A Crafted Kind of Games: A Hunger Games Fanfic

I started running, running fast, faster, faster. Had to get away. Get away. Go. Run. Don't look back. Never go back. Suddenly, I was grabbed by a strong hand, and pulled up by my shirt collar. I tried to scream, but no noise came out of my mouth. The shadowy figure holding me unsheathed a sword from his belt, and in one swift motion...

"Haah!" I sat upright in my small bed, the frame creaking by the sudden motion. It was a dream. All a dream. I flopped back down on my pillow, feeling the whole bed shudder.
Breathing deeply, I turned on my side and looked at the small clock on my wooden bedside table. 3:30 A.M. Ugh. Way too early for me to get up today. Of all days, I had to have a nightmare. It only adds to the amount of fear that's been building up for the past few weeks.
My name is Skylar Pather. I have long, blond hair and hazel eyes. I am fifteen years old.
I try to go back to sleep, but find it impossible. Short but definitely not sweet memories from my nightmare keep coming back to me. Giving up, I throw the covers aside and swing my legs out of the bed. I straighten up, and grab hold of the chain that leads to the lone lightbulb on the ceiling. It flickers on, casting a dim yellowish light across my room.
I turn around and fix the wrinkled navy covers on my bed. My rocking chair that used to be my mother's sits in the corner. The last thing in the room is a wooden dresser that looks too big for the slightly cramped room. It may be small, but it's mine.
I slowly move over to the door and push it open, walking to the kitchen side of the big room. The main room is about the size of my bedroom plus another half. One side of the room is the "kitchen". It's not much of a kitchen, though. All it has is a tiny wooden table with three stools, two cabinets, a kerosene oven, and a old, yellowing fridge. It's not much, but it does what it needs too.
I reach into one of the cabinets and pull out a slice of bread. I slide it into the oven, waiting the exact fifteen seconds it takes to heat it up.
When it finishes, I carefully take it out and carry it over to the living room section of the main room. It houses a small sofa that is losing its stuffing, and a wooden coffee table.
After I finish my snack, I grab my coat. I need some fresh air. I slip on my boots and head out into the cold, night air of the district.
Yes, you heard me right. District. I live in District 10 of the seemingly glorious country of Panem. Panem is a country of twelve districts, ruled by a wealthy Capitol. Each district produces something for the Capitol. For example, my district works in the livestock business.
As you can probably tell, we're not the wealthiest district. We're actually one of the poorest, beating only Districts 11 and 12.
As I walk through the district, everything is quiet. Unnaturally quiet for this district. Usually, the air is filled with the sounds of the livestock, and the people in the market place. But not tonight. Today is the day of the Reaping, which means that there is no work today. Might as well sleep in. If you can.
I shudder as I begin to think about the Reaping. Every year, two tributes, one male and one female, between the ages of twelve and eighteen are selected at random to participate in the Hunger Games. The Hunger Games are a punishment for the districts, in reminder that we may never have another uprising. (If you're reading this, I assume you've read the actual book, so no need for backstory)
This will be my third year going into the Reaping. Luckily for me, though, I never have to take tesserae. Not one person in this district does. We get some of the meat that we slaughter for the Capitol, so we never go hungry here.
I scrape the hard gravel road with my shoe as I turn and start to head back towards my house. When I reach the front door, I open it quietly, not wanting to wake my parents. As I shut the door, I hear a noise. I freeze, eyeing the wooden door that leads to my parents small room.
When nothing happens, I tiptoe back to my room, shut the door, and climb into my bed. I pull my covers up to my chest and stare at the ceiling, still feeling a little nauseous about tomorrow.