Happy 125th Hunger Games!

I was hacking away at a piece of wood, trying to carve something comprehendible out of it, when I saw her running through the woods, as swift as a deer. She was the girl. The girl who broke my brother's heart and didn't even know. Or she did, but didn’t care. Knowing Palmer, it had to be the former. She seemed so happy and carefree, running with this guy who looks like her boyfriend. Or he wants to be. I shook my head, thinking of how it made no difference now, my brother at least claims that it's no big deal any more, that he has moved on to bigger and better things. They're at least bigger, this girl is so small, at least compared to myself. Then again, I'm burlier than most people, I've been working at the lumber yards ever since I can remember, either helping my dad and once I was old enough, working by myself.

I watch as she flirts and giggles with him and all I can feel is a heat that seems to ball up in my stomach and I clench my fists with anger. It's not her fault; she probably doesn't have any idea.
I relaxed and looked over my mangled piece of wood. Unsatisfied, I toss it into the brush, then remembering I have guests in the woods, hope that the two lovebirds over there didn't hear it. I got up and made the trek back to my house where my two older brothers were rough housing in the living room. I laugh and slap each on of them over the head, earning myself a dirty scowl from them both. I just smile and go to my twin brother's room. He sits on his bed, staring at the wall and I knock on the already open door so he can compose himself. He looks up and smiles, fixing his posture and brushing the hair out of his eyes.

"Hey big guy, how's it going?" I ask, punching his shoulder lightly, and then I notice him rubbing it and regret the decision. He's a bit thinner than me but other than that no one would be able to tell the difference between us. Until we spoke. Then you could tell he was softer, nicer, he was one of those people who are nice to everyone. I envied him for that. I knew it got him hurt though, so I always wished I could somehow toughen him up, but he wasn't that kind of person.

"A lot less good, now that I've been punched by a bear," he says with a smile. I lunge at him and he deftly avoids it, moving to the dresser so he could find something. I flop on the bed, then remember I have to change, so I find my reaping clothes and put them on, tugging at the collar. Even though it's worn out, it's still uncomfortable. After I come back into the room, Palmer looks at me and nods his approval. I snort, knowing that even if I looked awful he still would've acted like I was wearing the nicest outfit he had ever seen.

We walk out into the kitchen and say good bye to our parents, telling them they need to hurry, the reaping will start soon, and then we're out the door. Talking about Palmer gives me a little bit of a relief, seeing that he is doing better now and at least trying to put Aspen out of his mind. We talk about our brothers, parents, the Games, school, the lumber yard. Everything but her, and we both know it. We soon run out of topics as we enter the reaping, so we quietly walk to our section in the 16s. My friend Bayer beckons me over and after a few minutes our escort makes his way to the stage.

I can’t help but feel mocked by his clothing, the green and brown. It reminds me of how many times people from our districts are dressed like trees with fake leaves adhered to their face and bodies. I grimace and feel that heat in my stomach. I remember to breathe and I feel less tense, thinking to myself that it isn’t his fault. He’s just another product of the Capitol.
He calls for ladies first and what little whispering there was dies down. When he reads the name I hear a gasp and look over at my brother. It wasn’t him, it was me. He stands there, his mouth agape with pure shock. Then it’s the boys turn.

He digs through the ball this time and pulls out a piece of paper.

“Palmer Cawley,” he says with a smile.

I look over at my brother, still shocked, and walk towards the stage. Once I get there, I see puzzled looks from the 16s sections and some of the crowd, but no one says anything. Aspen looks at me but doesn’t seem to show any sign of recognition that I’m not Palmer. That irks me, but I brush it off. I know this decision means that after I die Palmer will have to pretend to be me when the time comes, but only for a short while. It won’t matter, his routine will be the same, nothing will really change. I hope he understands. I don’t even know if I understand, but I think my subconscious is concocting a plan.

Why don’t I know what I’m doing?

I walk over to the microphone and the escort eagerly hands it over with a smile, anxious to hear what I’m going to say.
“I’m Palmer Cawley , and I am going to be one of the winners of this year’s Games! Don’t count me out just yet.” I say, and sit down. What have I done now?