Hope and Nightmares - A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The knife whizzes through the air, striking the dead center of the target with a satisfying thud.

I'm in an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of District 1. It used to be a gemstone cutting factory, but it went out of business years ago.

Some of the jewelry molding machines are still shoved up into corners, and the boarded up windows still spill sunlight in broken rays across the cement floor.

I had spray-painted a dozen white targets the size of dinner plates across the factory's main wood-paneled wall, which I use as targets for throwing knives.

I go across the wall, plucking knives out of the wood and running my hand along the splintered surface. It's pockmarked with hundreds of small centimeter-tall trenches left from four years' worth of knife tips.

My daggers aren't custom-crafted or platinum hilted like the ones belonging to other kids in District 1. They're my kitchen knives - snatched years ago from my family's steak knife display rack.

Four years ago at my first reaping, I had suffered two weeks worth of nightmares until the day that the tributes were selected. And it wasn't my name that was drawn - it was my sister's.

And ever since the day, two weeks or so into the game, when Scarlet's neck was snapped at a feast, I trained every summer, every afternoon, every extra moment I could spare in this warehouse. I train - so every reaping it would be less scary knowing I have something, anything up my sleeve. And it let me sleep at night.

I'm not the only one who trained here though.

Some of the other kids who attended the "Survival Skills" academy (aka Hunger Games training school) farther in town trained out here on the weekends. They sometimes left the occasional spear or bow and arrow behind, so I got a few practice shots with those during the week. But I've discovered I'm a spectacular failure at both. The "Careers" are pretty much lethal. I won't even go up against one of them in a thumb-wrestling match.

That's why I'm panicking, as I did every reaping day. I know my stress was pointless - the chance of my name being drawn is one in thousands. And you can usually count on a volunteer every once in a while. Being selected for the reaping is a great honor in District 1.

But the gnawing fear never goes away. I just push the sense of dread to the back of my mind and make room for other thoughts. I stash the knives under the same jewelry mold that they're always under and make my way home, thinking about the reaping.

I stare in the mirror, gnawing nervously on the inside of my cheek. I've finally grown into one of my mother's old reaping gowns. It's simple and white, falling just above my knees with a lace hem.

"Hey." My oldest, and now only sister, Crimson walks in. She and her twin, Rusty, are both eighteen, so this will be their last reaping. My other brother, Brick, is ten and still hasn't experienced his first.

I offer Crimson a small smile. She never played with me and Scarlet as kids - she always stuck with her own friends. We've grown closer over time, though, and even though it's been a full three years, she's still warming up to acting like a sister.

Her blond hair falls in a carefully crafted braid over her shoulder, perfectly accenting her profile and bringing out her less noticeable features. Even without all of her cosmetics and obsession with beauty, Crimson is a gorgeous girl. She gathers my waist-length golden hair in her hands, and begins to carefully but speedily style it. In no less than fifteen minutes, the result is an intricate halo of blond braids.

"Thank you," I say. She says nothing, just shoots me a smile in the mirror and walks out.

On the way to the city square, I suck in deep breaths. In, out. In, out. A familiar squeeze of the shoulder brings me back to the real world. "You okay, sis?" comes Rusty's smooth voice.