The Great War.

I

"The Great War."

I toss and turn in bed trying to fall asleep, but I realize that it will be impossible; A suffocating sensation tightens my throat, sweat causing the blankets to cling to my skin. The growing discomfort signals that sleep remains elusive; my eyes are burning and I feel sick. Taking off the multiple blankets that are on top of me, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the clock that hangs on the scarlet wall. It's six in the morning.

Seventy-four years later, the memory of a failed revolution still lingers in Panem, the place I call home. I stretch lazily before getting out of bed, contemplating the day ahead, hoping that it ends soon.

In the aftermath of the devastating war that nearly tore our country apart, the Capitol, our revered government, birthed an annual spectacle—the Hunger Games. This enthralling competition selects two young individuals, a male and a female, from each district, aged between twelve and eighteen, to fight to the death in a live transmitted event.

To be chosen or to volunteer for the Hunger Games isn't just a mere chance; it's an esteemed obligation to elevate the honor of one's district. But it's not just about glory; it's about proving you can handle whatever the Games throw at you because you're strong, because your people are strong.

Securing victory in the Games demands a mix of wit, physical prowess, and unwavering objectivity. While there's no specific age recommendation for volunteering as a tribute, I can't shake the feeling that I'm not quite ready, regardless of the tempting rewards.

Despite the demanding nature of the training routine, my proficiency with knives provides an opportunity for success if I decide to participate in the Games. Nevertheless, my trainers consistently highlight my susceptibility get distracted, which poses a significant risk in the arena, prompting me to focus on strengthening my mental resilience.

I finally get out of bed, and the cold floor under my feet makes me shiver. As I stand up, I flick on the lights in my room, revealing its cozy confines—a small space adorned with scarlet walls, a window overlooking the main street, and white curtains cascading to the parquet floor. In one corner rests my bed, dressed in vibrant red sheets, while a brown wardrobe and a desk of the same color, showcasing an array of knives, complete the modest furnishings.

I'm from District 2, one of the wealthiest districts in Panem. My house is in a residential area, situated between the factory area (where weapons are manufactured) and the military academy.

My parents hold esteemed positions as high-ranking security officials in the Capitol. While we aren't particularly close, I find myself indifferent to it. The city hall oversees Hunger Games training, but my parents cover the costs of my specialized preparation, weapons, and all the luxuries I have. I guess that it compensates for their absence. I wasn't close to my brothers either due to a significant age gap. Unfortunately, they both participated in the Games and met their end there.

Maximus, who was thirteen years older than me, entered the Games a few months after celebrating his seventeenth birthday. Fueled by unwavering confidence in his abilities, he believed no one could beat him. Unfortunately, his journey in the arena was cut short to a mere week, as he was killed by an untrained tribute from District Ten.

The following year brought a glimmer of triumph to our district when Enobaria, a formidable and audacious girl, won the Games. Her viciousness brought elation and pride to our people, sparking motivation and a thirst for glory among the young trainees. Or so I've heard, though I was merely five years old at the time.

My other brother, Anmon, volunteered for the Games when he turned seventeen the following year. Sadly, his fate mirrored Maximus's, as he died at the hands of a tribute from a poor district. This became a source of embarrassment for our family.