It's quiet out here.

I know it won't be quiet for long-soon the people of District Four will soon be awake, and the hustle and bustle of the day will soon begin. But for now, at least, it's quiet.

In Panem, you learn to appreciate the quiet just a little bit more. You don't get much time to simply sit back and enjoy the nature out here.

"Aris."

I hear a voice, and turn around. My twin brother Rye is walking across the sand dunes towards me. Of course he would be the one to find me when I don't want to be found. He's always been my other half. 

"Have you been out here all night?" Rye asked, his voice raspy. He obviously just woke up. Behind him, the sun pokes it's way through the night and casts a dark shadow on Rye's body. I turn back to the ocean-to the waning moon and yawn.

"Something like that." I mutter.

Truth is, Rye is right. I have been out here for the majority of the night. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I come out here. The sound of the waves rolling against the beach is relaxing to me. I could come out here and sit for hours. Sometimes I do.

"It's Reaping Day." Rye whispers, almost as and after thought as we stare out over the ocean.

That's right. It is Reaping Day. But really, how could I ever forget. Reaping Day is like a holiday of sorts-always in the back of your mind. It is anticipated with a mix of excitement of dread. Believe it or not, there are really people in Panem that look forward to the Games! They fight to be chosen. Here in District Four, we are not as eager. There are still a few, but not many. Rye and I each have our names in a dozen times: three entries each because it is mandatory, and the rest are put in in exchange for tesserae. Between the two of us, we manage to collect enough rations to keep us and our younger brother Fyne alive. It's just been the three of us for a number of years now, but we wouldn't have it any other way. We manage well enough in any case.

"You nervous?" I ask him sarcastically. Of course he's nervous. Everybody is nervous on Reaping Day.

Rye shoves me playfully in the arm, and we settle into a comfortable silence. We watch the ocean change colours as the sun rises slowly behind us. From deep blue, it slowly gets lighter as the sunrise reflects upon its surface. It certainly is beautiful. I have to wonder though, if this sunrise will still be waiting for me here tomorrow? There are hundreds of kids in District Four-any one of them could be selected for the Games. I know my odds of getting picked are fairly slim. But without fail, every year I get nervous regardless. Every year however, Rye and I make it through. We've got four more Reapings to survive, and then we'll be free for life. Just four more.

Rye sighs, and stands up. I can hear his bones cracking as he stretches up towards the sky.

"We should probably be getting back. The Reaping starts at 10:00, and the you know what will happen if we're late." Rye tells me, offering me his hand. I look away from him, taking one last long glance at the sea, praying a silent prayer.

Keep us safe. Please keep both of us safe.

"Aris," Rye complains. He's getting impatient with me-I can tell.

I grab his hand, and haul myself to my feet. My joints grown as I stand: stiff from sitting for so long. I twist, hoping to relieve some of the pressure from my back. I feel a satisfying crunch, and turn back to Rye. He doesn't let go of my hand as we wordlessly start the treck back to our home. I know that this is his way of supporting me-of letting me know that everything is going to be ok. And for just a moment, I really do believe him.

.............

The next few hours are somewhat of a blur. I scrub the salt water from my body, and work out the nest of knots in my blonde hair. I cook a small breakfast of our tesserae grain and blackberries for myself and my brothers, but am too nervous to eat, so I give my portion to the always-hungry Fyne. I make sure that both of my brothers are dressed in their best and that there is not a speck of dirt on their faces before I turn to myself. We may be poor, but we will not look like imbeciles.

Digging through my meager collection of dresses, I finally find the one I was looking for. The aqua green dress that I pull out from the back of my closet is dusty and a little bit wrinkly, but to me it is perfect. It was my mothers dress for years before she passed away and gave it to me, along with her other possessions. Quickly slipping it on, I run a comb through my hair until it looks acceptable. The finished product isn't too bad. I look like a typical District Four girl, with my golden hair and tanned skin in any case. My eyes, the eyes I share with Rye, are my fathers: grey, like the colour of a storm cloud. I don't look like a slob, and that's good enough for the time being.

I look at the sky, where the sun is looming high and dry. It is going to be a warm day. A bell tolls in the distance, signifying that the Reaping is about to begin. I spot Fyne sitting by the window, his hair combed neatly over his head. I go to him and kneel down beside him. I can see the tear streaks marring his pudgy cheeks. He is only ten years old, so he isn't eligible to be Reaped yet. But he is obviously worried about us.

"Hey," I murmur, placing a comforting hand on his small knee, "we'll see you soon ok?"

With a sob, Fyne wraps his arms tightly around my neck as he nods into my shoulder.

Another gong rings out over District Four-a warning. We need to get going.

Rye appears over Fyne's shoulder, and gestures towards the door. Rye is a stickler for being on time. He likes following the rules. Painstakingly, I pry Fyne off of me, and give him a soft kiss on the forehead with the promise to be back for dinner. Grabbing Rye's hand, we jog lightly through the narrow streets that lead to the town square. Fortunately, we live fairly close to the town square, so it is not a long walk. The streets are already packed with people: the whole population of District Four turns out for the Reaping. Often afterwards, there is a massive party in the evening to celebrate surviving another year. Obviously, the families of those Reaped do not attend that party.

Rye and I are separated as the lines separate: one line for the girls, and another for the boys. I lose sight of him as we are ushered through the line, Peacekeepers herding us like animals into small pens. I am placed with the other 15 year old girls. There is not many of us, but they all look as nervous as I feel. Drones are swarming around above us-capturing images for the Capitols broadcast.

The monsters.

The mayor steps up onto the makeshift stage, and the crowd falls silent. She reads the history of the Games in a long, monotone voice that is capable of putting a person asleep in an instant. If today was any other day, the crowd wouldn't pay any attention whatsoever. Today though, the crowd is wired.

The mayor steps down from the podium, and our escort takes her place. Berlin has been the District Four escort since before I was born, and let me say....he certainly dresses for the part. Today he is wearing a flamboyant orange wig with matching lipstick. His face is chalk white, and his pinstriped suit is so bright it blinds me.

"Hello District Four! Welcome to the 69th Annual Hunger Games!" He shouts into the microphone, his voice strangely distorted. He obviously thinks the is the biggest thing we've seen since sliced bread. "Oh, how wonderful it is to be back here with you folks!! District Four is so....how you say....quaint! But there is no time to waste! Let's get started shall we?" Berlin enthusiastically says before strutting across the stage in his man-heels towards the crystal ball holding the girls names. I can feel the pit in my stomach twist into knots as the crowd takes a collective breath. It is so quiet in the square, you could hear a pin drop.

Please don't be me. Please don't be me.

I feel awful for wishing somebody else to death, but I so desperately hope that it will be somebody else that is Reaped this year.

Berlin selects a single piece of white paper before gliding back to the microphone and reading the name. A sigh of relief escapes me. It is not me, or anybody that I know. Some girl named Daisy or something.

A small, pale girl walks up to the stage, obvious tears in her eyes. I feel a pang of pity for the girl, who can't be older then 13. We all know that she is going to die in the arena. I hope that her death at least, is quick and painless.

With one tribute down, Berlin reaches into the ball that holds the names of the potential male tributes. I am too distracted by the sounds of sobbing beside me to hear the name that is called. It is only when I see who is on the stage that my heart drops in my stomach and my world starts to spin violently.

It's Rye.