Broken - A Hunger Games Story

Chapter One - Willow

My old axe lodges itself into the ancient tree before me, the bark crunching beneath its power. Sap trickles delicately down the trunk. I let it drop onto my finger and bring it towards my nostrils. The sweet, syrupy smell always reminds me of my favourite place; the forests of district seven.

Snow begins to lay on the ground, covering the forest in a pure white blanket. Perfect white. Capitol teeth white, peacekeeper white.

President Castro white.

His family have been in the presidency for years. He took over from his cousin, Coriolanus Snow. I start to remember what tomorrow is. The most dreaded day of the year. The day when two children from each district are shipped off to an arena to be massacred for the Capitol's own sick entertainment. I scowl inwardly, but then again I was never very good at hiding my emotions. Some say that I'm anti-social, but I've just never been very good at the whole making friends thing either.

From the corner of my eye, I see a startling blood red rose, thorns running up its stalk. I go to pick it up and blood drops to the snow, spreading the dirty red colour. I pull the small sharp thorns from my fingers.

I stash away the rose in my leather satchel, sling my axe over my back and begin the journey home. My feet leave marks in the, now thick, snow. The trees are tall in this part of the woods. Towering pine trees laden with icy snow. Not a blanket but a chilly coat. I see smoke and shortly arrive in one of the richer parts of District Seven. Even these houses are small, bare and look abandoned. The only sign of life is the weak smoke leeching from the chimneys and eventually being taken by the sky.

District Seven is one of the coldest districts, or so we're told at school. We need the most protection in this season. We're mid-way through February. The reaping is tomorrow. The reaping where a capitol escort will take one male and one female tribute to the capitol and eventually to an arena in which they are forced to fight to the death with twenty two other tributes form the other eleven districts. And it supposedly all works.

The capitol the heart. And us districts... the body. We pump the blood to them. Without us, the Capitol would be lost.

The houses slowly deteriorate which signals I am reaching my part of the district. We call it the Graveyard. Everyone here is on deaths door.

I lodge my axe into a tree stump and make my way inside the place I call home. I find my mother asleep as usual in her bedroom and make a concoction from pine needles that I collected earlier. I slowly sip it and sweeten it with some pine sap. I walk out onto the front porch, the floorboards creaking with my every step. Judging by the sun, it's somewhere in the afternoon. I sit down in the old rocking chair.

I sip the drink slowly and rock... I somehow drift off to sleep.

I awake to a rough sandpaper feeling on my hand. My dog, Juniper, licks my palm. She is scrawny but definitely one of the most well-fed dogs of district seven.

I feed Juniper some leftovers from last night's dinner and then decide to make the visit that I make every week. I grab my old satchel once more and begin the journey towards District Seven's cemetery.

Here in Seven, we don't really have funerals as such. More of a discreet gathering of the beloved's closest friends and family.

That's exactly what happened at Jason's funeral.

He was my Brother. When he was thirteen and I was only seven he walked off into the woods and was never seen again. No body. Nothing.

We shared the same chesnut hair and hazel eyes, he always looked out for me. And then he had to die and ruin everything. Leave me with our terminally ill Mother.

And then there was my Father. He, like everyone else I used to care about, left me soon after Jason died. He ran off with some young girl, leaving Mother heartbroken and depressed.

But she was all I had, and nothing could tear her away from me.

I arrive at the Graveyard and slowly approach his grave among the coutless others. All just forgotten. I wipe the thin layer of snow off with my sleeve and read his epitaph.

Jason Thorne.

Beloved Brother and Son.

Never Forgotten.

Lies. Mother barely speaks of him anymore, the memory of him seems to haunt her. His name is never uttered in our house.

I slowly take out the red rose and delicately place it on his tombstone. A tear cascades down my cheek and I wipe it away quickly. I spot my friend, Diana, mourning by her father's grave. He was killed in the forest by a fallen tree around three years ago.

I walk over to her and squeeze her tight as she sobs into my jacket. After a moment she raises her head and says something peculiar, "I...I... can't stand this anymore." She stutters out.

"What do you mean?" I ask back curioulsy.

"Being terrified every year. I mean the reaping. I have three more years. Three more chances to take part in those.... barbaric games!" Her expression has changed from sorrow to anger as she spits out this sentence.

"I agree... but look... what can we do about it? Fight!" As these words come from my mouth I feel a feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I don't know what it means.

"Yeah. I suppose it is ridiculous. I'll meet you in the square tomorrow okay? I need somebody's hand to hold onto."

"Sure," I say "I'll be there. I'll always be there. Anyway, I need to go check on mother. I'll see you tomorrow." I tell her. She presses my hand against her heart tightly and then peacefully releases.

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I walk home slowly thinking over the conversation with Diana. The words what can we do about it? Fight! swirl around my mind. We couldn't possibly fight. Who in their right minds would fight? Nobody.

I reach home as the sun is setting and the snow has stopped falling. I push open the door and light the fire. My mother hobbles from the bedroom and I stand and guide her onto the old living chair. She relaxes but makes no attempt to make converstaion. Neither do I.

I watch the fire. The flames slowly engulfing the wood piece by piece unti the whole living room is only lit by the ferocious flames. The dark makes me nervous. On edge. My eyes drift up to the top of the mantle piece where a small black and white picture of Jason leans against the wall. He is smiling. He is sitting on a swing that we built years ago in a part of the forest few venture to. It was wonderful.

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I help mother back to bed and place a kiss upon her forehead. She wishes me luck for tomorrow and I wander through to my room not bothering to make the bed and fall into a deep, rich, sleep... filled with nightmares.

I am in the arena. The cornucopia and a field of wheat. The timer is almost done and I begin to sprint towards the golden horn, supplies and weapons stacked up in it's mouth. I dive out and grab an axe and throw it at a tribute on my right hand side. It impales her between her eyes. It's Diana.

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I wake in a puddle of a warm, sticky substance that reminds me of blood and a shrill scream escapes my mouth. I find that I'm lying in my own sweat as the sun begins to filter through the window. Today is the day.