A/N: Hey! So, this chapter took a while to write because I want this fanfiction to be longer and in much more detail than any other I have wrote.
My beta reader is my friend, Anoushka. I want to thank her for helping me and editing the chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Hunger Games whatsoever.
I press the light pink flower gently onto the fluffy white icing. I hear someone breathing heavily behind me and turn around. It's my father. I smile at him as he examines my work. He owns the bakery that we are standing in; he inherited it from his parents. I have just finished decorating a cake that he baked with small flowers on the icing covered layers. Only a few flowers per layer.
"That's good, Jay, though I think it could do with a ribbon around the bottom," he says, walking over to one of the drawers. I look over to the door as I hear it open and my Mother walks in. I watch as they greet each other with a hug and a peck on the lips. My parents are Katniss and Peeta Mellark; they're famous where we live. Famous, but for all the wrong reasons. My mother walks over to me and places her hands on my shoulders, kneading softly into my skin. She looks down at the cake in front of me.
"You take after your father," she says with a smile and presses a kiss to my hairline, my forehead is shimmering in sweat from concentration. I smile at her praise, which is a rare occurrence really. I admire my Dad's artistic skill and wish I could be able to paint as he does. He paints and draws words and thoughts, it is enchanting. A grin forms on my father's face, but it soon fades as he and my Mum share a glance of uncertainty. My Mum's hands press a little harder into me as she leads me towards the exit of the bakery. I stop walking at the door and turn around to face her, a brow raised.
"What -"
"Go home, Jay, your father and I need to discuss something. Rory is there with Rafael. Tell him thank you for looking after your brother." my Mum tell me. She opens the door and pushes me out gently; I hear it slam as I leave. There's no need for me to go back and ask what it is they're talking about, because I already know. It's the Hunger Games.
When I was five years old, President Paylor stepped down from her position, which was when a new President took over Panem. His name is President Clark. He brought back the Hunger Games and ordered the arenas to be rebuilt, after they had been destroyed and burnt down by the rebels. My parents told my brother and I that they were tributes in the Games when they were sixteen, then again a year later. At the time, I was upset and angry they had never told us of their heroic actions towards the war, they had never explained why people stared and whispered around them and around us. I thought the parents were jealous, because mine were so in love. But I couldn't have been more wrong. My Mother sat me down and told me the whole story; she even found a tape of both her games for me to watch. But she made me switch it off when it got too gory. I caught her crying a bit, and turned it off completely. I heard her screaming that night. My dad said it was nightmares, the tape had triggered them.
My name was first entered into the Games two years ago when I turned twelve and because the entries are cumulative; my name is now entered three times. However, we're lucky enough that I don't need to apply for Tesserae. My parents being victors sorted that out, and if that's the only priority they get, at least it reassures me a bit. They fear that my name will be chosen in the Reaping, as they know what the Games are like and wouldn't wish it on anyone, especially not me. Well that's what I thought until I overheard my parents arguing one evening. Dad was shouting at my mum, he was annoyed that she had wanted the Games to be repeated for Snow's granddaughter. For the children of the Capitol, children of those who made the Games in the first place. Revenge. I recall him saying that if she had voted against it, the Games wouldn't have been reinforced. That it was all her fault. I remember the districts being places full of joy and love. Now, there's nothing but pain and remorse. District 12 haven't had any victors yet since the Games restarted.
Before I know it, I am back in Victor's Village where I live. As I step up to front door to my house, I see Haymitch exit his. He gives me a small smile and a nod, which I return before opening the door. Mum always talks about how Haymitch used to be livelier, despite his constant drunken state. I think old age is what has changed him, but I suspect in the back of my mind that the war, between the rebels in the Capitol, changed him forever. I didn't believe that one could survive the Games, and live to experience anything worse, but maybe because people were being killed, and we had a choice, made it even more disturbing, even more disastrous. I close the door behind me and walk into the living room, where I see Rory and Rafael playing a game of cards on the floor. Everything reminds me of the war of which I've been told so much.
Cards – the houses of cards my Dad made when the Capitol captured him. He told me how he made them hundreds of stories high, and the guards would push them over, to drive him to insanity. Thinking, my face blank, I sit down on the armchair beside them, watching them play. Ever since my father pulled out the family's pack of cards not long after the harsh winter we'd just had, my brother has never stopped playing. He invites his friends round to play and even challenges the neighbours. I play a game with him every Sunday night before we go to bed. He normally wins, but I have beaten him once, although he swears he let me win because he pitied me. Rory looks over to me when I lean my head forward to take a closer look at the game. Really, I'm not that interested in it, but it seems better than sitting, risking thinking too much about the war and my parent's past. Rafael never takes his focus away from the game, even when I sound a small, what I hope to be distracting, cough. From what I can see, my brother is winning, which is no surprise. Rory turns his head back to his deck of cards and continues the game when I stand up and walk to the kitchen.
I pull a glass out of the cupboard and fill it up with cold water, taking a sip. Water is the only thing I drink, apart from the rare glass of wine, which I'm only allowed on special occasions. I remain in the kitchen, deep in my thoughts, wondering what my mother and father are discussing about the games. Even though they are previous victors, they haven't been called to mentor any of the tributes, my Dad said it's because they might cause trouble. I wonder if that's it, if they have finally been asked to mentor the district's tributes this year. If they have, they would tell us soon, to let my brother and I know that they wouldn't be home. Of course, they will have to arrange for someone to look after us as well. If they have to, I'm sure Rory would offer to take care of us.
My thoughts are soon distracted when I hear a cheer come from the living room. It's Rafael's cheer - he won the game of cards. A small smile grows on my face as I re-join the two in the living room. My brother is four years younger than I am which means his name has not been entered for the Games yet. I will always have some self-hate for myself. If Rafael's name is ever drawn, I won't be able to volunteer for him. That's another privilege that's been taken away from the games. My mum volunteered for Prim, her sister who died in the war, and I can't think of what would have happened if she hadn't. Rafael is strong, but I don't believe he has the strength, determination or wit to win the Games. I don't believe that I do either. I'm hoping for the best that our names aren't drawn out. As Rafael jumps around the room celebrating his win, I help Rory to tidy away the cards.
"Beaten again?" I ask with a small laugh. Rafael and Rory have played several games with each other, each with the same winner. He shakes his head and laughs with me.
"I let him win," Rory jokes.
"Oh sure, you're always letting him win." I say with a smirk. As I continue to pick up the cards, I notice that the two hands that were helping me were no longer there. I look up to see what has distracted him. He's holding the cards that he has picked up in his hands, ready to flick at me. Seeing his motives, I quickly duck my head to avoid the oncoming cards, but I'm too late. He flicks the cards at me and they hit my face, wiping the smirk off. He chuckles as I exaggerate my gasp. Unable to hold my laugh in, I shake my head and let it out while I pick up the cards he flicked at me. He stands to calm Rafael as I collect the other cards and put them away in the drawer.
For the next hour, we sit and share stories. Some of them are tales and fables, whereas some of them are true. Most of Rory's action and horror stories are real, but he says they're make believe so as not to scare Rafael. But I know my brother doesn't believe him at all. As our parents have already given us the details of the previous war, we can tell that his stories are true. His expression turns distant as he goes into further details. I can see tears welling up in his eyes as he relives what happened in his mind, so I place a light hand on his shoulder. I tell him that he doesn't need to continue with the story. With my words, he nods and looks down at his cupped hands. I turn to Rafael, who is biting on his lower lip, and I mouth the words "Go to your room," so I can comfort Rory. He does as he is told and leaves the living room in silence. I sit with Rory for a minute before I stand and walk to the kitchen to get him a drink. I fill a glass with water and hand it to him when I return to the living room. He mutters a small thank you and takes a sip of the water. We sit in silence for the next ten minutes while I lightly rub his back. Rory has always been like an older brother to me and we have always been there for each other and we always will be. He is my closest friend, despite our age difference.
The front door opens without a knock and I stand up and go to the hallway to see who it is. Of course, it's only my Mum and Dad. I give them a small smile as they walk in, and my father returns it, but my mother doesn't. She walks straight into the living room to Rory, a neutral expression on her face. Raising a questioning brow, I turn to my Dad who has closed the door and standing against the wall, his arms folded across his broad chest, and a crumpled shirt. Before I can ask any questions, he shakes his head to silence me. After a couple of painfully silent minutes, Rory walks out of the living room, my mother following him. He heads towards the front door and as I realise he's leaving, I rush over to him and place a light hand on his arm.
"I'll come round tomorrow, okay? Besides, I have some homework you can help me with." Winking, I pull my hand away and he laughs as he walks out of the house, his mouth smiling, but I can see lines of tension forming on his forehead. With a carefully structured smile on my face, I close the door and turn back to my Mum and Dad, my face falling in curiosity.
"You won't be able to go over to Rory's tomorrow, Jay. Your father and I need to do some things with you," my Mum says firmly. She knows that if she isn't firm with me, I will probably go round Rory's house anyway. Like I said, he's my closest friend. I sigh and slide my hands into my pockets as I look between my parents. They explain to me that I'll be busy most of the day hunting and in the bakery, but when I ask for what reason, they shake their heads and refuse to tell me. They send me to bed straight after, saying that I'll need extra sleep.
I'm woken the next morning by a knock on my door and my father telling me through the door to wake up. Groaning, I lift myself out of bed and go into the bathroom, my mind set on a nice, hot shower. I close the door when I walk in and place the towel on the railing before switching on the head of the shower. After undressing, I step into the hot water. I let my hair soak up the water as I close my eyes, letting the heat consume me. My tense muscles relax under the water and I grab the shampoo from the stand on the wall. I pour a blob of the jelly like substance onto my hair and rub it in. My tense muscles relax under the powerful jet of water. Once I wash my hair and body, I turn off the water, wrap the towel around my body and step out of the shower. Picking up a smaller towel from the cupboard, I wrap my hair up in it and walk back to my room. I quickly dry down and tie my hair into a braid which my Mum had shown me how to do when I was younger. I dress into clothes suitable for hunting and take out my boots from the wardrobe, then rush down the stairs and head into the kitchen.
My mother has already prepared me some toast when I arrive, so I sit down at the table to eat it. I take my time to eat my breakfast while I think about the day ahead of me. Why are they taking me out hunting and working at the bakery? Then it hits me, and I feel really stupid. The Hunger Games, of course. The Reaping is a week away and they want to train me in case my name is pulled out. Now I think about it, I've never really feared my name being pulled out of the lottery yet, but the thought worries me. If my name is chosen, will I survive? Probably not. I'm not physically strong. I've never had to fight, hunt or try to keep myself alive at all in my life. I don't think the odds would ever be in my favour. When I finish my toast, I place the plate in the sink and quickly pull on my boots.
My Mum is waiting for me by the door, a large backpack on her shoulders, her hair tied back the same way mine is. I walk over to her and she opens the door, letting me out first. We walk to the forest in silence. I don't know what time it is, so I look up into the sky to try and guess the time from the position of the sun. It's only early morning, so it seems to be around seven A.M. When we reach the entrance to the forest, I'm stopped in my paths as my Mum presses a hand against me. She takes a few steps forward, looking around cautiously before allowing me to follow her. I keep my steps as quiet as I can and we slowly walk deeper into the forest. We reach a large rock where my mother places the bag on top of. She opens it and pulls out two bows, followed with a pack of arrows. She places the pack of arrows on her back and hands a bow to me.
"I'm going to teach you how to hunt, in case you ever need to. I'll teach you how to use a bow, snares, and about the poisonous and edible plants," she said, taking her own bow into her hands.
"Why?" I ask, even though I know the reason why. It's one week until the reaping, which means my parents will want me trained in case my name is ever drawn out. Why they haven't started this earlier, I don't know. Maybe they thought - because I'll never need to sign up for Tesserae - that it would be very rare if my name was pulled out. Though, this surprises me. Prim, my Mother's sister, had only been entered in once when she was chosen. The Games always surprise you, knock you off your feet. I was quite intrigued why my parents didn't train me more. Having a tribute in the games is one thing, having the daughter of two victors of two consecutive games, as well as war heroes and public figures, is something completely different. I would be used to twist and destroy my parents, in case of any future rebellions being planned.
First of all, my mother marks a target on a tree and shows me how to shoot with the bow. She makes it seem as easy as breathing because she can shoot the target with one arrow. When I try, I don't start off so good and I worry I don't take after her with this particular skill, something that would be ever so useful if I was chosen in the games. A head start, they call it. It takes me a few shots to get close to the target. After using five arrows, my Mum stops me and changes my position. I take note of how I am standing, how high and low my arms are positioned. When I take my next shot, I hit the target. A feel of relief flows through my body, knowing that if I'm ever reaped for the Games, I'll be able to use a bow and arrow. Just to make sure that it wasn't a lucky shot, I pull another arrow into position and shoot again, remembering the way my Mum stood me. I hit the target.
For the next few hours, I'm shown the best places to hit prey and how to make a clean kill. She shows me how to create snares and traps to lure in any nearby animals. She also teaches me which plants are edible and which plants are poisonous by matching them to some pictures in a large book that was in her backpack. The book belonged to her family and was there for them to know which plants to pick to eat when she went hunting.
We return back to our house in the late noon, and I quickly rush up to my bedroom to change into suitable clothes to go to the bakery in. I'm not sure why bakery would be a useful skill in the Games, but I don't question my mother for now and I head over to where my father is waiting for me. We have a less intense few hours than I did with my mother. To my surprise, he's not teaching me anything to do with baking, it's about painting. Camouflage really. He shows me how to create good hiding camouflage with just mud and leaves. It's actually quite fun, playing with mud everywhere - It reminds me of when I used to play in the meadow with my brother when I was younger. The time I spend with my father seems to fly and it's soon time to go home for dinner. I help him tidy up the bakery before we walk back to Victor's Village. While we walk, I watch the sun slowly set beyond the horizon. I don't normally watch the sun set, but I've seen images of this a lot when my father paints.
After dinner, fatigue starts to set in, so I head up to my bedroom for an early nights sleep. I leave my window open slightly to allow the cool night air flow through my bedroom and then I change into my nightwear and crawl into bed. I fall asleep rather quickly, but almost at once pleasant dreams are disturbed by nightmares. I dream that my name is chosen and I have to go into the arena, to fight and kill for my own survival like a pawn, a soldier. The scenery in my dream is just like the old paintings my dad created when he came out of the arena at the age of sixteen. I wake up with a jolt, breathing heavily. My eyes dart around the room until I realise that I'm safe - for now - in my own home. I'm left lying awake for the rest of the night, fearing the reaping next week.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you think :)