Alex Rider, District 1
I woke up screaming. That is, at the dream. Again. So I'm not the brightest, but it still haunts me. My mom, Hail, was wading through clear, turqouise water. Then she starts to drown. The water quickly envelopes her silvery black hair, and she's screaming for my help. I can't get to her in time, and the water runs red with her blood. My Mom's blood. Then, in a quick flash of light, I wake. It's terrible. But no matter. I sit up and run a hand through my short black hair. Our housekeeper, Maridian walks in and looks concerned.
"Are you okay, Mr. Rider? Do I need to get your mother?" she asks with her Spanish accent. I shake my head. She leaves, and I shut the deep cherry mahogany door and dress for the Reaping. Sturdy black jeans and a T-shirt should do okay. I walk into our fully-stocked kitchen. My mother, Hail, is looking at me with her steely blue eyes. My Dad is sitting next to her, reading the dreary newspaper of our District. As if there was anything to tell. His own brown eyes that I inherited are the same deep cherry as my bedroom door. They're glaring at me icily.
"So...the Reaping." my Father says casually. My mother fiddles with her diamond-encrusted wedding ring nervously.
"Don't volunteer, okay? Your friend Gigi mentioned that you thought about it." my mother added quickly, her voice catching a little. I stepped back, surprised. Gigi was the popular girl at school, with her sunstreaked red hair and well-defined freckles. Why would she...? Nevermind. I simply don't want to know. I shook my head. My parents get up from their chairs and my mom grabs her purse.
"Well. It's about time to head downtown." she said. She heads towards to stables, where we keep our carriage horses, Tay and Lot. My Dad hitches them up once a year, just for the Reaping. I mean, we could always take our car, but my mom insists on 'keeping the tradition.' I rest myself in the nooks of the leather seats of our carriage. We reach the downtown square soon, and I climb out of the carriage. Gigi smirks at me as I head towards the 18-year-old section. Our escort, Polly Rickeshay, takes the stand, her hair in little brown corkscrews.
"And for this year's tributes...after re-examining the evidence, we've come to a decision. Bree Ryin is going to be the female tribute." she said cheerily. A girl from the 15-year-old section walks up. Her golden-brown hair glints in the sunshine. Surprisingly, no one volunteers. The next contestant is announced.
"And for the male tribute...Etts McMount!" she says, clapping. Before I register what I'm doing, I'm up on the stage. I just volunteered. My mother is shedding tears, but my Dad is no where to be found. Surprise, surprise. The girl and I are ushered to a train cart, as the railroad crosses through the square. She looks up at me, and her bright green eyes bore into me.
"You volunteered. Why?" she asks plainly. The answer finds its way out of my mouth before it can be stopped.
"I wanted to get away. Everyone thinks that I'm stupid." I answer. She nods, her head dropping back into her lap. She mumbles what sounds like a protest at being here. I know the feeling.
Apology for switching tenses on you guys.