I stayed at the wreckage site for many more hours, helping out with the people who'd lost their homes. I vowed that when I came back from the Capitol, I'd build them new houses myself. 

"Until then, please make yourself at home in my house. My Grandmother will look after you," I finished telling the father of the little girl I'd rescued from the fire. Others, of course, hadn't been so lucky. Fresh tears still glistened on the faces of the family, reduced from a trio to a pair. 

"I am so grateful, Mr Rider."  

I smiled, but tears stung my eyes. The man patted my arm. 

"You did the best you could. You saved my little girl." 

I swallowed hard and shook my head "My best wasn't good enough." 

Before the man could reply any further, I stood abruptly. 

"Come, everyone. I'll show you to my home." 

Three families settled in my home that night. I gave up my room for the man with his little girl, and another slept in Grandmother's room. The other family had to sleep on the couches in our living room, but the gratitude on their faces reminded me of how life was for me before the Games. It had been a fight for survival, a battle against starvation and trying to keep my eyes open long enough to get through the day. When you live like that, when every day is a struggle, the little things in life are so important. Like hospitality. Kindness. A warm heart. 

No one slept much that night. I lay on the cold wooden floor of our kitchen, thinking of the houses as they burned. How Grandmother was willing to risk other people's lives at an instant, just because she understood the bigger picture. As Grandmother made everyone breakfast in the early hours of the morning, I wondered how she'd managed to do it. Ruin the lives of three families in favour of our own. But when I thought about it more, had I not done that myself? That's what the Hunger Games are about. A battle for survival. And I had won them. 

Reaping day had arrived. A day everyone in the District dreads. Not only is it compulsory to gather in the town square to watch the drawing of names, but to make it worse, it's all televised. Everyone dreads the moment when the District's escort dips their hand in the glass bowl and picks a name. One family who stayed in my house had a boy of just twelve. It would have been his first reaping. I shook the thought out of my head as I stood from the breakfast table and grabbed my bag. 

"I'm going to see Antonia," I informed Grandmother. She nodded, and returned to clearing dishes from the table. 

There was a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked to Antonia's house. Was it fear? Was I afraid of my best friend, the girl I'd known for years? So much had changed in the past weeks. And the truth was, Antonia was the stronger of the two of us. What would I do if she was weak? 

I didn't bother knocking. I found her in her bedroom, curled under the sheets and staring vacantly out the window. I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. 

"How do you feel?" 

Antonia didn't reply. I stroked her hair of her face in concern. 

"We need to get you up. It's reaping day, remember? We're going to the Capitol." 

Still no reply. In fact, she made no sound other than her heavy breathing. I sighed and began to rummage through her stuff, packing some things she'd need for the Capitol. Food was provided, of course, and we both had stylists to choose clothes for us, but I packed her a book and her favourite pair of reading glasses. I packed her scruffy old slippers, the ones that she'd refused to get rid of, and her sleeping pills. I reached under her pillow and found her diary, knowing she'd want me to pack that too. She hauled herself into a sitting position, frowning. 

"How do you know where I keep my diary?" she asked with a croak. I rolled my eyes. 

"It's not difficult to guess. You've kept it there since you were eleven years old." 

Antonia smiled wearily, looking more like her old self "What would I do without you, eh?" 

"You wouldn't be in this mess if you didn't have me. You wouldn't have lost your arm." 

"That was a fault of mine, not yours." 

"I could have stop-" 

"Arrian, stop it. You're such a pain. Can't you understand that not everything is your fault?" 

I sat back on the edge of her bed, my shoulders drooping. 

"I let someone die yesterday." 

Antonia took my hand quietly "But you saved so many others. Including me. And I couldn't wish for anyone better as my best friend. Don't beat yourself up, Ari." 

I ignored her, rummaging in my bag and to find some morphine "Are you in pain today?" I asked, changing the subject. 

"No. I just feel...different," she concluded. I brought out the other medication I'd been given for her and began the process of injecting them into her bloodstream. It then took me an hour to help her wash and get dressed and then serve her favourite breakfast; egg on toast. She sat at her dining table, her shoulders sagging slightly, but at least she was awake and moving. The sun was rising higher and higher in the sky, and we were running out of time. 

"Are you ready?" I asked her quietly. She sighed and nodded. 

"I'll be back in ten minutes," I promised. I rushed back home to collect my travel bag and to say goodbye to Grandmother. She was awaiting my return, my bag in hand and her eyes weary from lack of sleep. She pulled me into a quick embrace, patting my head softly and affectionately. 

"You be careful, Arrian. Don't trust anyone in the Capitol. And try to get us another winner this year," she stated. I nodded. 

"I will, Grandmother. I always do." 

She released me, patting my cheek and then ushering me out the door. I picked up Antonia and we made our way to the Justice Building in silence, my hand grasped in hers for support. The town centre was already beginning to fill up, a sea of solemn faces making up the crowd. Antonia and I greeted the Mayor politely as we took our seats on the stage. Marcia, the District's escort, sat primly on her chair, her knees touching and her hands rested on her thighs. She didn't greet us, but sat with her nose in the air snootily. Antonia's eyes met mine and she raised her eyebrow at the pretentious companion we'd have to spend our next few weeks with. At least Tonia was able to joke again. 

The crowd were silent as the Mayor began to speak. He reluctantly told the crowd that we must be punished for our rebellion thirty years before, and that is why we must all suffer the Hunger Games. I bit on my bottom lip throughout to stop myself shouting at him. It wasn't his fault, of course, but it made me resent the Capitol so much that I couldn't bear it.  

Then it was Marcia's turn. She stood, never wobbling even slightly as she walked to the podium in her heels. She turned sharply and brought her feet back together with a militaristic stomp.  

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she said "Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour. Let's begin with the girls." 

She dove her pale hand into the bowl of names, pouting as she did so. All the children in the crowd were whimpering and holding on to each other for support. I closed my eyes, wishing I could be anywhere else. 

"Riley Swan!" 

All the girls turned to look at Riley. I peered over and saw that she was a small, scrawny child, no more than fourteen years old. Her most distinctive feature was her red hair, standing out against her white skin. She burst into tears as she walked up to the stage, her wails making me shiver. She was covering her face mournfully, and the crowd stared at her with pity. Suddenly, she tripped over her long dress and fell flat on the stairs. A couple of cruel spectators laughed as some Peacekeepers helped her to her feet, her nose bleeding. Riley hastily ran towards Marcia, her skirts hitched as she came to a stop by her side, wiping even more blood over her face whilst trying to swipe her tears. Marcia wrinkled her nose in disgust. 

"Any volunteers?" she asked. The silence that followed made me want to scream. The only noise that could be heard was Riley's mournful crying. 

Marcia moved on to the boys, but I didn't pay attention as she picked a name. All I could do was stare at Riley. There was something horrifying about the way she was acting. Her face was a mess of blood and tears, and her scraggly dress had grubby hand marks from where she'd hitched her skirt. Antonia leant over to me and whispered the exact words which had been going through my mind. 

"She doesn't stand a chance."

A.N: Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. What do you think of Riley? :) It's gonna get much better from here, I promise. Please read, vote, comment and enjoy!