73rd Hunger Games

Chapter 1

District 4. Commonly referred as the fishing, netting, and weaving district.

It's also my home. I'm Hazel Seawater. Yes, before you ask, my name is obvious, I am aware of that. It's because I was never told my last name. I was abandoned at birth with only a tag saying 'My name is Hazel. Please look after me'. Being dumped at the mayors house was quite the life.

However, once I was old enough to go to school, they abandoned me yet again. Leaving me with a shack as a home, one hundred metres away from the beach. At the previous reaping, I just made up my last name. On the spot. I shivered as I remembered the last years terrifying minutes and then relief of not being asked to kill myself for the capitols amusement...             

"Age", The posh lady didn't even look up to meet my terrified gaze.

"14", well at least I wasn't lying, yet.

"Name" she said it as if it wasn't even a question.

As I started to freak I said "Hazel... Um... Seawater". Yea, I know, real creative.

"Hand". I awkwardly reached my hand half way between us. Immediately she grabbed my hand as if she was a baby and I was holding her first bottle for the day. She they pricked my finger and placed it in a book and scanned it with and odd contraption. I've never been good with human blood. Fish and other creatures I could do, but human? No-way! I started to gag and I swear I went pale as she said 'next'.           

My week now consists of waking up early, fishing and weaving and then selling it to the other villagers. After that I dragged my already tired body to school. Saturday was an excuse to sleep in an extra hour and spend the entire day weaving and fishing. However on Sundays, like today, I would get up real early (like before the sun was rising on the water early) and fish and weave until the village markets started.

The sun was just rising when I heard a familiar voice. "Are you weaving again? The whole district must have one of your crazy hats or homemade bowls. Seriously, you need to find a new hobby". 

I laughed at his inability to understand that I was clased as poor and he was classed as rich. "Dear Henry James Weather-Knot," his last name always made me laugh. But he was never allowed to laugh at mine. "I'm not quite sure whether that is an insult or Knot." We both laughed as he sat down on the freshly made mat that I only just finished weaving.

He gave me a smile that made my heart skip a beat and jump to a different rhythm. "Let's just leave it to a mystery then, shall we?" he said, careful to aviod saying my full name an being stabbed by my hook.

We sat and talked for hours about the Hunger Games, the reaping and the two kids that we might never see agian as we watched the sun come up over the water. When it was time to bring in the nets and pack up, he stood up fast so that he could be a gentleman. Extending his hand so that he can help me up. It was unsual in this time, day and age but, I took it kidly with a smile.

As I stood up I got a good look into his stormy grey eyes. His permenantly bleached hair from the water and his bulky body. It almost made his look 20, but instead he was bearly 16. His body shape and personality never really fitted together but I find it funny that without his dads status, he might not be so highly regarded. His dad was the mayor and yas I did grow up with him.

But we are technically not related.