Fighter | The Hunger Games

Chapter One

By the time I awoke from my dreamless sleep, the sun was already filtering through my window. I snuck a glance at the analog clock perched beside my bed. 7:27am. Mother was going to kill me. I mentally cursed myself as I shrugged on a pair of cargo pants and a loose fitting sweater, only to be interrupted by a knock on my door. "I'll be there in a minute mother! I overslept" I spoke in a rushed tone, careful to avoid waking my sister Faith who was sleeping soundly in her own bed. 

The door creaked open slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the outline of my father's face. "It's me. Your mother is making breakfast. I thought you could join me today" he said through the gap in the door. A smile spread across my lips as I nodded enthusiastically, "of course! I'll be out soon." Maybe today would be better than I initially thought. I pulled a pair of hiking boots from under my bed and threw my hair into a messy ponytail, ready to conquer the world.

Walking down the hallway of our one-story house I was careful not to make too much noise. It was still early. True to my father's words, my mother was in the kitchen scrambling eggs and burning toast. "Good morning Avery" she greeted at the sound of my footsteps, "there's breakfast on the table." That was an odd reaction. I had been expecting the typical scolding for waking up past 7:00am. It must be because it's the day before the reaping; everyone behaves differently around this time of year.

That is also why my father is letting me join him in the forest today. A special occasion. The primary industry in District Seven is lumber. My father is a proud lumberjack, while my mother crafts beautiful furniture. I work alongside my mother, as do many daughters, but working with my father is always an adventure. Sometimes I think it bothers my mother that I prefer to chop down trees.

"Ready kiddo?" My father questioned as he grabbed his backpack. "We should get out there early." I shoved a few more bites down my throat and discretely discarded my burnt toast in the waste bin. Mother was definitely on edge this morning, she rarely burned toast. "Please have her back by lunchtime Kenny and Avery don't overwork yourself- we need to finish that piece for Mrs. Hobbs" my mother hollered from her place in the kitchen. I mumbled my affirmation as I left through the front door, content to escape the house for some fresh air.

Our house was average. Most of the houses aligning the street were. On the outside they stood one-story tall with a front porch, small backyard, and stone chimney. The inside was complete with two bedrooms, a bathroom, living room, kitchen, and workspace. I appreciated our little home. Many of my school friends were not as fortunate, squeezing large families into one bedroom cabins. 

The trek to the forest was rather scenic. We followed the gravel road around half a mile or so to the woods surrounding our section of the district. Although it was barely 8:00am there was already a flurry of activity. People were rushing to finish their work in order to spare a few extra hours to spend with their family before tomorrow's reaping.

"It's a nice day isn't it?" My father admired the sky as we finally infiltrated the forest. I couldn't help but agree with him. The sky was clear and the sun was already climbing in the sky; I felt a strange sense of peace amongst the trees. A cool breeze fluttered through the leaves  and the rustling sounded like the trees were speaking to us.

"What do you think the trees are saying?" I asked jokingly. It was a running line between my father and I. "I think they're saying it's time to get to work!" My father chuckled. "Why don't you get to work on this little guy here." He motioned to a fallen tree before us. I was quite efficient in my cutting. It was more of an art to me; a rhythm that had to be mastered. My father was always encouraging towards me. "You know Avery you're really not bad. You're quick, that's what makes you efficient. It almost compensates for your small frame." My father commented.