Fire and Water (a Hunger Games fan fiction)

My name's Eowyn. Eowyn Waters. District 10, livestock district. Today is the reaping day.
I sit in a rocking chair, not really caring about it. I mean, if I get chosen, I’ll be one of the first to get picked off. Same as always. The tributes dress as cows, get negative 2 sponsors, and are some of the first to get killed. If I’m chosen, I’ll be killed for not being there. At least then my death won’t be televised.
Something inside me tells me I have to go. I signed up for tesserae for my little sisters Azalea and Tarja. And myself, of course. If I am chosen, I must go, or else the food my sisters receive disappears until the next Hunger Games-if they’re still alive.
I refused to let Azalea, who is 14, take out tesserae. For I know, if she was chosen, I would be too cowardly to volunteer. So I just eliminated the possibility of her having a higher chance of being chosen than the average 14 year old. Tarja, who’s 11, I don’t have to worry about. Yet. But, hey, if I get chosen and am dead next year, she can sign up for all the tesserae she wants. I only have so much power once I’m dead.
The little cabin in the woods is full of warmth from the fire. Azalea sits in front of the fire, sewing a hole in Tarja’s reaping dress. Tarja sits in the boiling water, playing with a rubber duck. Even though she is 11, she acts very young, a trait I hope she holds on to forever.
I take the soap off the counter and begin to scrub Tarja down. While we may be orphaned and living in a cabin in the woods, we are much luckier than a lot of people. I can hunt, so oftentimes we have meat, a luxury excluded from even us in the livestock district. Azalea knows plant like the back of her hand, and we have plenty of seeds from the more uncommon herbs Azalea uses and make lots of things that are hard to trade for from the plants, like the soap. And Tarja dances in the town square, and people are charmed by her and often throw her money and such. We live like the rich, almost. But less greedy, and less cruel. Tarja is genuinely charming. Even Azalea knows when to act all smiley. However, I’m sarcastic, and bitter, especially to the Capitol. Azalea, who knows how to make the best out of everyone, insists that I’m funny, have a great sense of humor, and am actually quite nice, if you are to me. But that doesn’t change that I’m sarcastic and bitter.
Tarja looks at me and squeaks the rubber duck in my face. “Quack,” she laughs quietly. I give her a gentle smile, the one that Azalea insists would make boys fall at my feet, if I smiled more often. Then, I grab the downy blanket I made to wrap her in, packing the coals that keep the bath water warm around the tub.
Azalea is just finishing Tarja’s dress. Tarja looks at me and says, “Wynnie, why do I have to dress for the reaping when my name won’t be pulled?”.
I smile sadly at her. “Jaja, you know why. It’s just polite. I don’t want you to stand out. Even the newborn babies are dressed up.”
Tarja pouts, but lets me dress her with no complaint. The dress is a soft cream color, with a pink sash around the waist. I brush Tarja’s long, straight light blonde hair and then put braided pigtails in, finishing by tying the pigtails together with a length of string. She looks at me with her pale blue eyes, the eyes that in the right lighting look to be the color of clouds, the lightest blue imaginable. Her face is marked by not even a freckle. It’s no wonder the people in the square throw her money. Even if she was dressed as a cow in the opening ceremonies of the Hunger Games, she would have sponsors tripping over each other.
Azalea is just as pretty. Her eyes are a little more substantial, though, the blue color of the ocean glistening in the sun. Her blonde hair is almost white, with streaks of golden blonde. Her hair does have a little bit more curl, but not much. They both look like our mother.
Azalea, at 14, is old enough to get herself dressed. She wears a pale gold dress, with a sunshine yellow ribbon in her hair that matches the belt. Her hair is in a half ponytail, long enough to pull the first layer up into a ponytail, but short enough for it to look right.
I, however, look different from both of the sisters. My dirty blonde hair isn’t quite curly, yet not quite straight, but it doesn’t look wavy. My eyes are green, the color of an emerald. I don’t have time to bathe now, so I simply dress myself in the olive green dress Azalea chose for me, tied my hair back with a brown ribbon that matches the sandals Azalea also picked, and suddenly, even though it was an hour ago I came in, it’s time.
“Jaja, Aza,” I say. My sisters come, eyes wide and scared. I take a deep breathe, close my eyes, and turn to the door.
Today is the day we might lose everything. Today could be the day we are sentenced to death.