I watched the sun rise over the tall apartment complexes of my district, the factory smokestacks still in the distance. Looking down, the streets are empty and there are no sounds other than the powerful winds billowing through the district.

My entire family sleeps on as the sky turns from a bright pink to a light blue, few clouds hanging in the air.

At least the day will be a beautiful one.

I don't bother dressing yet, we don't have to be in the square until later in the morning, and I sit back down at my desk to tinker with the latest Capitol toy. It didn't take long for me to figure out how it works, or even how to make it more efficient. But the monthly convention for new technology was still weeks away, so I put the modifications away in a drawer and sat silently thinking about the day to come.

It was the day of the reaping, a time of mourning for my family. If it wasn't required of them to be at the reaping, I'm sure both of my parents would stay at home and sleep the entire "celebration" away.

I'm surprised to find both of my parents awake and sipping slowly at their bland coffee when I exit my bedroom.

"Good morning, mom, dad." I kiss them each on the cheek watching them carefully. My mother smiles softly and my father rubs my back before I take a slice of bread and cheese from the table and leaning against the wall chewing slowly.

"Your brother is showering now, you should get in there once he finishes and I'll lay a clean outfit out for you on your bed."

I nod and my mother smiles again before looking down at the table. My father takes hold of her hand, trying to stay strong for all of us. I can see his hands shake slightly, and his eyes are sad behind his scratched glasses.

I can't see my parents cry, not today. I excuse myself from the room and finish my breakfast outside the bathroom door waiting for my younger brother. It's his second reaping year and anxieties are high within the house. This is my older brother's first year as being non-eligible for the games and while he can finally relax about not being chosen any longer, he still worries about my brother and I.

The shower's been off for ten minutes when my brother emerges from the steam filled bathroom. His eyes are red and his dark hair is sticking up on ends.

"Oh, Eb you scared me… I was just- I mean-"

I don't let him finish before wrapping him up in a hug and letting him bury his face in my shirt. He cries silently, shaking in my arms.

"You're not going to get picked, Dean. There are so many names in that bowl and yours is only in there twice. You're safe from their games, you'll go home after the reaping and be able to relax for a whole year." I rock him in my arms and feel him nod. He sniffs and squeezes me one last time before running into his bedroom and shutting the door.

I stand watching his door for a few minutes before walking into the bathroom and turning on the shower. As I step under the stream of water, I wonder what it is like in the Capitol where it is rumored that their showers have hundreds of buttons, each a different setting. Or what it would be like to live in a district without running water. This is the one time a year we can see what it is really like in the other districts, and whether or not the rumors are true. Districts one, two, and four are usually the way we've pictured them: plentiful, rich, power-hungry. You can see the blood-thirst in their eyes as they walk powerfully to the podium and enunciate every syllable of their name clearly so the whole country of Panem knows that they will be the winners. The Careers, they're called. The six strongest of the Games, the ones that train their entire lives for the chance of the fame and glory that winning brings. The six that have no intention of dying.

Districts five and six are the most like mine, District three. Well off, but not glorified. Districts seven, eight, and nine are somewhat like us, but they seem to be in more poverty. From the looks of the citizens, they have running water, but no showers. Their hair is often too clean, an unnatural clean that shows they spent an hour scrubbing away at the dirt and grime that rests in their skin and under their nails.

The last three—Districts ten, eleven, and twelve—are the worst. Often they don't make much of an effort to look presentable. Younger children who are not yet eligible are dirty, cowering behind parents. Those who are eligible for the reaping look as if they were rubbed raw to get the dirt off of their bodies, but it didn't work.

I feel sorry for these districts, that they suffer so much and receive so little for their work. They look hungry and defeated. It's rare there is a champion from one of these districts. They're not strong enough to fight off the Careers.

I'm lost in my thoughts when there is a knock on the door.

"Ebony? Are you alright?" I turn off the shower and wrap a towel around me calling a shaky yes out to my older brother. I open the door and push passed him, seeing the concern in his eyes. I turn around halfway to my bedroom and see him still watching me in his ratty nightclothes.

"I'm ok, Chris. I promise." I give him a half-hearted smile and hurry to my bedroom to change. It's already nine, and Districts one and two would be beginning their reapings now. We'll be able to watch all of the replays back at home once Districts eleven and twelve are on their way to the Capitol.

Home. When I get back home. It's my second to last year, and then I'll be free. I will not be picked; I will not go to the Games. I'll make it out without ever seeing the Capitol or participating in the bloodbath. I'll become an engineer. I'll be safe. These are my last two years. I can do this.

Taking deep breaths I face my bed and see the simple blue-grey dress my mom has laid out for me. It's nothing fancy, just enough to look presentable for this horrid event. The straps are thin, and it hangs just above my knees. I braid my dark, damp hair simply down my back once I'm dressed and slip on the short black heels my mother left next to the end of my bed. I look at myself in the mirror and smooth my bangs. Tears fill my eyes as I spot the picture of all of my brothers and I that I keep in the corner of my mirror. We were so little when it was taken, back when the Games didn't turn us from four to three.

My eldest brother, Kurt, was killed in the Games when he was only fourteen. Chris was eleven at the time, and I was nine. We watched from the sidelines with our parents as our big brother walked powerful and strong up to the podium to take his place next to the girls' tribute, a tall and scrawny sixteen year old. We watched him die by the hand of a Career on the fifth day. Dean was only five and barely remembers Kurt, and my parents forbade him to ever watch the footage of the Games.

I remember trying to run up to him with Chris as our father held us back. Kurt held his head high and did well not letting his fear show. When we were allowed to see him in Town Hall, the six of us held each other for as long as we were allowed before Peacekeepers pulled us all away from him.

We suspected it would be the last time we'd see him, but as we watched him fight and survive the Games, we gained hope that we'd be able to see him in person once again. But then one bloodthirsty Career snatched that hope away from us. It was almost impossible for my mother to continue watching. She spent most days in bed. Our father became somewhat of a zombie, living every day in a rut. Us three kids remaining stood together, keeping one another safe. Eventually our parents snapped out of it, but every reaping day gets harder and harder, especially with two of their children still eligible.

The previous year was the hardest on us, with it being Dean's first year and Chris' last. All three of us were eligible and I remember leaving the apartment watching my mother sob on the floor, my father barely able to hold her up. We were all a mess that year, but so relieved when all three of us returned back home that afternoon.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and head out the door. Dean and Chris are waiting for me by the door. Our parents plan on meeting us down there.

Dean looks pale and completely terrified of what is to come. The second I get close enough he grabs ahold of my hand and I squeeze it, smiling at him. Chris nods once and the three of us walk slowly out of our apartment, out of the building, and into the sunlight.