Daughter of The Mockingjay

CH 1

As I sat in the forest of my home in District 12, for I have lived here 15 years of my life, all my life that is. I looked at my mother for she had beautiful gray eyes. Seam eyes. I have my Fathers' eyes. Bright piercing blue. My brother has my mothers eyes, but I have her hair. Brown. Wavy. Easy to put into a braid, as it is usually worn. For today is Sunday and today is mother-daughter hunting day, my favorite day of the week. Usually we wake up early go hunting all day until lunchtime when we go home and eat with my father and my little brother, Darius. 

As i picked up my arrow from taking a break I spotted something. A cluster of rabbits. My mother smiled and gave me a quick wink. Which meant that this was it. That this was haul for Sunday hunting. So we ran with quiet hunters feet which my mother had taught me to do. She told me that father could never do this, that he could never keep quiet. So he would just collect plants and berries. I had always wondered about my parent's past. They were in the Hunger Games. My mother was the Mockingjay. The leader of rebellion.

I had quickly snapped back into what I was doing when my mother had hit at least five rabbits in one hit. I knew it was my turn. So I quickly shot four rabbits with one hit as she had taught me two years ago herself. We had hauled in ten rabbits when my mother said," Well Mair, good job today sweetie."

Mair was my nickname for as long as I could remember. It stands for the flower Marigold. My father came up with the name. Since he loved the color of sunset/orange he though Marigold would sound pretty.

 We walked through the woods back to our home in The Victor Village. We walked through the door and I smiled becuase well it was a happy scene. My father was baking bread and Darius was helping him. They were having one of ther usual three hour conversations about who knows what. My brother Darius, who is two years younger than I am. Even though he is only twelve, he is so wise beyond his age. It reminded me of how the way my mother described father. I could see how much they loved each other, but the way it looked. It looked different than many other relationships I saw between husband and wife. Not that I had seen a lot. But the way they looked at each other. It looked as if they were best friends also trying to protect each other from dangers that could come any way. I know this is a affect of being in the Hunger Games. Always feeling like you have to protect each other. No matter what.

I loved my life. I wanted nothing to change. But just from looking at my past with my family. Danger can stalk its way back in.