Oooohhh another update! I'll post again soon, but thanks for reading guys!

The Morning

It was still dark out when I woke up, which was pretty normal considering I fish for a living. Although I could tell I slept in because the sky was a dark blue instead of black and there were no stars. For a naive second I wondered why my uncle hadn't woken me up and then I remembered. Today was The Reaping. I sat up in my cot and sighed. Another two kids would be sent to their deaths today, one of them could be me, or worse, Brooke. We were both 15, her name was in the reaping 4 times, mine was in it 16 times, the whole food-for-your-name-more-times-in-the-reaping bowl-thing was popular among the poor fishermen's children like myself and most of my friends.

I got out of bed and careful not to wake my aunt and uncle, who were sleeping in the only other room of their small cottage, got dressed and left the house. As I meander through the slums of District 4 where most of the fishermen and their families live (so at least 2/3rds of the population), I think of The Reaping. The whole thing is rigged to pick children of poor fishermen and then the strong Careers will volunteer for them. But District 4 doesn't have that many volunteers anymore, and for the past couple of years all I've seen are slum children going in, except for the occasional merchant's kid or volunteer. The tributes centers are still prospering though, I guess some kids lose their nerve at the last minute.

"Hey," I look up to see I wandered out of the slums and out to the beach not too far from my house. Brooke was sitting in the sand and staring out to sea, waiting for me. We always sat on the beach and talked on our days off, although we didn't used to. I went and sat down next to her, the sun started to rise over the ocean sluggishly, like it wanted to take its sweet time. Summertime was always hell by the sea, the mix of humidity and constant heat made everyone and everything slow and tired. Of course that just gave us all more of an excuse to go swimming!

"So here you are again," Brooke smiled at me but then it faltered. She had a question on her mind, the same one she's asked since we were 12.

"How many times is your name in today?" Her expression was worried like always, concern in her eyes.

"It won't be me," I wrung my hands nervously. I could lie to myself all I wanted but almost every year it was a kid from the slums reaped.

"How many?" If Brooke was anything it was persistent.

"16," she sighed and stared back out at sea. The sun was making some progress in rising, it was about one fourth of the way there. "Listen to me, even I do get picked, you have to promise me you won't volunteer," Brooke suddenly looked up at me and glared. I laughed at that and looked down at my worn black clothes, black was the cheapest color of clothes to buy in District 4, that's why most of the slum kids wore it. "Even if I do get picked, which is a big if, someone else might volunteer for me."

"That's rubbish and you know it, we haven't had a volunteer in a decade," I kept the amused look I usually wore around Brooke.

"You still have to promise me. Come on, be realistic, I'd have a better chance of surviving in the Arena and you know it."

"Not true!"

"Merchant life has made you soft. I'm charming, fast, I can fish, I can hide. You're well fed, socially awkward, scrawny."

"Don't hold back," she grumbles and I chuckle under my breath.

"You catch the drift," for once in my life I got a serious expression on. "Promise me you won't volunteer," Brooke looked away from me and glared at the water silently.

"Fine," she finally said without looking at me, "I promise." I knock her in the shoulder with my shoulder playfully.

"Always so serious, lighten up, we have the day off! Neither of us is going to get picked, so don't twist your seaweed in a bunch," she laughed at my sad joke. I looked up to see the sun had fully risen and from its place in the sky I knew our time together had to end. "We have to go get ready now, I'll see you there right?" Brooke looked over to me and smiled. We both stood up and I grinned at her shortness compared to me, I was almost a head taller.

"Of course," and we both went our separate ways. The reaping is at 9 A.M here, they stagger the times for them so you can watch all the Reapings but really only people in the Capitol can do that.

When I got home my aunt and uncle were waiting for me, both of them already cleaned and dressed. My uncle was tall like me, about a head taller, and he had this professionalism that made it impossible to joke with him. My aunt on the other hand was a lot like me, she was always smiling and neither of us could ever sit still for long. She radiated youth and energy and it made everyone always ask if she was my sister, even if she was in her early thirties. Both of them looked like me, blonde, fair and tall, wearing black most of the time, and we were all stubborn.

My aunt had laid out a plain black dress for me to wear after my bath. She was dancing around the house like always, making flour out of tessera, stopping every 5 seconds to pick up a piece of trash that was lying around. "Do you like the dress?" She asks when I come into her view.

"I still think it was impractical to buy that thing, Sara." My aunt frowns at Uncle disappointingly.

"She needs at least one dress, Salton. Marina is still a young lady after all, and she can't very well go to the reaping in a dirty black shirt, holey jeans, and dirty boots, now can she?" My uncle just sighed in defeat and Aunt Sara grins in victory.

I check in and go to find Brooke. The reaping is in front the Justice building like every year, and while empty space before it is big so is our population. Only the children and Peacekeepers can fit, the rest of the population has to watch from screens around the corner off fish storage warehouses. "Marina!" I turn to see Brooke running towards me in a light blue dress.

"Hey, don't you look fancy," I say catching her in a hug. "Ready?"

"We're not kids anymore, I don't need you to take care of me," I raise my eyebrows and she laughs. "Yeah, I'm ready, let's go." We stand next to each other in the crowd of 15 year old girls as the video from President Snow plays. After that we're directed to Claudia, the Capitol escort send every year to pick the names out of the pick glass bowl. This year she was in a scarlet dress and had a straight red wig with red heels.

"Let's start with the girls," she says like every year in her Capitol accent and walks to the glass bowl on my right filled to the brim with folded slips of paper. Claudia unfolds the first piece her hand touches and walks to the microphone. "Marina Fisher," 50 heads turned to me at once. My eyes grow wide and I make my way to the middle isle between the boys and girls where the Peacekeepers are waiting to escort me to the stage. 16 slips in a thousand, it's impossible. Quickly I mask my surprise and fear as I walk up the stairs and stand beside Claudia.

"And now for the boys," she smiles and walks to the other bowl, digs for a second, then comes up with a piece of paper and walks back to the microphone. She unfolds it and clears her throat, "Maxwell Bass." Heads turn to a scrawny boy with brown hair and brown eyes, he's definitely older than me,17 or 18, and taller. He was wearing a black button up and semi-clean jeans, a slum kid. Slowly he walks up to the stage, trying his best to not look scared. Claudia smiles, "I present you the tributes if District 4," She says and holds our wrists in the air. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

Sorry about the cliffhanger, but they're necessary sometimes. Be sure to follow to find out what happens next, and I love ya!