I'm going to - or going to try my very hardest to publish - one or two chapters every weekend! Sorry for the wait!
The moment the sun rose, Blake Christopher received a feeling of unease. He was fourteen as of a few months ago; he was well enough to realize what this day had in store. His father had fought in the 51st Hunger Games. In fact, his father had won.
Wouldn't it be just so convenient that a victor's child's name would be reaped? The Capitol would surely eat the drama up on a nice little silver platter. From the moment his eyes opened, to the moment his name was called, he knew what the day's events had in store.
What Blake hadn't seen coming was the twisted way Molly James' name had been called before her. Blake had secretly taken a liking to Molly, but she knew nothing. The way he glanced at her on the streets as she passed, or waved sarcastically as a way of playing hard to get, probably didn't inform her his true feelings. He assumed she didn't have the mind to look, either.
His crush of four years had grown out of it's childish fantasies and into the hurt and aching in his teenage chest. He was too afraid to approach her, too afraid to even look at her and for one reason; Ethan.
Blake had always feared Ethan; for one he was bigger and stronger than Blake, and two, because Ethan had Molly wrapped around his little finger. He had tricked her into thinking that he was all she lived for. Instead, Molly was living because of him. Surely Molly felt some compassion for him, but he wasn't giving her the opportunity to simply open her eyes and decide whether she truly loved him - or whether she had no choice but to.
Blake's name was called, but his death was the last thing on his mind. Instead, his face showed great concern for the girl he truly cared about. No worries…they were only lined up to die.
*.*.*
Gretelda Adams was standing in a circle with a group of her friends as they balanced an old hacky-sack between limbs. When it came to her, she twisted around, attempting in an odd maneuver to hit the toy up with her ankle, but instead collapsed in a heap on the ground. Her friends just laughed at their lifelong pal, who had always been a klutz.
The witty blonde sneered in a playful way as Gretelda tried to defend her clumsiness, insisting that she meant to do that in order to gain the right trajectory for her ankle to come in contact with the hacky-sack. When, in truth, she did have to defend every unplanned aspect of her life, and half the time she knew little or nothing about what she was talking about.
Zoe laughed. "Our little Grace," she flipped her blonde hair and laughed, suggesting Gretelda be called Grace as a witty oxymoron.
After her morning in the deserted school yard, Gretelda returned home to find her baby sister Olive - of a mere four years old - playing on the ground with a miniature tea cup.
Gretelda - often referred to as Gretta - scooped Olive up in her arms and kissed her on the forehead. She was dressing for the reapings - if something unplanned and horrible occurred in that instance, Gretta wanted Olive to have a good impression of her sister. In the years to come, Gretta's absence would either be explained as "An extended trip", or their family would soon be living in a makeshift mansion.
Whatever the consequence, Gretta was ready.
Inevitably, her name was reaped in the heat of the afternoon sun. A bead of sweat trickled down her back, but not another significant suggestion that Gretta was of any means nervous was prominent. She was ready for this. For her friends and family, for the rest of her life, she needed to make it out alive.