Hello there everyone, and welcome to the 74th annual…just kidding!

Well, welcome to the first chapter of my…weird schizo story. Because I'm what they like to call "Creative" (which is just a nice way to say "She's out of her mind!"), I'm going about this story in an interesting way. I'll be writing two stories at the same time, going through the exact same things, with one major difference:

The one you're reading right now is called 'The Hunger Games: About A Girl' and will be told from Katniss's point of view.

The other one, that I urge you to read at the same time, is called 'The Hunger Games: About A Boy' and will be told to you by Peeta.

Although inspiration came from the lovely Miss Suzanne Collins, I'm changing some events and dialogue every now and then.

Now, proceed, my little reader, and may the odds be EVER in your favor!

-Lady SM

The sharp wraps on the door means it's time for me to get up, but I've been awake for a while. I open my eyes slightly, but when I don't move, I hear the door being pushed open and hear Effie's heels on the floor as she glides into my room. Out of the corner of my eye I see a rush of pink that I know is her towering wig swoop down and come back up as she attempts to scoops up the multitude of sheets and comforters and pillows from the floor where I had kicked them off of the bed in the middle of the night. I rarely remember doing that. The smooth material had bothered me. Although comfortable and soothing, something just seemed unnatural about the feeling of the soft satin on my skin.

Now Effie's asking me why I didn't put on one of the luxurious nightgowns the Capitol had stocked my drawers with. I don't answer, simply continue to lie in the middle of the bed in my underwear and slightly dirty tank top but open my eyes and look at her, still not moving any other part of my body.

"Katniss, dear, you must get up!" She's squeaking now in her little high pitched voice. It occurs to me that her Capitol accent would've been amusing under other circumstances.

"You've got a big, big, BIG, day, Katniss!" She continues, prodding my leg for emphasis with each "big".

I groan obnoxiously, hoping she'll leave me alone, but she continues prodding me. If her manicured nails weren't so damn sharp, I'd be able to sleep through it…or pretend to. I always pretend to give Prim a hard time when she tries to wake me up in the morning, although I've always been a light sleeper. But I decide I can endure this attack for a few more minutes.

"Katniss, get UP!" Effie repeats, and pushes me out of and over the side of the bed.

I have to admit I didn't think she had it in her. But she does, because I find myself on the floor. As I get up rubbing my head, I gain a little respect for the small woman in front of me, looking quite menacing with her hands on her hips, painted face showing a little smirk at her success at conquering the sleeping tribute.

"My gosh, dear, look at those hideous bags under your eyes! If you'd like, you could borrow some of my sleeping serum—"

I have no intent on taking any of the medicines they have to give me.

"So why is today such a big, big, big day, Effie?" Ignoring her proposal but mocking her only slightly.

"You are to be introduced to your stylists following breakfast." She says, as she's heading towards the door, "And my goodness, I'll wish them luck. They'll need it with you—" She says, tapping the bag-less skin below her own eyes.

I wave her off and she retreats, closing the door behind her, adding pointedly, "Breakfast in a half hour."

After her departure, I just stand there for a moment, feeling the energy level in the room drastically lowering with her absence. I turn and find myself facing the bed in the center of the room and look at the inviting mattress for a few minutes, contemplating climbing back in. I know I wouldn't be able to get any sleep.

I think back to last night's restless sleep with a shudder. Every time I closed my eyes I would see Prim's face as it was when her name was called, a look too old for her face set in on her features, resolutely accepting her fate. I see the guards leading her away. I feel Gale pulling Prim off my back, I hear her tears. I also see Effie's face, the surprise genuine enough to be seen through the thick layer of makeup, at my sudden volunteering. Her smile when she joked that I didn't want Prim showing me up. I anger slightly, but I know Effie's not my enemy. She was not being callous; she's simply ignorant to the effects of the Hunger Games on all of the citizens of Panem besides those exempt from them.

I shake my head violently and try to clear my head of these unwelcome memories that I'm sure will never leave me.

I change what I already have on and begin my search for comfortable clothes in the drawers, making my way through more frills and lace and expensive materials than I've ever seen in my life. Finally, I find a pair of loose fitting sweatpants and a short tank top that I deem acceptable and throw them on, and leaving my slightly disheveled braided hair the way it is, pausing slightly to run my hand across the intricate work only the tender hands of my mother could achieve. I break free of that sad memory as well, and focus on rebraiding the bottom part, letting it hang all the way down my back like I'm used to.

I glance up at the clock. 20 minutes until breakfast. I shuffle out of my room to search for somewhere to work out a bit because strenuous physical activity always relaxes me. It's not really outward exertion like Gale; he likes to punch things when he's angry, while I've found that by simply working out I can usually block out all that's bothering me. Nothing too strenuous, just something to take my mind off of the headache that's rising in my temples. This being said, I can't stand the room I've been given a moment longer; the girly pastel colors on the walls are really giving me a headache.

I walk down the hall and am immediately distracted by the carpet. So many designs are twisting around it looks as if there are about 6 different ones battling for dominion of the rich colors, but instead of looking sophisticated, it just looks confused. But then again, who am I to judge how sophisticated the carpet is? I'm just a girl from the Seam, out of place in this Capitol world.

I get to the end of the hall and stop short. My senses picking up the other approaching, and I avoiding a near collision with someone else. By the look of the shoes I'm faced with (my eyes are still glued to the floor, trying to figure out the puzzle that is our carpet), I know in a second who it is I've almost run into. Dark, uncomfortable looking dress shoes that were most likely supplied by the Capitol, but something doesn't look quite right…I can't put my finger on it. The ties aren't exactly straight; the wearer isn't used to the extravagance necessary to pull off any look from the Capitol. It's Peeta.

My heart sinks a bit. I hadn't counted on seeing him until breakfast. That's part of why I was seeking solace in physical activity, to clear my mind before being faced with him. Heat starts to spread around my neck and up towards my ears. I haven't decided how I'm going to go about interacting with him, the other tribute from District 12. Because of the Games, he's my adversary. But back at the Seam, he's my savior. Will I be able to put that aside if need be and launch an arrow into his heart?

This all races through my head a mile a minute. I glance up, resolute on keeping an expressionless face, to wait and see how he plays it. But my face instantly softens when I see him. It's all I can do not to laugh, really. His golden hair is sticking up every which way in such a way that reminds me of some grasses I've only ever seen deep in the forest around the Seam.

When he sees my face, he first breaks out into a little grin, as if my amusement is contagious. The smiling lasts for a moment, then I see a bit of self-consciousness set in.

I notice something interesting. When Peeta smiles you can even see it in his strikingly blue eyes. All the eyes in my part of town save my own mother's are darker hued, almost grey, mostly lifeless. The eyes of a defeated people. And as his face drops, his eyes become a little deeper. I feel as If every feeling Peeta has is shown shamelessly in his eyes. He has honest eyes, I decide.

"Good sleep last night?" I ask with a smile, and reach out to attempt to make the most offensive of the hair lay flat.

A look I'm not familiar with passes over his face as I brush through his hair with my fingers and I draw my hand back, satisfied that I've made some difference to the most of his gravity defying locks.

"Yes, actually, as I'm sure you can see." He said, ruffling his hair. "And you?"

Listening to the gravity of his voice with the question, I understand what he really means. Completely. My face has given away some of the pain my night had caused me. Looking into his concerned face, and those eyes, I almost tell him about it. But just as some of my dreams from last night resurface, so does my conviction to not bond with him. I'm normally not a very forthcoming person, usually keeping too myself, but something about him disarms me; I don't know why. I want to tell him about my dreams, about my fears. And I want him to share his with me. Which is why I retreat rather quickly, mumbling something about seeing him at breakfast.

I need to get a grip. This is no place for making friends. No matter how much I might want to.

That's Chapter One of Katniss's POV. Now get yourself over to "About A Boy" to read Peeta going through the same thing! Thanks for reading! Please review!

-Lady SM