4 Weeks Earlier
"Parry! PARRY! Come down, now!"
I slowly slide off my bed, reluctant to leave my bedroom, where I have been spending most of my time since my father's head was chopped off at the end of the rebellion 2 weeks ago. He had given his life after five years fighting for a better life, all for nothing. I slouch downstairs, and find myself facing my mother. The dimming light doesn't quite cover the dark circles under her eyes.
"There you are. There's an announcement in the square in about ten minutes, straight from the Capitol itself!"
The Capitol? Despite my mood, I find myself curious. The Capitol severed all attachments with the now 12 districts of Panem after it executed the rebels. Although anything from them was bound to be bad, I find myself wanting to hear it.
10 minutes later, I'm standing in the square, alongside my brothers Griffin and Thorburn. Whispers are running through the crowd. My best friend, Tule sidles up to me.
"My sister says that the Capitol have forgiven us for the rebellion and are going to send us food!" she whispers excitedly. Can this be true? Probably not.
The crowd descends into hush when a woman totters onto the platform. Everything about her screams Capitol. Her hair is dyed a wild green colour and on her cheeks are intricate blue swirls. She taps the microphone twice, as if testing it.
"District 12," she trills. "I have great pleasure in bringing you a message all the way from our good president, Tiberius Snow himself!"
A message from President Snow? I look over at Tule, who is gaping at me, alarm in her eyes. Whatever this message is, it can't be good.
The screen behind the woman bursts into life, to reveal President Snow, sitting in his plush, red chair in his mansion, while the districts of Panem starve.
"Panem, I address you all the way from the Capitol itself. I'm sure none of you have forgotten the horror of the past few years and are relieved it's over and are glad we, the Capitol are letting you live in peace and harmony. However, it is now decreed that each year, the 12 districts of Panem shall offer up each young man and woman for the honour of representing their districts in the annual Hunger Games. They shall be trained in the art of survival and then fight to the death until the last remaining tribute is left standing. That winner shall have eternal glory and the honour of mentoring the next year's tributes from their district." The screen goes blank and we are left in stunned silence.
The Hunger Games? What idiot came up with that? My hate for the Capitol has just doubled. How can they just sit, and watch a reality TV show where children kill each other, as though it's some sort of sport? My heart skips a beat when I realise that I am just 16, meaning I am not safe from these games. Neither is Griffin, at 17, or Thorburn, at 12. I silently pray neither of them, especially Thorburn, is picked.
Meanwhile, two large bowls have been brought on the platform. My heartbeat increases as I realise that they are going to pick the tributes now.
The Capitol woman on the platform smiles at us, as though we're in for a treat. "My name is Sylvie Fairbain and I am delighted to pick the two tributes for the first ever Hunger Games! Ladies first!"
She smiles again, before fishing around in the bowl. My heart is now beating so fast I'm surprised Tule can't hear it. After some more pointless fishing around, her hand closes on some paper. She dramatically removes it from the bowl, before clearing her throat
"Parry Naysmith."
No. My name must have been one in one thousand. How could it have been picked? I feel Tule, Griffin and Thorburn's eyes on me.
Up on the platform, Sylvie calls out "Come on Parry, up you come, so you can see all the smiling faces!"
Putting one foot in front of the other, like someone's doing it for me, I slowly walk up to the platform, mount the steps and take my place beside Sylvie. She smiles at me again.
"Well, hello, Parry and congratulations! Would you like to do the honours of picking your fellow tribute?"
Slowly, I shake my head. Like hell I would. Sylvie shrugs, and dramatically repeats the process of picking a tribute.
"Raff Erwin"
A boy of about 18, who's built like a tank, detaches himself from the crowd and confidently strides up to Sylvie and I. My heart sinks as I realise I have no chance against this guy. He has rock hard muscles that could snap my neck like a twig. Sylvie beams. To be honest, all this smiling was getting on my nerves.
"Well, there we are, ladies and gentleman. I give you the District 12 tributes Parry Naysmith and Raff Erwin!"
To my relief, no one applauds. Why would they. This new thing is sick – making children kill each other.
Sylvie laughed awkwardly. "Well, we're all different. Come on tributes, follow me and remember. May the odds be ever in your favour!"