The Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games

Chapter 1- ADDIE

I walk through the muddy grass after school, and a dirty soccer ball sails through the air towards me. It bounces a few times, and I stop it with my foot, bag slipping off my shoulder.

I look around, and see a very small boy with light brown hair running over.

"Sorry!" he yells.

"It's fine!" I call back, kicking the soccer ball back over.

He grins as he traps it and then takes a shot into the makeshift goal. It looks like a simple frame of wood with a fishnet nailed over it. He could've gotten the net from anywhere- they just lay about the ground around here. I tend to trip over them when I walk.

I stare at the ground as I walk faster, knowing I have work to do when I get home. Since my family isn't around anymore, I have no one to support me, so I have to work if I want even the most basic necessities. Mentally, I start making a list of the things I have to get done. When I get home, I'll need to do some homework for school, and then I have to get over to the market for all my other side jobs.

On my way home every day, I walk through the market. Venders call out loudly, and it's almost like a scene from Aladdin, an old banned movie that my mother once sneaked home. We had a friend who sold old items on a black market, and movie watching became a tradition in our family. I remember my father was very annoyed with her taking the risk, but, even though the DVD barely worked, I loved it. I feel at home in the chaos.

Once I get back to the ramshackle that I call my home, I duck in from the light sprinkle of rain that's starting to trickle onto my head, shutting the rickety door behind me. It shakes as I close it. I look around the dusty hut for the millionth time, feeling a bit hopeless. I imagine the hut as it used to be- small, but cozy and lit up by the fire. The door opens as my parents come home from the market, and my brother is cooking dinner in the corner. As a small child, I play by the fire, tying knots in the broken rope by my feet, not worrying about things like the Reaping, or the daily toil of providing for myself.

These worries pull me out of my nostalgia, and I unzip my bag violently. I stack my books on the table and then pull out my homework. Three assignments and a poorly-written essay later, I grab my raincoat and head out to the market.

Even in the rain, it's still bustling with people. I chop too many fish heads to count, carry baskets of fresh fish in from the docks with Marina, and weave a few nets for Anthony. To pass the time, I make a game of it to see how fast I can braid and tie the rope. I make a few little mistakes, but never have to unravel anything. Engrossed in my work, I don't notice when Anthony sits down.

He's a kindly older man, with curly white hair and deep brown skin. The contrast has a striking affect and his wife, Agatha, has a habit of calling him a "sheep-man," and sometimes, when she's not in a good mood, "smelly sheep-man," because of his poofy hair.

"How's our net master doin' today?"

Anthony has a way of making my day better with even the slightest interaction.

"As usual. How's the sheep man?"

He chuckles. "As usual."

"Agatha giving you trouble?" I ask.

"Nah, she's out fishin'." Ever since Anthony lost his arm in a fishing accident, Agatha has taken over his job and she does all the fishing to get their quota for the day. This is not uncommon, as many women do hard work on the water. At some point, we all do, even the children. On the days when fishing is slow, we send out more boats. This is one of those days.

A few fishermen come over to Anthony's stall.

"You mind if we steal Addie for a bit?" one asks.