Isolated Together | Panem's Past Hunger Games

Chapter 1

Serena

I am walking through the field of wheat beside my best friends. The six of us laugh and smile as we make our way to the harvest area, where soldiers adorning gleaming white armor and reflective face shields await our arrival. As we pass them, I hear Jess humming a broken melody to herself. The peacekeepers bristle and one shoves their rifle into Jess' abdomen. She crumbles to the floor, her breath coming in as short, desperate gasps.

"I'm sick of hearing you little pests singing all of the time! Just shut your mouth and get. To. Work," the peacekeeper orders. His voice seems to struggle making its way out of his throat. It sounds scratchy and hollow. Devoid of any emotion. He raises his heavily gloved fist and shifts his weight.

I scream, "No!" and have just enough time to shove Jess out of the way before he strikes her.

His rigid fist connects with my shoulder instead.

I stumble but manage to stay standing. I try to meet his gaze despite his eyes being obscured by the helmet. He lifts his rifle and my ears prickle at the almost inaudible click of the safety switch turning. Sheena's terrified gaze meets mine the second before I hear the gunshot shatter the silence of the orchard.

My lungs gasp for air. It was a dream, just a dream. It didn't actually happen. Relax. Shoving my glasses onto my face, I run to the window and swing it open. My eyes close as I inhale the sweet, misty morning air. I try to shake away the burning image of Jess crumpled on the floor from my mind. I run my hands through my hair, still startled when my fingers are exposed just below my chin. I cut my hair two days ago when they punished a twelve-year-old for braiding her hair in the middle of harvesting. The peacekeepers just shaved all of it off and told her to get back to working.

To distract myself, I focus on getting ready for today. The reaping. Sheena, one of my friends, told me yesterday that something different would happen this year, it being the 25th anniversary of the Hunger Games. It could just be a rumor, but the suggestion that this year's games could be even more horrific then they always are sends a malicious shiver down my spine.

I swallow and meet my reflection's cold stare. I have forced myself to wear a long-sleeved dress that used to be bright but now settles for a pale blue. It's slightly frayed hemline sits just above my knees and has been torn in a few places, but it is presentable enough. The dress is accompanied by a brown leather belt that my grandmother bestowed upon me a mere three days before she died last spring. To add some element of comfort to the drab assortment of clothing, I put on some worn-out brown jeans underneath the dress and shove my feet into my only pair of shoes – a pair battered, black boots which rise no higher than my ankle.

I check my brother, Kai's bed only to find scattered pillows and blankets. No eleven-year-old. He must have left with Dad and gone to the triangle early. Well, that suits me just fine. I was planning to go with my friends anyway. Have some fun, make the most of the day off.

I jog over to Reyna's house and squint through the few rays of sunlight that have broken through the dense grey clouds above. As soon as I clear the driveway Reyna's door creaks open and she strides out, the sunlight dancing across her deep almond skin.

Reyna's dark eyes narrow as she stares at my outfit. I laugh.

"Hey, it's not like I have any other options. I'm not Jess," I say. Reyna returns my smile and tightens her dark brown ponytail, of which the ends curl and spread across the back of her neck. She's wearing a dark purple blouse and black trousers. My mind flicks back to a week ago, when she was telling me how she would dye her hair purple if she lived in the Capitol.