A blinding wave of sunshine had greeted me as soon as I opened my eyes. The warm, irritating wind rushes back and forth into my windowsill. My pastel-shade purple curtain swings from the inside of my tiny bedroom, overlapping the open window caused by the gush of wind outside. 

    I stirred. 6 am, I estimated. I woke up a bit late, in comparison to what time I had awakened yesterday. It was the day of harvest the day before, and I usually wake up by 4:30 am to work. It just so happened that I was too tired to even get up. I glanced at the slightly fragmented mirror in front of the edge of my bed. The patches of dark circles under my eyes were surely noticeable. The bags were due to the usual non-stop, heavy working at the farm. 

    At the beginning of the age of 7, this has been my life every single day. Although I was tied up, knotted even, onto my contribution to farming, I had escaped the acreage multiple times, letting me go onto the wild. I always loved nature. Not only did it make me feel free and safe and secure, the greenwood reminded me very much of my mother. 

    She was the one who taught me survival tips in the woods. And even though she hasn't taught me how to properly hunt yet, I have learned the basics of tracking down animals. My shooting may not be the neatest, but I'm working on it. 

    Promptly, I went downstairs, into the kitchen and looked for my older sister. Though I was aware that she had already moved on and went to the farm—probably making up some alibi, reasoning why I can't attend to work this morning, I was still half hoping for her to be there. 

    Instead of my sister waiting for me downstairs, I came across a half a loaf of bread on an old, gray platter. Beside it was a bottle of cow's milk. It was probably cold then, I thought to myself. Part of which is because my sister took off to the farm earlier, causing the ice cold milk to be cooled off at room temperature. 

    I sighed, beginning to quietly eat the half piece of loaf we had. Food was at short, lately. The last decent meal we had was during the last Hunger Games—which was obviously because of the tesserae given to us a year ago. Our harvests, however, weren't allowed to be consumed by us. Sure, the high authorities might've given us a supply of food crops, but those events happen rather rarely. They hand them to us, workers, once a year. Enough to supply us food for a month or so. 

    The tesserae, on the contrary, could supply us for half a year; and if used wisely, can support me and my sister for almost a year. Sighing, as I finished my breakfast—keeping in mind to leave a third of the loaf in our dusty cabinet for supper tonight, I went to get dressed in my usual attire. Not the attire used by farmers in our district, but the attire I use for hunting. 

    Without further ado, I immediately went straight to the threshold of the forest. A 3-feet wooden fence was resting on the edge of the threshold, an electric wiring wrapped around the fences—provoking people from going through the unbeknownst wilderness. But not for me. I can handle it even though I'm not that much of an expert, unlike my mother. Let's just say I'm different. I'm rare. I'm not like the other women in our district who're very conservative and afraid of taking risks. But due to the difficulties of life, I have learned to take such risks. 

    I climbed up the fence, thankfully not electrocuting myself. After that, I walked around the forest for a little while. Here in District 7, the Peacekeepers aren't exactly the friendly type, but they aren't that tight and strict about handling the people either. Mostly because they follow them on a regular basis, brought by fear and terror of themselves dying at the hands of the Capitol's guards. 

    Looking up towards the sky, I noticed a certain species of songbirds. Their silver-coloured coats were shining and sparkling and glinting against the bright ray of sunlight. Their wings, composed by soft strands of feathers, were in a mix of blue and gold. I recognised them. They were my mother's favorite birds. They were the Hummingbirds. The rarest type in our District. They originated from the Capitol. Like, literally. You can only see the Hummingbirds in the Capitol, that is why their prices are no wonder expensive. Soon enough, during the Dark Days, the rebels found their way to release the Hummingbirds. Probably trying to piss the Capitol off. I should've lived during those times to witness their ridiculed faces. 

    Immediately, as if I'm back to being a kid again, as if I am once again rearwards the time wherein I'm happily with my mother and sister, I hummed a soft 5-note tune, a sequence from a song my mother used to sing to us to sleep back when she was alive. 

    “Ooh~” I sang in a soft and quiet manner, receiving a quick response with the same five notes from the Hummingbirds. Muttering silently, I spoke, “I miss you, mother.” 

    My thoughts were cut off guard as I saw a rabbit cross by. It was white. And it's obviously gonna be our supper for tonight. Grasping my wooden bow and arrows, I frantically concentrated on targeting the snow-coloured bunny. I closed my right eye, waiting for a signal to release my arrow. And as swift as the warm wind breezing by, I immediately fired the white animal. 

    It wasn't that much of a  clean shot, my arrow had missed half an inch from the animal's right eye—which was usually where my mother used to shoot them. Oh well. Without waiting for anything else, I then picked up the now dead rabbit and stored them into my plastic bag.