Elena

Grunting, I pull the trap up out of the water, which, judging by the weight, has caught either several small crabs or a couple of large ones. I'm hoping for the later. Or maybe even a lobster. Mmm… it's been a while since I've had a good lobster.

Finally, I get in over the edge of the pier and jackpot! Lobsters, big ones too. Assuming all goes well at the Reaping, today's going to be a good. You know it's going to be a good day when you start out with lobsters in a crab trap.

It's early morning, just after dawn, and the waters around District 4 glisten and dance with orange. I love District 4, and I wouldn't trade it for all of Panem. Even on Reaping mornings, it's still got a beautiful kind of life that you don't find in the coal mines of District 12 or the factories of District 8.

I bind the lobsters' claws with rubber bands which I keep in my pocket. Everyone in District 4 carries rubber bands in their pocket. If it's tying up your hair or subduing crustaceans, everyone needs a handful of rubber bands. They're God's most useful creation.

The three squirming creatures go into a burlap bag, which I heft over my shoulder and begin the long walk home. They wriggle around and poke my back in protest as they jostle with my bouncy steps. "You don't like my good mood lobsters?" I ask them.

One pokes its head spikes through the bag and into by back as an answer. "Tough biscuits," I tell it. "You're going to be served tonight with a side of hot butter."

Lobsters would be brilliant for a picnic down in that cave by the lake. We haven't been there in a long time. It was our private place, only the Bass family knew about it.

I have to walk a bit further to get home than most people. Because my Mom's a tailor and my Dad's a very successful fisherman, we live in the richer part of the District, where not everything smells like fish and saltwater. Oh man, Dad's not going to be happy I'm bringing live lobsters home. They'll get the kitchen muddy and wet, and the house will smell like saltwater… again. Mom and James only just got the ocean smell out after last time. Well, at least dinner will be fresh.

The house is deadly silent as I make it back home. The house is neat, and I make the best effort I can not to leak salt water everywhere, but I can't avoid the few drips that leak out when the critters in the bag writhe and struggle. I make it to the industrial freezer we use to humanely kill our catches and dump the three red lobsters inside, along with the sack.

The freezer motor clangs and hums, like it always does when you open it. A displeased groan comes from upstairs. "Can it Elena!" Adam yells from upstairs. "I need my eight hours!"

"Well I'm sorry you chose to stay out all night Adam!" I whisper harshly, trying not to wake up anyone else.

Adam groans again, but doesn't say anything. I smile in a smug kind of satisfaction that I only feel when I've beaten Adam. Whether it's a game, a fight or and argument, it's always good to beat my annoying older brother.

My room is down the hallway, and I have to sneak past my parents' room and all three of my brothers' rooms to get there. I try to be as silent as possible, not wanting to wake them up. Except for Adam, he sleeps so often I think he can live without it.

I shut my door as quietly as possible, and look at the neon clock on my bedside table. 5:39. Wow, I didn't think it was that early. On Reaping Day, the whole district was given a break from fishing, so we could actually sleep in. But I don't deal well with sleeping in. It feels… wrong, like I should be outside, doing something, not squandering the day on sleep.

It's early, but I decide to get ready for the Reaping. There's no problem with being ready, right? I take off my fishing clothes, a baggy white shirt and black pants, and grab the dress I'd picked out the night before: a nice, white summer dress, no unnecessary embellishments. As I pull it on, I sigh, which I always do when wearing it. My chest and my hips look to big and my waist, far, far too small. It stops halfway down my thigh, and I wish it just went down another inch or two. People always tell me "you look great Elena, you're curvy and tall. I wish I was like that," but I always brush it off. They're just humouring me or trying to flatter me. Either way, it's not true. I mean, I am tall, kind of. I'm not sure. I think I'm average. Again, I'm not too sure.

I pull my long, chocolaty hair in front of the scar which mars the left side of my face, from my ear down to my collar bone. It's faded through the years to match my pale skin, but I hate looking at it. When I do, I can still hear the yelling from the day I got it.

I'd been walking home from the Reaping with Matilda and Jade, my two closest friends. The eighteen-year-old male tribute that year had been a little less than stable when his name had been picked. He'd run off, and the guards were still looking for him when it had happened. There was a commotion around the corner, which piqued Matilda's curiosity. Jade, the worried girl that she was – and still is – begged us not to go, but I followed Matilda when she ran off. And there he was, standing amongst a group of dead peacekeepers, and a knife in his hand.

He glared at us, and Matilda, scared, screamed and ran off. But I was stuck there, unable to move. He pounced on me, and that's when I began scream. He made the cut down the side of my face, and I screamed more, louder and harsher. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but he got off me and ran away.

Matilda returned, and stayed with me while Jade ran off to get her mom. I don't exactly remember what happened after that. I think I passed out.

Shaking off the negative thoughts, I pick out a book from my extensive bookshelf, one of the many things Dad has spoiled me with, and settle down in my bed amongst the fluffy, down-filled pillows. The book's old, and I mean, really old. Pre-Dark Days old, back when they called Panem "North America", or whatever it was. It's called "Heat Wave" by Richard Castle. A lot of it didn't make sense to me, so I had to get my brother, local straight-A student and amateur historian Liam, to explain. Apparently the police department was kind of like the peacekeepers. But it's interesting and a bit of a puzzle.

Mom calls me down for breakfast at some time around ten. I'm halfway through the book, which is slow for me. It took me a while to figure out some of the references, as it always does with older books.

Breakfast consists of cereal, sweet and sugary which is always good. Only District 1 and the richer parts of 2 and 4 can afford the treat, which I'm thankful for. All through the meal we make polite conversation, even Adam, who was glares at me each time the banter lulls. Liam's apparently working on some new way to catch fish, which is more economic than the large nets we currently use. Adam is, as always, talking about his girlfriend Clarissa. James is silent, as per usual, only speaking when he thinks it's appropriate. Only, what he says is, more often than not, seemingly unrelated, and he has to go on a long tangent to explain how he thought it was related.

I'll give you an example. Liam was talking about his revolutionary new idea, when James blurted out that "A Bluefin can maintain a core body temperature of twenty-four to thirty-five degrees Celsius in water as cold as six degrees Celsius." Yes, I assure you that it did make sense eventually, but it took a long time before he managed to get to the point.

In spite of all the random facts, James is the coolest guy I know. My family is the dearest thing to my heart. Adam is a goofball and a prankster and, in spite of how much he annoys me, I wouldn't want him to change, and I'm glad he's found Clarissa, even though he talks about her too much. And Liam, though he's an overbearing older brother and chases off every boy I remotely like – plus several I don't – he only has my best interest at heart.

My dad, Nathaniel, spoils the entire family rotten, because he's worried that, with all the fishing he does, he doesn't spend enough time with us. Yet he tries to make time whenever he can, even taking my brothers and me fishing when we don't have school and even though he can be really stern sometimes, he's the best dad I could ask for. Mom's also busy a lot, with her tailoring, designing clothes in her office as she worked at the Hunger Games. When she isn't there, she's baking. But she loves us all dearly like Dad, but sometimes she's too honest and too much of a perfectionist. Once when Liam was planning an elaborate school project when he was seven, she told him that the teacher couldn't possible mark something so large and to try and make it smaller. When he said he couldn't, she said he'd get a zero. Liam freaked out over this and started crying. Eventually though, he did figure out how to make it smaller and got an A.

The door bell rung halfway through and James got up to get it. We all knew who it was, the Strawberry Girl – I believe her name Drina. She comes by every morning and, without fail, James buys at least one box which is rather strange, considering he doesn't really like strawberries. I think at best he's ambivalent towards the fruit. I think he might like her, but, shy as he is, won't say anything. I wish he would though; I'm getting sick of the taste of strawberries.

We hurry out for the Reaping, the entire family having got dressed before breakfast. We're all dressed in white, as Mom insisted that we all match, which is confusing, considering we're not even going to be standing next each other.

But it's not as if no one could tell we're all related anyway. I have my mom's curly brown hair and my dad's bright blue eyes, but everyone seems to agree that mine are a shade lighter. Adam's the same, eyes always twinkling with some kind of prank or scheme. James has got Mom's curls and deer-like brown eyes – which I have fondly named the Bambi eyes, after an old book I read when I was younger – but has Dad's blondeness. Liam though, is a spitting image of Dad, right down to the messy hair.

They sort in with the rest of the sixteen-year-olds, even though my birthday's only three days away, while James and Adam are stuck in with the seventeens. Mom, Dad and Liam are trapped on the outer edges of the Square.

Matilda and Jade find me in record time. "How're things hanging Elena?" Matilda gushes. "It's been forever since I last saw you. When was it again?"

"Three days ago, Matilda," I laugh at her.

"It feels like so much longer. Where were you?" She grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me a little bit. Matilda is a little bit intense sometimes, I'm sure you've noticed.

"I was helping my mom with designs," I say, with a small amount of pride showing through.

"We've got to get you out of the house some days Elena," she slings an arm fondly around my shoulder, green eyes sparkling with her familiar brand of sly mischievousness. That always brings a knot of dread to my stomach. Her ideas usually end up getting us in trouble. I feel like I'm hanging around with Adam sometimes. "I've got a plan, don't you worry."

"Goodie," I say with a lot of sarcasm and – poorly – faked zeal.

"You were helping your mom with designs? That's so cool. Your designs are always good Elena," Jade says in her quiet, meek voice.

"Personally, I think my designs look like a chariot costume," I laugh, a nervous blush painting my cheeks. I hate it when that happens.

"Hellooo Dissstrict 4!" the escort calls from the stage and the crowd falls into a sudden, unnatural silence. "How are you all doing todaaay?"

I don't know what happened to our last escort, but this one… urg. There's a reason nature didn't give us whiskers and tails. Apparently, this escort doesn't seem to get that. She's got black hair all over her body, like fur, and surgeons have given her whiskers and a somehow fully functioning tail. How they did that, I'm not sure, maybe they pulled out her spine and made a tail out of it, Idon't know. But it's freakish. She's even wearing a collar and… I don't think she's wearing any clothes… oh god. Is she even human?

The mayor reads her speech, and then it's time for Catwoman to pull out the Tribute names. Who is it going to be sent to the abomination of human misery and cruelty this time? How she could stand there and knowingly pick two children to die is beyond me. She digs around for a whole minute before settling on one, and everyone's tired of this annoying Capitol cat.

"Okaaay and the female Tribute for Dissstrict 4 isss," – honestly, she's pretentious enough to act like a music video show host and a cat at the same time – "Elenaaa Basssss."

Wait, what?

I don't move at all. She must've read the name wrong. She must've. I only had five entries! I've never even had to take a tesserae. Five slips out of thousands. There was no chance that she'd called my name.

"Elena Basssss? Can you please come up onto the stage?"

I walk up the stage and over to Catwoman. "There must be some kind of mistake," I whisper to her. "I only had five slips. My name couldn't have been the one you picked."

"Nope sssweetie, thatsss you right there, sssee?" She flashes me the piece of paper, which has written on it in neat, cursive handwriting Elena Nadia Bass.

"It- it can't be," I stammer at her. Yet the name still remains the same. Elena Nadia Bass.

"Oh yesss it can be, all the glory for you sssweetie." Catwoman turns back to the crowd. "Give it up for Elenaaa!"

The crowd claps, but only because they have to. So many of these faces know me or know my family. We're liked by everyone, and they don't approve. I can see it in their faces. This gives me a kind of warm feeling as I'm standing here, world falling down around me. I was going to work in Mom's shop. I was going to be a tailor, Mom had agreed wholeheartedly. I might've even gotten married one day. I was going to be a bridesmaid at Jade and Matilda's wedding.

"Okaaay, now it's time for the boooysss," Catwoman says, winking her eyelids over her golden irises and pupil slits. This woman, this… thing… I found it somehow more sickening than I had before. How is that possible?

Again, she takes forever to pull out a name, and when she does, it is not one I want to hear.

"Leonisss Belhooolme!"

A seventeen-year-old local merchant, Leonis is trouble. He's always in fights because he's always winning. His hair is jet-black, and his eyes are almost black, cold and devoid of any warmth. He took a trip with his father around Panem a several years, almost a decade, ago. Average height, average weight, but deceivingly strong, I'd seen him best guys twice his size at school. What worried me was the fact that he'd trained with weapons before. I knew how to use an axe since I chopped firewood during winter, and I knew how to use a fishing spear, which, in essence, is only smaller than a regular spear, but Leonis was on a different level. He could use a gun. He could use a sword. Everyone in the District knew that.

But somehow, it didn't surprise me that he was here. He took a dozen tesseraes every year because he wanted to be in the Hunger Games – was that even allowed? Surely, he was crazy, or at least a psychopath. If he wasn't, then it was his father. That man, Hector Belholme, was rotten to the core. He charge too much for even the most poor quality oil and grain, and you could see the scars from where he'd abused Leonis. Hector surely paid of the peacekeepers to keep them from taking Leonis to a community home. Even that would have been better for him.

When he got up here, he refused to look at me or Catwoman, fixing his gaze somewhere far of in the distance, as if he could see something that no one else could.

"Well we have our Triubtesss for Dissstrict 4! Elena and Leonisss!"

Catwoman gestures for us to shake hands, but I'm reluctant to initiate the gesture. Leonis holds out a hand with an encouraging smile, and I grasp it with a clammy hand. "Hello Elena," he says warmly, "I wholeheartedly look forward to killing you."

"May the oddsss be ever in your favour!"

The odds are certainly not in my favour.

Leonis

I can't help but smile wider as the girl before me pales. Her hand, which was already damp, starts to sweat anew, and her watery eyes glisten with fear. This is someone who thinks the games start when you enter the arena. Poor little Elena, the games have already started.

On the train, I review the day's tributes, just to see what competition I have – if any. There's no-one really notable. The careers are typical – big, fast but exceedingly stupid, or at least stupid looking. There's one boy, Valie Brech, who's blind. Lucky him. He'll be an easy target.

But there's someone from District 8. I recognise the girl who gets up on the stage. She looks so afraid. Who is that? She's vaguely familiar. The face is from some memory from long ago, changed by time. Who is it? Her name is Lyre Evans. Who is that to me? Who, who, who?

I don't remember who she is, but she's someone. She's Lyre Evans, the girl with the familiar face. Something stirs in my chest. Is that… regret? Sadness? Why? She's just another Tribute, someone I have to get rid of, someone I have to kill. Then why is it that I feel like this is… wrong, like this is cruel, like the Hunger Games are something to be reviled? It's just a game. It's fun. Games are fun. Then why do I suddenly not want to play? Just because of this girl.

I decide I don't like this Lyre. What right does she have to come between me and my games? I've been looking forward to these games for so long. Practicing, breaking myself and then rebuilding myself, getting used to pain, inflicting pain. I've trained so hard. I'm going to play my game. I'm going to win. This Lyre girl made me doubt myself. I won't let her do that to me again. I'll kill her, get rid of her, so I don't feel this strange doubt and regret.

Well, should I do a couple of more introductions or get right to the training? Let me know in your review.