Behind Those Violet Eyes ▸ Hunger Games

Prologue

Prologue

--  

A small girl from District Two skipped into her house, excited to tell her parents about her first day in kindergarten.

She thrust her backpack on the floor and darted over to her mother and father.

"Mommy! Daddy!" she exclaimed, grinning, "Guess what happened today!"

"There are much more important things in life than what happened at school, Alia," her father snapped.

The mother gave him a harsh look; then turned to her daughter and continued, "Sweetie, we're pulling you out of school."

Alia's blue-grey eyes grew wide with sadness. "But it's only been my first day!" she cried.

"I know... but you're going to be spending your time training for the Hunger Games, so that when you're sixteen, you can volunteer yourself and win."

"But... what if I get chosen before then...?"

Her father smirked and pulled out his wallet. "You'll find that we can be very... persuasive..."

"You'd bribe the Capitol?"

"Alia, this is District Two, we practically are the Capitol," her father replied, as he handed her a spear even larger than herself.

"Now," he said with the same malicious smirk across his face, "Begin your training..."

Alia gulped and headed outside, dragging the spear behind her, about to enter the rest of her life...

--

-- 

"Cyra!" a woman shouted, "Come inside at once!"

The three-year old girl rushed inside to find her mother sitting on the couch.

"What is it, Mommy?" she asked.

"You know about the Hunger Games, correct?"

Cyra nodded slightly, only remembering gruesome images of children from other Districts killing each other.

"And you know that Districts One, Two, and Four volunteer their tributes most of the time, correct?"

Cyra nodded once more, thinking of the Reaping.

"Well, even though we are from District Four, I want you to know that I would never force you to volunteer for such a terrible thing. I will be praying that from the moment you turn twelve, that your name will not be called at the Reaping."

Cyra remained silent, as she had no clue as to what her mother was talking about. She would never volunteer herself for the Games, so why was her mother even speaking of it?

"I love you, Mommy!" she exclaimed as she hugged her mother.

"I love you, too, Cyra," her mother whispered.

--

--

Another bull's eye, Alia thought as she yanked the fifth spear out of the target.

She was ten now, and had been training for five years, improving each day.

She flinched however, when she felt a tap on the shoulder.

Alia whipped around to see a boy who looked about a year older than her.

"Who are you and what do you think you're doing in my backyard?" she snapped.

"The name's Cato," he said, "And I'm here to train."

"Well, Cato, this is my backyard, and my training area. Therefore, you should go find your own."