Chapter 1: 45th Reaping

There is no foreman to call for quitting time in the fields. Not like in District 9, let's say. Instead, young girls who are small and nimble and can climb trees whistle a three-note mockingjay tune to signal the end of the work day.

Even if it does feel weird to be hanging up my scythe in the middle of the morning. For today is Reaping Day. Seen as a holiday in most districts, whether compulsory or not. And this year, we are celebrating the 45th year of the Hunger Games, a competition in which the twelve districts of Panem send in one boy and girl of teenage years into an outdoor arena to fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.

My name is Chaff Mitchell. I am 16 years old, which I am reminded of as I stand with my age group in the square outside the Justice Building. My homeland is District 11, agriculture. Our participation in the Games is largely forced; there are still rebels at heart here who would love to strike a blow against the Capitol if given the encouragement.

Our Mayor reads the Dark Days treaty, reminding the districts of their treason over a generation ago. Then, we watch as Peacekeepers escort our past Victors to the stage, and their names are read aloud. In just over a generation, we have had exactly three. One man and two women, their victories spaced about a dozen years apart. Our last win happened when I was a toddler.

"The Victor of the 10th Hunger Games: Wolfmark Redpath!" Our only male Victor slowly rises from his seat and waves to the polite applause. He's already in his early 60s - 61, I think - and can remember a time when there were no Games.

"The Victor of the 21st Hunger Games: Fallstreak Ivory!" A woman of 40 years waves. Fallstreak is a sweet faced woman, fair in her dark complexion. Yet she has remained unattached. Childless. As has -

"The Victor of the 33rd Hunger Games: Seeder Howell!" Our most recent champion still gets a few cheers. She is only 32, and could still be a wife and mother, but she's not.

All of our winners have followed what is known as the Victors' Code, which calls for absolutely no attachments. This has usually been interpreted as a vow of chastity and opting out of marriage, for the sake of a Victor's survival. The Capitol can be very manipulative and controlling of them.

It is a shame. About the Code. Our Victors are very helpful to the land, as District 11 was once built on the backs of African slaves, centuries ago. But in terms of progeny to work that land, our Victors are no help at all. Sad, because our rituals and traditions, especially those surrounding marriage, are very important to us. These traditions are what tie us together as a District, as we are one of the largest in Panem - 138,546 people, according to the most recent census.

"Birch Wildflake!" A girl of about 13 takes the stage with terror. The Reaping has begun. Then our district selects from the boys. "Chaff Mitchell!"

Oh no. But I keep a brave face as I mount the stage. Birch and I are ushered into the Justice Building.

Only my girlfriend, Asenath, visits me other than my parents. Then, Birch and I are escorted to the train with Wolfmark and Seeder. Fallstreak stays behind, seeing us off; she will likely trade off with Seeder for mentoring duties next year. "Good luck!" she encourages.

It's sad that Wolfmark has never had that luxury. Mentoring the male tribute for three and a half decades, all alone. And now he has me. But he is very knowledgeable and nice about giving me tips, such as asking about my skills. And, when I give them, advising me to keep them secret from the other tributes in training. At 61, Wolfmark is one of the oldest Victors and considered a sage. That's because most Victors only live into their 60s, as most of those who won in the first decade of the Hunger Games - just before Wolfmark - are either dead or dying. I think the only exception is Wolfmark's immediate predecessor, Savera Inchcape of District 8; she's still alive.

Birch has a nice mentor in Seeder, which is good. Fallstreak is harsher, I hear, a bit of a battle axe.

The media is on us when we get to the Capitol.

Most of the paparazzi think I'm strong, while Birch draws sympathy for being cute.

We begin as sheaves of wheat for the Tribute Chariot Parade through the City Circle. Then, Seeder and Wolfmark take us into the Training Center.

Training begins the next day. All the Careers - from Districts 1 and 2 - are bigger than me. But they have been training illegally for the arena since at least Wolfmark's day, maybe a little after. The tributes from 5 are crafty, but people still remember the triumph of James Logan from a few years back. Their tributes are always strong. The tributes from 4 look formidable, too, though they haven't had a win in seven, maybe eight years.

At the end of three days of training, we show off our skills to the Gamemakers. I pull an 11, beating the Careers, while Birch pulls a 7.

The fourth and final day and night are devoted to the interviews with Caesar Flickerman. He is very dynamic and works hard for the tributes to put their best foot forward. I tune out most of my competition except for Birch. At last, it's my turn, third to last.

"Chaff Mitchell! Wow! You are built like an oxen!" Caesar marvels. "District 11 has three good Victors. Think you can be the fourth?"

I laugh. "If I do, the Village will get pretty crowded. I don't know if there would be room for me against all those other characters!" The audience chortles with me, well aware of my mentors' reputations.

"You scored an 11 in training; care to tell us how?"

"You all will just have to wait and see, Caesar," I reply. There is a deadly connotation to it. To scare the other tributes. We are out of time.

"Chaff Mitchell!"

I still have nightmares that night.