Black Ice (The Hunger Games--Fanfic)

o n e

From as far back as I can remember, I had always been up before the sun, and today was going to be no exception. Regardless of what day it was.

I knew that I wasn't supposed to be up, but I just needed to have a little bit of time by myself before I had to be around a lot of people, who, just like me, would be fearing their lives.

It's okay. I tell myself, but I know its not. Not today.

Nothing is okay today, just like nothing is right about letting children wander around killing other children for the entertainment of a large city. That's sick.

But then again; that's the capitol. That's what they do. They wont change that. Probably never. I know that I should try to be a little bit optimistic, be faithful...but there is no chance of that.

I walk for a while before coming to the beach. It's not a sandy beach like the ones I've heard of at school, in all the stories. It's a pebbled beach, and the ground is rough beneath my feet. I look out into the water. It's a deep murky green.

It's where my dad leaves to go to every morning of every year. But not today. Today he will be there. With me and my little brother. At the reaping.

I stare out at the sea, though I know that it looks the same as it did yesterday when I stood here along the pebble shores, and the same as it will when I come back here tomorrow.

At 9 o'clock, I walk down to the square, holding my mother's arm, trying to steady her. You have to attend the reaping, unless you are about to drop dead.

My mother is unsteady, but she wanted to come anyway, saying that she wasn't going to die if she went. My father refused to put up an argument in front of Alex, my brother.

The square is miserable as usual. There are some murmurs that can be heard, but not amongst the children.

Most of them daren't talk, they don't want to use up the energy that they will be keeping if they need to smile as they make their way up on the stage after their name has been called out.

I hope it isn't me. I've survived a few years already, but I'm fourteen now, and my luck might not be as strong as it was a few years ago.

I register, then walk off. I hear a few goodbyes from my family, but I do not return them, as I know that it wont be forever. Only for an hour or so.

The girls around me all look sick. Fed up. Exhausted. It's not something that you really want to see. It's not something anyone really wants to see.

At half past nine, the mayor gives a speech and we all wait, watching as Clementine Putnam, district 4's escort, who's long orange hair flies around her face in the wind as she hobbles over to the front of the stage.

Clementine gives a quick greeting to Mags, one of the only surviving tributes from our district who will even look at her, before she potters over to the front and smiles at us all, before tapping on the microphone which she is obliged to give us all a welcoming speech on.

She looks around, and laughs a little-probably due to the fact that no one else seems to look at her or acknowledge her presence. Why would they?

Parents have come to desperately hope that they will not have to watch their kids die over the next few weeks. Children are here to hope that it's the person to their left or to their right whose name gets pulled out of the glass bowl.

But whatever will happen is going to happen, and nothing they do will change that.

I draw in a deep breath and then exhale rather loudly, just as Clementine starts talking.

"Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour!"

She claps her hands excitedly. Just like all the others in the capitol, driven by death and blood thirsty, that's the only way to describe them.

"Wow, it's such a lovely day, isn't it?" Clementine smiles, trying to brighten the mood.

A few of us glance up at the sky. It's not. Not only is the sky overcast and grey, the atmosphere is filled with tension and hate for the capitol.

"Well then," Clementine smiles at all of our dull faces "Let's begin, shall we?" She walks over to the glass bowl "Ladies first? Okay,"

She rubs her hands together, before reaching one of them into the bowl , rustling her hand amongst the paper, and then pulling out a slip. She unfolded the white paper which it was written on.

"Mira Fawcett,"

I hear a name. My name. The girls all around me turn their heads and look in my direction. It's no use me hiding, pretending I'm not here, they've seen me, and so has Clementine, who frowns in my direction.

"Hurry up," She's impatient and irritating.

I know that everyone from all of the districts is watching me, everything I do at this moment. So, I make my actions quick. I draw in a deep breath, and straighten the hem of my blue dress and walk up slowly to the stage. I hear everything in that moment. The moment when my fate becomes clear.

I listen as the gravel crunches beneath my feet, and I'm reassured that the world hasn't gone silent or I haven't gone deaf. I stand up next to Clementine, and she beams down at me.

"Well, this is fun," she smiles at me "now, time for our male tribute."

She walks over to the other glass bowl and pulls out a name. As usual, she lets out a little cough, before smoothing the paper and reading the name.

"Samuel Thorn,"

There's the sound of feet shuffling, as people move out the way to let this boy through. Then I get my first proper look at him. He must be around 15 years old.

He's got dark hair and smiles at everyone as he walks past. He looks pretty arrogant, but then again a lot of the boys are.

He must go to my school, because his last name sounds familiar. He's probably one of the boys that my friends talk about. I bet any of them would die to be in my position. But no, it's me who's going to die. Not them.