponsor points. The following three each received four sponsor points: Androidilenya, PuddingNinja, and XxWinterFallsxX.
District Three
Braylee Elizabeth Collyn's point of view
I roll over lightly in my sleep, my body becoming intertwined in the wool of the blankets that surround me, my mind lost to a world of sweet dreams. This is the only place where I cannot be touched, where no harm can be brought to me. My dreams are mine and mine alone, even if there are nights such as tonight where they don't make sense. My dreams tonight are not as sweet as chocolate, but are laced with a darkness unknown to me. My features are void of peace, twisted up in a look of restlessness. This dream however is not new to me, but it is one I don't have very often, but today of all days, Reaping Day is when it makes its presence known once more.
I breathe in deeply the air of my surroundings, of a place I have only seen through the cracked screen of a television. Bright green foliage surrounds me; the sounds of birds bursting into song overheard ringing through my ears. These eyes that do not belong to me take in everything. They examine the way the trees seem to be reaching towards the dark blue sky, taking in the way the wisps of clouds are interwoven into the blue. They pick up every little detail, even the way the end of the grass splayed out just inches away from my feet are singed at the top from the scorching sun seeping away all of their moisture. Beads of sweat begin to roll down the back of my neck, but when I look down at my hands I register that these rough callused hands belong to another. I'm looking through the eyes of my brother, taking in what he saw or at least what my mind believes he saw before his life was snatched away from him.
Everything feels so real, the wind whipping through my hair, the anticipation buzzing through the air with an electric charge between the twenty four of us that are strung around the gleaming cornucopia in a spaced out circle. My heart is hammering in my chest, as the timer slowly draws closer to the dreaded number of zero. This is wrong; all of this shouldn't feel so lifelike. "It's just a dream," I mutter in my sleep repeatedly, but that does not pull me out of my slumber tinged state. My breath hitches in my throat the moment the gong tears through the air, but my feet begin moving on their own accord. The feet of my brother make a quick dash towards the cornucopia, but mentally I begin screaming at myself to run towards cover, instead of throwing myself willingly into the heated swirl of chaos. How could my brother have been so foolish, as to run straight into the blades of the strong?
My feet crunch against the charred grass, my hands fumbling for any type of supplies that would have aided my brother in these games of survival, but as his hands, which I am working through clutch around the cool metal of a knife, a strong pair of hands grab me from behind, throwing me towards the dusted earth. The moment my body slams into the ground all the air rushes out of my lungs, and I am left starring into the cool emerald green eyes of the District Four boy that looms over me, a dark smile playing across his lips. My body is paralyzed by fear, my heart beating to escape the confinements of my chest. "No, need to look so scared District Three," He says with a cruel edge to his tone. If it had really been me in this moment I would have allowed a fury of sarcastic and clever remarks to escape my lips, but everything stops short the moment he brings the steely edge of his axe down to meet the cool satin flesh of my neck.
The moment the sharp axe would have torn away the flesh of my neck I jolt awake, sitting up briskly, my hair matted to my forehead by sweat. My breathing his shallow, but my lips are pulled down in a frown. It was only a dream, watching my brother's death in the Hunger Games through his eyes. It was difficult watching it through the television, broadcast for all to see, but my mind twisting everything around, forcing me to live through it in my state of dreams is taking things one step too far. The faint morning sun bursts through the cracks of my window, streaming into my eyes. An exasperated sigh escapes my lips, knowing there is no sense in even attempting to go back to sleep. It is time to doll myself up for the Reaping, god forbids we look like the dirt beneath our boots today, wouldn't want to blind the poor people of the Capitol with that sight. I roll my eyes lightly at this very thought, as I swing my legs over the edge of my bed.
I have always had a strong opinion towards the people of the Capitol, but the reality of it all is that I have an opinion about everything and everyone that passes through my life. It would be wise to keep some of my thoughts to myself, but every time my mouth betrays me, allowing the words to slip free from my lips against my will. I stretch my arms out, pulling myself out of bed and pushing the memories of my dream to the back of mind. The silence bounces off the walls back at me, as I make my way towards the small mirror that stands in the corner of my room. Of course it is quiet today, it is one of the few days my parents are around to actually take care of my younger twin sisters, instead of leaving me alone to do it. I can't really blame them however, I know they are pushing themselves beyond their limits, working themselves to the bone so they have enough money to provide us with the things we need, but there is also that part of me that knows they are overworking themselves to keep them occupied so they don't have the time to think about their deceased son, my brother James.
I stand in front of the mirror, my mind being assaulted by my thoughts, but my eyes take in the appearance of my fourteen year old form. I brush my long dark brown hair away from my eyes, tying in back into a bun with quick nimble fingers. My bright green eyes stare back at me, their surface dotted with small flecks of gold, which seem to burst out from my pupils. My fingers then begin searching through my dresser drawers until they brush across the only dress I own. I slip the silky black fabric over my head, allowing it to hug around my body, but I cannot stop myself from relentlessly tugging down the fabric, trying to cover up as much of my skin as I possibly can.
"Why girls purposefully try to expose as much skin as they can is beyond me," I mutter to myself beneath my breath. I have never been like most other girls, but I embrace my differences with my arms spread wide. Being more sarcastic and witty than most has made it difficult for me to connect with anyone who has passed through my life, but there have been those few people that have stuck around.
I suck in my breath taking in my image once more, but this time my eyes fall on my scar. My slender fingers carefully trace the length of the jagged scar, which runs the length of my skin from my shoulder to my elbow. Trouble has always been something that has followed my every waking moment, but it is my fault for not being able to turn away from a fight. Perhaps it is my pride or my need to prove myself that does not allow me to simply walk away from those who attempt to provoke me. This scar is living proof of that, a girl from my school decided to taunt me about my brother, saying he was too weak to even stand a ghost of a chance of winning his games. I couldn't stop myself from lashing out at her, she had pressed the wrong buttons, pushed me too far, but this scar was the end result. I don't mind the sight of it; I have been told scars are history written on the body, each one holding onto a story just waiting to be told.
My thoughts are interrupted by a soft what could be described as a knocking sound at my window. I look towards the glass, a puzzled look dancing across my features. I quickly slip into a basic pair of flats before I make my way over to the window. It's quiet for a few more moments before there is that sound again, but this time I do see the cause of it. A small pebble hits the glass of my window, which is shortly after followed by another one. I slide open the window, poking my head outside the small space, a faint smile tugging at my lips when my eyes take in the source of this disruption.
"Hey, Braylee, I thought we could walk down to the Reapings together," David calls up to me. David and I have been together for a few months now, we may be young still, but he is one of the few people who accept me for who I am, and can put up with my fiery attitude. When he first asked me to be his girl I couldn't stop myself from laughing, simply because I thought he was only joking, but the first kiss that we shared cut off my laughter, only proving that he was dead serious.
"I'll be right down," I call down to him. I don't want to walk downstairs however; I don't want to see the pained look that twists up my parents expressions from having to pay witness to seeing another one of their children making their way towards the reaping. Without really thinking my options through I begin to shimmy out of my window, scaling down the rough edges of the side of my home. "You better not be looking up my dress," I shoot down to David before I land down on the ground next to him. He rubs the back of his neck, with a sheepish grin dancing across his lips. "You know I have more respect for you than that," He says as he kisses my cheek sweetly, taking my hand in his, intertwining our fingers together. I know his words hold the truth because he has always been a little overprotective of me, which from time to time has the habit of working its way beneath my skin.
"Of course you do, Mr. Overprotective," I roll my eyes playfully, as we begin to make our way towards the town square; swinging our interlocked hands slightly with each step we take.
"I only have to be overprotective of you because you are constantly getting yourself into trouble," David says in response to my precisely chosen nickname for him.
"I am not," I try to say this smoothly, but it comes out with a sarcastic edge because I know he is right. He begins to laugh, but cuts himself off as the stage placed in the centre of the town square begins to loom in the distance. I am not as nervous as most people here seem to be. Perhaps I should be, as over the years the odds have proven themselves to not be in my families favour, but my logic is that already one child has been stolen away from my family, their blood being spilt purely for the entertainment of the people of the Capitol, to fulfill their undying cravings of bloodlust, the same fate would not fall on me, another child of the same family. However in a few moments time I would be proven just how wrong I could be.
So I just wanted to do a little shout out and say thanks to all of my lovely readers and reviewers, you guys keep me determined to update quickly. :3
Now here is your sponsor question for this chapter.
What type of tree does Katniss sleep in on the first night of the 74th Hunger Games?
The first to answer correctly will receive six sponsor points and the next three to answer correctly will receive four sponsor points!
