CHAPTER THREE-The 71st Hunger Games

A/N To any of you who have reviewed, *CYBERSPACE CHOCOLATE* (Cause really, who doesn't like cyberspace chocolate?) Thank you!

The 71st Hunger Games Reaping...

Oh my goodness, I slept in.

I practically leap out of bed and speed change into my new, pale orange blouse with unravelling short sleeves. I choose an especially torn up pair of black flare jeans to go with it-huge holes in the knees, and ripped off so that they are the right length for me. I am still short, though I am now fourteen. I doubt I will grow anymore.

The reaping is today, but I am not happy at all. The past two years, I myself have not been reaped, but my best friend was chosen when I was twelve, and the year after, I met a brother and sister at the reaping, and both of them were chosen. I'm not ready to volunteer for the Games just yet, but I have been studying battle tactics and practicing stealth and hiding.

This year, I have no friends. I will not talk to anyone, and I will not lose a single person to the Hunger Games. I won't volunteer this year, but I still might be reaped.

I slip into my shiny black flip-flops and jerk my fire-red straight hair back into a ponytail. I carefully line my amber eyes with black eyeliner, and then hurry downstairs to eat breakfast.

After that, I say farewell to my parent, and rush off to the reapings. But when I get there, there is someone I did not expect to see. The boy from class when I was twelve. He was older now, but still, he's only fourteen...like me.

"No." I tell myself, "You are not going to think of anyone right now. Maybe that will keep the poor boy out of the Games."

He is no longer very popular in school, but I have still never talked to him. He kind of went crazy last year and now he talks so fast no one can understand him, and even if they could, he does not talk sense very often. He is quiet in school, though. Even during lunch, and he separates himself from everyone. I feel sorry for him, but I don't want another person I know going into the Games. So I separate myself, as well.

When the escort lady from the past two years comes out, I note her tenth giant loop earring in each ear and sigh with disgust.

"Hi, District Five! Let's see who our lucky girl is!" yes, her voice has risen at least an octave.

I don't know any girls, so I'm not worried...unless she chooses me, which it turns out she does not.

"Cathy Marina!" and it is a tall, skinny sixteen-year-old with grey eyes and dyed blue hair.

"And our lucky guy!" the lady's shriek is so high pitched that I throw my hands over my ears.

"Please don't pick him, Please don't pick him."

"Derek Angello!"

And it's him. The boy from school. He looks nonchalant in general, but I can see in his eyes that he is far from ready for this.

And that's it. I throw myself to the ground and break down. No matter how well I prepare, I will always have someone I feel sorry for, or like, or am friends with, in the Games. And I have a feeling that Derek will be no different than Jaysa, Gabriel, or Sybil. He won't come back.

I wonder if I am going to visit him in the Justice Building or not. I don't know him personally, and he probably has never even heard of me...but I decide I should at least tell him that I hope he comes back...not that it will do any good.

I wait until everyone has left the square, and then I stand up, wipe my eyes, and head to the Justice Building.

There are a lot of people waiting to see the Cathy girl, but only a couple and a little boy go to visit Derek.

I feel awkward. I mean, I've never even talked to him. But I can't just let him go into the Games with only his family backing him. Everyone needs to know there is someone who hopes that they will be the Hunger Games' winner this year.

I wait patiently for his mother, father, and little brother to leave. When they come out, his father is comforting his wailing mother and the little brother is clinging to his mother's leg, looking to be about eleven...too young to be reaped, but not for long.

I go into the room and when Derek sees me, he looks confused.

"Um, hey." I say. Still not the conversational type, I try to think of a short way to summarize things.

"Hey." he says, "You go to my class, right?"

I nod, "Yeah, I know you don't know me, but I just wanted to tell you that I hope you win."

A small smile crosses his face, "Thanks."

There's an awkward silence, and then he starts talking really fast, "Please look after my little brother, he has no friends and everyone likes to pick on him. I know I don't know you, but I really need someone to look after him in case I don't come back."

Then it happens, I start sobbing and shaking with fear, "I wouldn't trust me with that job. Anyone who knows me always ends up in the Games. Even if I barely talk to them."

He shakes his head, "Please."

"I-I, I'll try." I whisper. Then I embrace him quickly and run out, wailing like I always do after the Justice Building encounters.

No, this can't be happening. His brother will die because of me. But I promised I would take care of the little boy, so I will do my best, though it will certainly guarantee the boy a spot in the 72nd Hunger Games.

PARAGRAPH

Derek makes it past the bloodbath, which surprises me as he is nothing compared to the careers this year. He makes an alliance with a younger girl, who is twelve, and she teaches him how to hunt because she is from District Nine. They make it to the point where it is just them and the careers...then a career boy kills the girl in her sleep before Derek wakes up and strangles him. I am beginning to think I might have made friends with someone who will win the Games and be safe from them afterwards, when a career girl aims her bow and I see the target: Derek. It is the final five and Derek is alone against the career pack. I want to scream at him to move, but I can only stare in horror as the girl lets the arrow fly. His face after that will forever haunt me in my nightmares, but I know what I will be doing the next day.

A/N

So...loved it? Hated it? I really wanna know!

Also, have you submitted your characters to my Submit Your Own Tribute/Stylist/Mentor? (Yes, I'm calling it a SYOTSM (Haha: syotism)

Thanks for reading! I know all this gloom and angst is a bit depressing, but thanks for reading it. Hope you'll drop in for the next chapter. Sorry if I've made any grammar/spelling/story errors. I try not to.