Johanna Mason- 68th Hunger Games (EDITING- ON HOLD)

Prolouge

   I am Johanna Mason. You may know me for the rebellion against the Capital, or for my friendship with Katniss and Peeta. That I'm from District 7, and my weapon is an axe. I am sometimes bitter, I know that, but I do have loyal friends by my side. You probably know all that, right?

   But you don't know this about me. 

   I am a poor country girl with barely any money, so we chop wood at our little forest farm. I have a sister and an older brother, or better yet, I used to have them. My brother died while chopping down a tree. The axe he was chopping with bounced off the tree, due to lack of sharp end, and hit him in the head. He died immediately, and we didn't have enough money to have a proper funeral for him. We buried him under his favourite apple tree that we get our apples and shade from on our yard. He always used to sit and relax under it. 

   My younger sister. She had cancer inside her. She lived for a short eight years before she died because of a large ammount of cancer in her leg. We did all we could for her as soon as we found it out, but in the end, it was too strong for her. We wasted more money than we could afford. We were in dept to the Capital for about a month before starting to get our own money for the farm, food, clean water and clothing, nessisary things like that. But I suppose all the Districts go through that; we toughened through it, too.

    I missed them dearly for a very long time. I still do, but it hurts less. I missed looking up at my brother, and looking down fondly at my sister. I loved them more than life itself. I was only ten when my sister died, and fifteen when my brother died. But I guess it was better than death in the arena, with a hungry animal over your head as the last thing you see.

   The Hunger Games is a scorn in my town. Everybody hates it. Not one person likes it. Even the older, drunken adults. I remember when my best friend was picked when I was thirteen. She was gone under the hands of a large brute of a boy. That was the year of the poisonous snakes everywhere you stepped. Most of the tributes were gone within the week. But my friend had some sense to live in the trees, where less snakes are. The boy threw a spear and knocked her down. Then, he killed her hand to hand. She didn't have a chance, even if she was strong and a good fighter. He relished killing her.

   I was lucky until I was seventeen. It was almost the 68th Hunger Games. I was too unaware that year that I might be picked. I was sure, now that I was seventeen, that I wouldn't get picked. I was blind to the fact about how many times my brother put our names in.

   I was unprepared for the destruction of my life.