Timberline

Chapter 1: The unlucky ones

It was 10:32. I woke in my bed with a start because of my mother's yelling,

"Willow, get up you lazy girl!" I sat up straight and looked round my small grey room, it wasn't much, but it was enough for my needs, my meager possessions and my slowly shrinking wardrobe of clothes.

I was interrupted by another call from my mother,

"Hurry up!" she huffed impatiently from outside my closed door.

"Alright..." I muttered. Suddenly, I remembered something. Today was the day, the day of the dreaded reaping, where an unlucky girl and boy were selected to participate in the games. It would result in great honour and riches for the victor, however weakened and disturbed they had become, and twenty-three bloody, miserable deaths for the defeated. Great.

I sunk back under my covers, hiding myself from the world, hoping everyone would forget about me. I knew this wouldn't work, they would need me in the forests, though I hated cutting down trees. I could axe them down faster than most of the boys and some of the men working in the forests. And if you think about it, who could forget about their star chopper? Not to brag, of course.

Scratching my head, I swung my legs out of bed. I stood up carefully as I couldn't feel my feet. Nor was I awake enough to see them. I hobbled over to my open window and gazed at the row of meadows and fields behind our house, and beyond that, a forest. Not like the other forests in district 7, but an untouched, peaceful one. I longed to prance down it's beautifully nurtured twists and turns of wildlife and hear the swaying trees as the wind darts between the leaves. But of course, this wasn't aloud. It was out of our boundary's.  

I sighed and continued with the everyday routine. I got dressed, slipping my leather jacket over my shoulders. It was given to me for my birthday as one of my only presents and I cherished it. After this, I walked to the door and was about to open it when I heard whispering.

"She'll be fine." A voice said,  it was my older brother, Rye. I remember his soothing voice telling me to stay strong all those years ago when our oldest brother had volunteered for the games, his name was Jackson.

5 years ago, when he was 13, Rye was reaped, and Jackson, at the age of 15, volunteered for him. I was 12, it was my first year and I already was at the risk of losing one of my brothers. We were all horrified, me, mother and Rye, Jackson wasn't though. He reckoned there was only a slim chance he would win, and he was right. When there were 6 tributes left, Jackson was held up against the large golden structure known as the Cornucopia and brutally pieced through the chest by the ignorant district 2 male. I didn't sleep that night.

I shook the thought of Jackson out of my head and pressed my ear to the door.

"But what if she's not? What if she's reaped out there today?" the other voice said, my mother, the one who had been shouting before. Sometimes she could be the caring, peaceful mother I wanted and needed her to be. Other times, she would be screaming at us, blaming us for everything that's happened. That was the mother I couldn't bare.

"Go on, go wake her up," my mother's voice started to crack, "she can't be on her own on a day like today." I heard Rye's footsteps heading towards my door, I panicked, hurrying to act like it was all normal, but I was to late. He swung open the door, which sent me backwards onto the floor. He stared emotionless, then sharply turned away.

"Mother wants to see you." He said, a slight hint of pain in his voice. Maybe he was jealous? Jealous that mother was worrying more about me than him? I ignored the thought. 

"I'm going to get ready." He whispered as he walked up the stairs. The next thing I heard was a loud slam of his door.

Me and mother stood in silence until she broke the stillness,