The Girl with the Axe

Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Hunger Games or the world Suzanne Collins thought up when she made the series. Johanna Mason is not my character, only her actions in this story are. Other characters such as tributes, escorts, etc. do belong to me, however.

I ease open the creaky front door in the morning, the screen clanging closed behind me. It's Reaping Day today, the day when the Capitol picks two teenagers to fight to the death. We have four living victors here, which would be considered a lot in some districts and a little in others. Districts 1, 2, and 4 have dozens while District 12 only has one. 

I hate this day, though, and I need to clear my mind. I'm still in my pajamas: pale green cotton t-shirt and red and black checkered fleece pants. I don't bother putting on shoes, I like walking barefoot. Besides, I feel like it would ruin my tranquility as I walk through the forests. 

These trees aren't old enough to be cut down yet, but they're getting there. The dark green leaves of summer cover my head, throwing early morning sunlight through holes in the branches. We cut down trees like maniacs here, supplying for the Capitol, yet we always plan ahead and seem to never run out. As soon as we cut down every other tree, the others are finally old enough. We plant them constantly, using special Capitol fertilizer so they grow faster and we can chop them down quicker. It's murder at its finest, something the Capitol seems to love considering they send 23 kids to their deaths each year.

I'm 15 and my name's in there 9 times this year, providing tesserae for me and my parents, two years in a row plus the additional 3 the Capitol tosses in there. I didn't have to get tesserae, a meager amount of grain to help with food portions, my first year since my brother got it, but then he turned 19 my second year so I was forced to get it. He said he didn't want it, though, so I didn't get it for him. We don't need it to survive, we get 3 meals a day and enough money each month to live, but it helps. District 7 is middle ground, so we're not filthy rich or dirt poor. 

My mind gets lost in the complex government that is the districts and I suddenly want to kill the Capitol. I always have, really, ever since I was old enough to realize what they did every year. And then, when I was 10, my cousin was sent in. He died and from then on I have hated the Capitol beyond compare.

If I could strangle Snow and kill him with my bare hands clasped around his pale neck, I certainly would. In a heartbeat I would swing my axe at those Gamemakers. Heck, I even feel bad for the rich kids who have been training all their lives from Districts 1, 2, and 4. No one deserves to die like that: at the hands of another 12-18 year old. It's torture. 

Without even realizing it, I have been punching at a tree's rough bark and the sun slips over the horizon. My hands are bruised and my knuckles are bright red, the only sign of blood on the back of my right hand. I rub it off on my t-shirt and run back to my house. So much for my peaceful walk. Instead of emptying my mind, I just made myself incredibly angry and ended up with bruised hands. 

My mother is already making breakfast when I come in and she smiles at me as I walk through the kitchen and reach the stairs. My family is still intact, which I take for granted considering what the Capitol is capable of. My brother and father work in the lumberyard, except since today's Reaping Day, they get a day off. My brother, Lindell, still lives with us, although he told me the other day he was going to propose to his girlfriend, Daphne. It's good to know at least someone is happy in this messed up world we live in.

"Go get dressed, it's almost time." My mother has a sadness in her eyes, and behind that I can see anger too. Her sister’s son, her nephew, cruelly snatched away from her. 

I nod and walk upstairs, trying to clear the Capitol from my head. Lindell passes me on his way down the stairs, patting my shoulder.

"Going to go get prettied-up for the Reaping?" He smirks.

"Shut up," I say, not without affection.

I go upstairs and find a dark green dress on my bedspread. It's plain with a fringe of lace near the shoulders, although I could care less about how pretty I look. I take the dress into the bathroom with me and turn on the water in the bathtub. It's warm and it feels good on my torn-up hands as I lather soap onto my body. Once I dry myself, I slip on the dress and put on black flats, tying my hair up into a messy brown bun. 

It’s 20 minutes until the reaping when I get downstairs and everyone turns to me, fear and worry on their faces. I know what they’re thinking, they’ve thought it ever since my brother turned 12. It’s that I’m going to get reaped and die. Except, even if I do get picked, I’m not going to die. I’m going to go in and win like my cousin never did. Even if it means killing 23 other people.

“Well, we’d better get going.” My father tears his eyes away from me as if I’m already gone, already dead. He’s a big man from years of working in the woods, with huge arm muscles from chopping down trees. It’s strange to see a guy built like him so emotional.

We go out of the house and walk to the town square, which  takes about 15 minutes. We live close to town, which is saying a lot in District 7. Our district is huge, Districts 10 and 11 are the only ones that surpass its size. It takes hours to get to the town square on foot for some people who live far out, so they have to drive. I’ve been in a car a few times, when I go with my father to the grown forests, where the lumberyard is. The forest by my house won’t be used for years, but it will eventually and we'll have to move. That's the way District 7 is, I guess. It's always been like that.