𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬; 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫.

chapter 1 - No You Won't

Will you?

The thought fogs my mind up until i'm halfway through town, the faces of crying children bringing me out of my selfishness. These children don't look old enough to be here. To have their names in a bowl that will determine their fate. To be killed for sport. For entertainment. They barely look old enough to leave their homes by themselves, and yet here they are, signing in for their first of maybe six reaping ceremonies in their life time. Maybe six. One of those twelve year old children could be on their way to be slaughtered in one hour. I swallow the bile that threatens to spill out of my mouth at the idea. As you get closer to the Justice building , the older the children get. Twelve year old's , first years, at the back , and the eighteen year old's at the front. The potential careers.

Unlike District One and Two , who train their tributes from birth how to be skilled killers, we have the option to train in Four. Many do train , if not to be a skilled killer but to have at least a chance of winning the games under their belts.These potential career tributes have trained since they were twelve years old in just about any type of combat you can imagine , their size is enough to intimidate. Since we have an advantage of having sea water near by , a lot of the training starts with teaching nervous children how to swim confidently. There was one year the games was held in an arena of only water and small islands the size of a bathroom. District Four tributes are notorious for winning when water is a major component in the games.

There are specially trained adults , mainly Victors, who sometimes train kids out of their own time at their own home. In a special skill that helped them significantly in their games. There's an old woman in our district , Mags. She goes into the school every year to teach us how to make fishhooks out of nothing but some thread and a twig. Everyone looks forward to Mags' visits.

I stand in the line to sign in for the ceremony, the shuffling of shoes on pebbles and the faint zap of the peacekeepers at the post for seventeen year old's are the only thing my brain registers.

"Next." The woman at the post says , making a come hither motion with her fingers to beckon me forward. She snatches my index finger and pricks it with a needle , places it down on the square by my name and leaves a smudge of my blood, proving I had attended.

I move into the roped off area fro my age group, two groups in front of me is the stage where our district's escort, Ivara Tove will rip two children from their parent's grasp. She's a strange woman, but what can you expect from a city that watches children kill each other for fun. Ivara Tove looks different each year she arrives in District Four. Last year she was sporting a hideous lobster dress with actual lobster pincers on the skirt, and a ghastly green wig and matching shoes. She tries to emulate the style of the costumes our tribute wear in the Capital , but I think she looks terrible every year. Most people do.

All is quiet as the Mayor of Four steps out of the justice building. He's a stocky man , with whispy greying hair and a large nose. His wife stands beside him , and beside her is Ivara. This year , her hair is a bright blue , complimenting her navy dress suit. I think she looks alright, but then I see the hideous green shoes from last year's games.

Ivara steps up to the microphone and taps t twice , the sound echoing all across the sqaure. "Hello, hello , hello , young blood of District Four." she breathes with a smile. Her Capitol accent makes every word sound like she's breathing fresh air for the the first time.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

After the regular speech from our mayor , stating how honoured the tributes that are reaped should be to represent our district, Ivara takes to the microphone again.

"As always , ladies first."

She glides toward the glass bowl with all the girls names in , swirls her hand in the papers for a moment , before she pulls out a slip with such intensity you'd think she would pull a muscle. She pauses before opening the slip with her fingernail.