"Carter Harkins" I squeezed my eyes shut. "May the odds be ever in your favor….Carter Harkins" Nonononono. "May the odds…. Carter Harkins" NO. "Odds. Carter. CarterCarterMaytheodds….Carter Harkins. May the odds be ever in your favor, Carter Harkins."

NO. I jolted myself out of my sleep. Carter. Oh, President's bloody hanky, Carter.

Carter's dead. Dead. You're here. Actually-where are you? Where are you?

I sat up and rubbed my sleepy eyes. Where was I? Somewhere cold-wet-damp-but it smelled like ash. Of course-Carter's eternal resting place. Where his shroud was burned. I stood, ready to face the coming day-the worst one of the year. But I couldn't do it without doing what I do best first. Riding horses. Technically, it's illegal but I've never paid much attention to the rules. The districts don't care as long as you're miserable and hungry. As long as they have control, they don't care what you do. People literally get away with murder everyday here, but you can't really blame them. Because you know they are just as cold and hungry as you. My favorite horse, the only thing they could take away anymore, was a beautiful black mare who understood me more than any human but Carter. And Carter was dead.

I whistled, knowing Rain would find me no matter what. I heard her trot up behind me and snuffle my hair, which little Mia swore was still red as ever. I smiled and buried my face in her wiry mane. I let her horsey smell of dust and hay and something else I can't name run into my nostrils. I rub my hands over her ebony hide. Then, in one swift moment I am on my darling girl's back and we are walking and trotting and cantering and I forget all about everything for a few hours, and in Panem that's a blessing.

But the bell ruined it. I slid off Rain's back regretfully and whispered goodbye. The bell signifies the Reaping, which will start soon. I followed the sound of people back to the town square, and met with other 13 year olds. This year, my name is in that tiny glass ball 43 times. I have 43 chances to get to the Hunger Games.

Everyone hates the Hunger Games, unless of course you live in a district. That's where they're broadcasted.

Yup, that's right folks! Not only are 24 of the people you've known all your life forced to fight to the death, YOU get to WATCH. Wonderful!

And, yes, that's what happened to Carter. That's why he's in the ground instead of making me laugh right here. He was killed in the Games, the President's Games.

While you're listening, add that to Things I Hate About Panem. I HATE President Gale. He came from District 12, our HERO, 83 years ago. The day he's a hero is the day I fly next to a pig.

Oh, before I forget. Back when the Capitol was in power, we had 75 Hunger Games total. So, to do the math, the Capitol killed 1,748 children for entertainment. In the 82 Games the districts have killed 1,909. (One Quarter Quell for each where the number of tributes were doubled)

Our number will go up 23 again this year. And in a few hours we'll know who's going to die.

It's Reaping Day in Panem. In 2 hours 50 billion listeners will tune in on their sets in their comfy couches with more food in their house then I'll ever see in my life, just to see the emaciated bodies of Capitol children paraded around the center square. They'll watch so they can meet the future actors in their little drama.

I don't worry though. I'll never be an actor. If it's my name they pull out of that little ball, let them bend to my will.

My name is Rosalind. For those of you who don't know, Rosalind was a Shakespearean character who took charge of her story.

And I'm gonna take charge of mine.

Gale's grandson-Jay's POV

I hate Reaping Day. It's the day that starts the worst month of the year. It's when I have to look at my grandfather, who I used to respect, pull 24 names from a glass ball. 23 of the owners of those names will soon be dead-and it's as if he killed them himself.

I'm weak-I know that, Granddad knows it, Mom knows it, Dad knows it, my brother knows it, I know it.

I know it.

I put on my Reaping clothes-Uncomfortable, but necessary, as I have to make an appearance to appease our followers.

Along with my family, I'll have to look each tribute in the eyes as they walk up the stairs. I'll have to know their name. Know how they look. Their strengths and weaknesses and how desperate they will become in the arena. What they will do to preserve their life. But the worst? Knowing I probably deserve that arena ten times more.

I'm told to be grateful-GRATEFUL even though by all definition and in everything but name my grandfather is a murderer. My mother says he gets some sort of grim satisfaction from it-like it atones for something that happened in The Rebellion. Because, yeah, the fact he enjoys it makes it SO much better. Totally.

"JAY!" My sister Kat appears at the door to my bedroom-Dark hair swinging and already in her Reaping clothes. Kat and I get along more than anyone in our family. She hates the Hunger Games as much as I do.

"Good, you're ready. Granddad wants us at the entrance to the stage area now." I nod. She grabs my hand and pulls me up. She really hates making Granddad mad-I think she's scared he'll put me in that arena-which is why there's one thing in the entire universe that I can't tell her.

When you go through my house, it's like a maze waiting to trap you in a corner. Probably the only thing I can say for myself is I don't get lost easily.

We enter the small entrance room to the stage, where my Granddad Gale who doubles as President of Panem is looking for us. He makes me want to puke but instead I force a smile and a nod. He nods back, and then our whole family is forced on the stage into spotlight I never wanted.

"LADIES and GENTLEMEN-the PRESIDENT of PANEM!" calls out the announcer. Granddad takes the microphone and smiles, holds up his hands to stop the applause. The APPLAUSE. As in, support for this monster, and the things he has done.

"It is my great pleasure-" Pleasure, I think in disgust. "-to welcome you all to the reaping for the 83rd Hunger Games!" More cheers, all around from everyone but the Capitol people. They are standing in giant groups, according to age.

"May the odds be EVER in your favor-I'm sure you have people rooting for you, contestants. And now! Let the reaping begin!" A giant glass ball is placed in front of Granddad that holds all the names. Over 200,000 names, and 24 are about to be called.

"DARREN HOLMICK" A murmur goes through the crowd, and soon we see why. Darren is a hulking mass of a 17 year old. He's huge with big steely brown eyes and an attitude that exudes toughness.

"TALWYN JONISON" Up the steps comes a scared but determined 15 year old girl. She's got black hair and an exotic appearance, because, well, she's green. Like, actually green. You hear of tattooists in the Capitol all the time, but rarely a full body appearance like Talwyn.

"TRIANNA LOBLO" Trianna's not green, but she's also not big or special. Trianna's 13, with long blonde hair and chocolate eyes.

"CHACK CHARLES" is a 18 year old bull, and you can already see the alliance between him and Darren.

"GREY BENTHORN" is a small, 12 yr old kid.

Vivian Bevin, Tremont Zona, Carlton Rook, Amy Amadon, Seth Horch, Nina Talhon, Talon Lovett, Chreesa Hitlet, Benji Carro, Kika Kris, Jonah Kale, Zandra Okenary, Sand Sareaux, Granber Pronson are all called.

And then they called Mia Warren. Mia was 12, but small for her age, and she was missing her arm. Not kidding-an ARM. This meant, of course, certain death in the arena. It would have been, but someone volunteered. NOBODY volunteers for the games, least of all a girl no more than 13. But that's exactly what this girl did. She wasn't big or bloodthirsty, or even upset in any way. She walked up the stairs like she owned them. She had beautiful light red hair and light green eyes, but she didn't seem to see anything. She would stumble a little on flat ground, couldn't get up the stairs forever and didn't know where people were until someone led her over.

"Well, look what we have here. A volunteer! Didn't want her to get all the glory, did you now!" Granddad chuckles jovially. The girl stares at him, and says loudly, clearly and confidently,

"Actually, it was more like I didn't want her to die. I like Mia. She doesn't deserve the Arena of Death."

Her voice was like bells and I was held captive. Granddad chuckled nervously, while the Capitol people roared with laughter and cheers. The tributes sitting on the stage stomped their feet to show their appreciation.

"What's your name, Missy?" He asked.

"Rosalind Freedom Jones. Not Missy, you creep." He laughed again…faker, somehow, this time. Then Darren stood up and led Rosalind over to where he was sitting.

After Rosalind and her beautiful green eyes took a seat, nothing happened besides Odi Parsons, Noah Kidos, and Fe Montralk were picked as tributes for the Hunger Games.

The twenty-fourth tribute was always the worst, because by then they weren't expecting to be picked, but no one should have worried this year anyway, because the twenty-fourth tribute wasn't in the crowd, like they should have been.

The twenty-fourth tribute was on stage and his name was Jay Hawthorne.

The twenty-fourth tribute of the 83rd Hunger Games was me.

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~loveshorses13