The Ultimate Sacrifice (The 107th Hunger Games) [Fan Fiction]

1. Hype and Apprehension

1. Hype and Apprehension

I landed harshly on my back, tucked-in ponytail decorated in dirt from my own backyard. I propped myself up on my elbows, grimacing at him. How was I so off my game today? I hadn't been for quite some time. I was getting rusty, which I didn't see how I was, being that I had been doing this with him for years ever since I became close to the age of being picked for the Games.

He towered above me, smirking, his arms folded over his chest. I jumped to my feet, shaking the dirt out of my blood-red hair. It's a natural color, not dyed. I got that from my father, my eyes are my mother's: a dazzling ice-blue that looked almost unnatural when in sunlight.

"Come at me," I barked, beckoning him to me.

"You really want to get this right, don't you?" he teased, crouching.

"Well, yeah, I'm rusty. Besides, we've got until Mom comes home."

We circled each other, anticipating the enemy's move. He lunged for me, his head a red blur like mine usually was when I darted anywhere. I ducked away from his grab nicely and kicked him in the back. He staggered but whirled around. He tried to throw a punch at me, but I parried it with my arm. I tried to push him away from me. Seeing as neither of us was giving ground, I kneed him in the gut. He gave a grunt of pain and pushed me to the ground. I rolled on all fours and kicked at his legs.

"Really, you two?" Mom cried. Dad and I both stopped our fighting and looked.

Sure enough, standing at the back door was my mother. I could tell the sun was starting to set because of how the light was on the house.

"I go away to work and this is what you do?" she ranted. I looked away nervously.

"We didn't expect you to be home until later," Dad said.

Mom sometimes worked late hours, being a Winemaker. She used to be a Jeweler, but the job became too boring for her. She enjoyed being a Winemaker, because once in a while, she'd bring home a bottle. Of course, I wasn't allowed to drink it, but it was somehow fascinating to me what flavors she brought home. I had tried to sneak a few sips once, but she caught me. Dad one time let me try a small bit of wine. I had to put soda in it though—wine was an acquired taste. But still, the warmth the wine spread through my veins was unbelievable. It was like I was sitting in front of a fireplace.

"For the record," I said as I stood up and brushed myself off, "I didn't skip school today like you'd think. And Dad didn't sign me out early. I went today like I should have." And school had been agonizingly long that I almost considered faking an illness just so I could get out of it.

"How long have you two been at this?" Mom asked.

"Not long, Blaire," Dad panted. "Not a bad session, Crystal, but you're still rusty."

"I know. I don't get why I am, though," I complained. I tossed my head, beads of sweat flying off my forehead. "I can't remember the last time we took a day off and didn't practice."

"If you're done, I need help with dinner," Mom piped.

"I'll help her, you go shower," Dad told me. I bobbed my head in acknowledgment.

Dad and I both sauntered inside our one-story house here in District 1. Our house was away from the town square, where I would have to be tomorrow for the reaping. What used to be North America was now called Panem, split into thirteen districts, each having a specific specialty.