Lucy Gray || WLW

Part 1

The air was thick with tension that morning — the day of the Reaping. I could feel it, even though the sun had just barely risen and the streets of District 2 still felt sleepy. The murmurs of anxious parents, the hurried steps of children preparing for a day that could change everything — I could feel it all in the pit of my stomach, heavy and unshakable.

It had been a couple years since my name had first been put into that stupid glass bowl, but somehow, even as the years passed and I'd grown stronger, I'd never fully prepared for it. The fear, the resignation, the certainty that it would happen. District 2 wasn't a district known for hope — it was known for masonry and discipline. But this morning, I found myself searching for a moment of peace.

I moved silently through the early morning fog, my boots barely making a sound as I walked away from the crowded streets toward my favourite spot. It was the place I went when the weight of the district's, my family's expectations, and the ever-present shadow of the Games became too much. It wasn't far from the quarry where my father worked; a small stone outcrop that overlooked the barren landscape. From there, I could see the distant Capitol buildings, like a silent sentinel watching over us all, a reminder of the force that controlled my life, no matter how much I despised it.

I leaned against the rough-hewn stone, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my worn jacket. My breath came out in soft puffs of mist, and for a moment, I let myself think — really think — about what may come today. The Games. The bloodshed. The Capitol. It felt so far away, yet so incredibly close.

I wasn't like my father. I wasn't like my brother, either. Not a lot of people shared their mindset, but it was beginning to become more common that District 2 viewed the Hunger Games as an honour. They weren't an honour to me. They were a death sentence. Every year, the tributes were just numbers, names drawn at random, thrown into an arena like lambs to slaughter. District 2 were considered a pretty well-off district, because our children were all trained in combat. I was skilled, yes. But I wasn't a killer. Not in the way my father would have me be. I was the one who, if chosen, would have to pretend to know what I was doing when really I was just as terrified as the rest.

So... it wasn't that I wasn't capable. I knew how to survive. I was strong, swift and precise. But the Games? They were farce. The Capitol's cruelty, the spectacle of life and death turned into entertainment... it sickened me. I didn't want to kill. I didn't want to be a part of it. But we had no choice. None of us did.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"You're here," came a familiar voice, low and steady. "I thought I'd find you."

I turned to see my older brother, Sier, approaching, his dark eyes steady, as always. He was tall with a solid frame, and his posture was straight and unyielding. He had always seemed to fit the mold of District 2; he was perfect. But today, his face seemed less certain and sure. I could see it in the tension of his jaw, in the way his brow furrowed slightly.

"Had to clear my head," I said softly, crossing my arms as I leaned against the stone. "Can't really think with all the noise in town."

Sier stopped a few paces away from me, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. "I know," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "It feels like the whole District is holding its breath."

I nodded. I was grateful that Sier didn't push me to talk right away and didn't ask for some grand admission about what I was feeling. But I could tell he was struggling, too. The Games were always a delicate subject between us. He had enlisted in military training early, and was poised to be a great contender if his name was ever called. He believed that the Games were an opportunity to show the Capitol his strength.