I wake up from another terrifying nightmare.

   My name is Arleen Kenneth. I am 15 years old. I live in District 12. I have PTSD. I just had a terrifying dream. I had a kriffing dream.

   I have weird methods of cooling down after a stress attack like that. The one I use most is repeating information I know about myself.

   I'm used to these horrors that leave me sweating in the morning. I have them every day. I just hope the night before I don't wake up too early, or I'll be groggy all day.

   I glance at the old blue watch that I've had with me all my life. 4:52 am. Not bad.

   I climb out of the small inflatable mattress I call my bed, careful not to disturb the other occupant. The other occupant is 12. His name is Damian. I don't know his last name. He doesn't know either. He likes to call himself a Kenneth, though.

   Damian came into my life the day my parents were killed by Talia Laghul. Laghul was one of the more powerful advisors to the Empire's all-powerful Emperor Palpatine. Kriff that. Laghul trains assassins as a career. Damian was one of her ranks. He was an orphan, and Laghul leapt at the chance to turn a child into a lethal killer.

   But when he was tasked to guard me the day after my parents blew up into a bloody mess, I managed to connect with the killer. I didn't talk. But Damian knew the pain I had been through. In his training, psychological pain was just everyday life.

   Damian's the one who pulled me out of the mess.

   From that day on, I took him in. My little brother who's only physical similarity was the green eyes. Psychologically, we are not that different.

   I slip on the grey jacket. I don't zip it. The zipper's been clogged for who knows how long. The jacket's all I have left of my parents. So it stays. Even though the zipper's clogged.

   I slide open the hidden panel on the floor. Well, more like a broken panel. The house door doesn't lock. None of the doors do. So broken floor pieces have to suffice. In the small compartment, I pull out my bow and arrows. Without hesitation, I put on my knife pack. I swiped the small bag when I left Laghul's stronghold. Those knives have stayed with me ever since.

   Carefully, I close the panel. Pulling on my fingerless gloves and worn-down boots, I leave the run-down house. Making sure no one saw me, I race through the dark, making sure I don't make a sound. Slipping through the broken wire patch at the border of the district, I take a deep breath in the forest.

   This was how we escaped from Laghul. Right here, Damian's sword and my new knifes had cut through the wiring and we had held each other closely for what seemed like hours once we were safe inside the house. I remembered the tears. I remembered the relief. I could see it. Another result of my PTSD.

   I tumble deeper into the forest. I let my ears do the work. I catch two quails and a wild chicken before the sun rises. The quails were easy catches. Both were done by arrow. The chicken was a rare find. My knife had cut it lousily, but I could cover that up when I went to the trading posts.

   I notice the round-bellied shape of a quail and raise my bow. My arrow hits home and I pick my way through the undergrowth to pick up my hunt. When I get there, my quail's gone. I turn around with a smile. Of course. I woke up Damian. And he's playing his favourite trick. He's standing there, observing the quail in detail. "This one's is full of fat, barely any muscle. Tt. That'll be a problem at the market."

   "Fine, Mr. Narcissist. Have a look at these kills," I say with a laugh, and lay out the other quails and the chicken.

   He crouches down in front of them, still holding the meat-grader guise. "This quail is fine, this one is a bit too lean and - kriff, is that a chicken?!"

   I smile. "Impressed now?"

   He looks up with a Damian smirk. "Yes, I am, Kenneth."

  He picks up the flabby quail and the lean one. I take the rest. We both walk silently back up to civilization.

   This is our lives.

   Every day.

   Until I got Reaped.