A/N: The chapters that follow have all been altered from their original form after being checked alongside the cannon text by Suzanne Collins for inaccuracies like inconsistent characteristics, passes of time, and common logistical errors. If you have already read my original text, you may want to read these over as well. I think they're better.

Tell me what you think.


I open my eyes in a flutter as they adjust to the light shining through the window. It's a bright summer day, the perfect weather for a reaping. I slowly sit up and brush the hair off my face. The air is lightly dusted with fragments of debris. Everything is silent, until my mother walks in.

"Are you up?" she asks, opening the door a crack. The expression on her face is a bit too enthusiastic for my taste. It usually is. "I'm just so excited! I'm going to be the mother of the 74th Hunger Games victor," she squeals.

This is so my mother. She always gets too over hysterical about everything. Her voice is so high I swear it could break glass if she cared enough to try. It's things like this that make me glad I'm more like my father.

"It's not official yet. I mean, what if I get picked, then someone else is going to volunteer and take my spot?" I ask, frowning. I know the probability of that happening is little to none, but the idea still irritates me.

"Oh, don't be silly! Even the older ones know not to mess with my Clove," she says, setting down my breakfast tray and handing me my towel with a grin. "Now go take a bath. We don't want the cameras to catch you looking like you just crawled out of bed."

"I did," I say as she shuts the door behind herself, leaving a green protein drink behind on a coaster. I shut the door and walk over to the tub, turning on the water. I drop my towel onto the ground with a plop and test the temperature coming out from the faucet to make sure it's warm.

As I look at myself through the mirror hanging over the sink my entire body tenses up.

This is the day that begins the rest of my life.

The whole idea is nerve racking, but I know better than to let it get to me.

As I step in the tub the warm water surrounds me and relaxes every muscle in my body. The lavish scent of melon engulfs my hair, covering every strand. I rub the sponge against my skin and every inch it touches becomes soft as silk. I sit there a minute, but eventually lift myself out and dropping my feet onto the floor.

When I walk back into my room a dress is laid out for me on my bed. I smile. It's a lavender purple thinly strapped dress with a fluffy skirt that starts at my hips, making me look slimmer than I really am. The material is so light it feels like air on my skin. I sit down on the edge of my bed and slip on a pair of simple black heels before exiting the room.

My mother and father sit on the couch in the main room looking through the window. As soon as I enter, they turn towards me, my mothers cheeks stained with tears.

"Oh, you look so beautiful," she gushes giving me an unneeded hug.

"I Know," I smile.

"Come here," she says whipping a tear off her face. "Let me do your hair."

I walk over to the kitchen chair and sit down making sure to cross my legs and push my hair behind my shoulders. Her gentle hands tentatively grip my long locks and begin to braid the sides of my hair until both braids join in a sleek ponytail guaranteed to put every other to shame. She walks back around to my face holding a brush dipped in ink. She seemingly wipes it across my eyelids creating a fierce competitive eye. She then grabs the bottle of red home made finger polish and dashes it across every nail, giving the impression that they were dipped in blood.

"Oh, look at you," she says stepping back to admire her work. "A force to be reckoned with."

"I can't believe my Clove is the going to be the 74th victor!" my father says, picking me up and spinning me around the room. He only puts me down when he glances at the clock. It's one o'clock, time to go.


My heels scuff against the stone road as I join the mob of people. Reaping day is always crowded. With all the parents taking their kids' pictures, the shop keepers selling last minute items, and racketeers placing bets on the upcoming tributes, there's barely enough space to breathe. By far, it's the most important day of the year. When I get into the square many of the shopkeepers are shutting down their stores, but I quickly sneak in and grab a raspberry chocolate for good luck.

When I walk out of the store I am guided towards the check in table. Six lines form leading to a table of Capitol officials. When I finally reach the front a woman in all white gestures for my hand. I offer it to her regretably, knowing what's to come. A needle pricks my finger and an electronic shiver runs down my spine. Crimson blood drips down my finger and I can see a trail of droplets from those that came before me as I continue to walk to my age group. The number of people in the square seems bigger than last year, though maybe that's just because this year I've got more to lose.

I stand on the stone floor making a tune with my feet when someone taps me on the shoulder. It's Terra. She wears a plain black dress, her hazelnut hair resting in deep waves around her face. Her lips are lined with pale pink gloss right beneath her prominent freckles, just enough make up to make her sea foam blue eyes pop. She looks beautiful. She always does. Ever since we were little. I've always been the fearless one and she's always been the pretty one. Not that I'm not pretty, but just not in the way she is. She has that effortless natural beauty that almost anyone would kill for. She has everyone wrapped around here finger, where as I have had to work for everything I have. Maybe that's why we're friends though, because we are so different. She has her things and I have mine. We never seem to bump heads much.

"So, are you nervous?" she asks me.

It's a valid question, yet somehow I take it to offense.

"No," I say, back hoping she can't tell that I'm biting on my lip. It's my automatic tell sign and she knows it. So I lied. It's not like I haven't before. To tell the truth would be to show weakness, and I'm to close to do that now. "How about you?"

"Oh, no. I've got nothing to worry about. No matter what happens your going, not me," she says. "You've got this in the bag."

The entire square goes silent. I hold my breathe, hoping that it will stop anyone from seeing how nervous I am. The entire stage in front of us begins to sparkle and the anthem starts to play as the doors open from the Hall of Justice to let out all the district officials. Mayor Apex steps out of the doorway first, his greased bleach blond hair almost shimmering in the sunlight. He wears a deep green tweed suit with a black bow tie and a satin top hat. His face smoothly shaved special for the reaping.

Next are our past Hunger Games victors, my future mentors for the games. Enobaria wears a sleek black jumpsuit, her razor sharp teeth displayed in a fierce smile. Brutus doesn't follow short behind her, his bald head acting like a mirror when hit with the suns bright rays. His muscles look so big they almost poke out of his suit. About five others trail behind them, their faces too similar to point out who is who. Lastly comes the district's escort, Persephone.

Persephone is recognizable as usual. Her fashion choices always seem to make a lasting impression. She's been our escort for the last four years, at least. Her stick straight bright purple hair and blunt bangs look almost metallic as she pushes her locks behind her shoulder. The sun almost seems to crack it as she turns her head, positioning her rear on her seat on the stage. She wears a floor length white gown, spewing multicolored feathers from it like a birds wings. The giant white bow on her head also exploding with the extensive use of feathers.

Once the anthem ends, Mayor Apex walks over to the podium and pulls out his speech cards. They're the same thing every year so I don't know why he hasn't memorized it yet, but I guess he doesn't want to mess up. Rumor has it that the last man who did was hung. Of course, it was before I was born but some people still whisper about it from time to time. He begins to tell us the history of Panem, and by extension, the story of the Hunger Games.

"It was many centuries ago when the world as people knew it ended and the world we know today began. Water consumed the continent of North America and from it a new nation rose from the ashes; Panem, one large Capitol city surrounded by thirteen districts that all lived in peace and prosperity. Until the dark days." He pauses, flipping over his card. "War, terrible war. Widows, orphans, and motherless child's. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained. And then came the peace, hard fought, solely won. The people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born. But freedom has a cost, when the traitors were defeated we swore as a nation that we would never know this treason again. And so it was decreed that each year the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice. The lone victor, bathed in riches, would serve as a reminder of generosity and forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future." He takes a long deep breathe and sighs. "Now to carry out this extraordinary honor is our escort, Persephone, all the way from the Capitol!"

Persephone rises from her seat and slowly walks to the podium. Her heels making a pitter patter sound as the spikes on her shoes hit the ground. When she finally arrives at the stand she taps the microphone and clears her throat. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds ever be in your favor." She pauses letting her voice raise another octave. "Now the time has come to select one courageous man and woman for the honor of representing District 2 in the 74th annual Hunger Games. Ladies first," she says, in her Capitol accent.

As her hand drops into the bowl my heart stops. Everything seems to be running in slow motion. Her fingers swivel around in the bowl until she picks one of the perfectly folded cards. She slowly peels off the sticker and opens up the card, revealing the perfectly written name to her pale sage green eyes.

"Mirabel Doe."

The girl's face goes blank. She's only three people away from me. Despite the cheers from the crowd, she's scared. I remember her from school a couple years ago. She used to be like me, a cut-throat competitor, until her brother got picked.

It was the 71st Hunger Games reaping and he was 18 years old. It would have been his last year. He was strong, muscular, and emotionless when faced with fear. He was perfect for the games, and I guess that's why for the first time in six years no one volunteered for him. Everything went well until the second week in the arena. He had teamed up with three of the other strong tributes but their alliance was becoming a little uneven. They still had five tribute left before killing each other off, but tension grew high and was too much for him to handle. In the middle of the night, he snuck away into the woods and killed himself. Nothing else was going on in the games at the moment, so the entire thing was televised, his paranoid rant against the games, a reflection of his life choices, and a goodbye to his family back home. The games had driven him mad beyond anyone's imagination. Then, when he finally calmed down, he grabbed his knife and slit his throat. To this day there still hasn't been another suicide in the games, and I doubt there ever will be.

After that, the entire Doe family fell into a scene of depression. They no longer went to the Mullet for classes or even came to the mock games that our school throws every year.

Her grey eyes drip wet tears that stream down her porcelain face as she climbs up the stage, barley holding onto her sanity. Even though the pulling of names is really just a formality here, she still looks shook.

Persephone's voice the devours the mild cheering that has began to fill the square. "Okay, do we have any volunteers?"

My hand shoots up high, proudly and strong, before she can even finish her sentence, an oath that "I volunteer as tribute," releasing from my lips along with three other girls. Everyone else in the square goes, quiet, mesmerized by our hands and the promise for an interesting championship within our district, the perfect show.

"Wonderful!" Persephone says, clapping her hands with excitement.

The crowd parts way allowing me to move towards the stage, but the pathway soon closes up behind me. Their loud hollers now blend into the background as I move along the path, standing behind two girls in a line, one all too close behind me. Peacekeepers surround me on all sides, their bodies making a sturdy wall between me and the world. I almost trip on a crack in the stone, but quickly steady myself before reaching the stage. The blonde in front of me laughs ever so slightly, scoffing at me, and I can sense her bitchy smile, making me clench my own jaw.

I can see Mirabel wiping her misty eyes as she steps away from the podium. My eyes follow her as she glides down the stairs and off the stage without a sound. Her quiet feet barley make a tap, or at least in comparison to our drumming heels that beat down the courtyard, preparing ourselves for the future that awaits only one.

Persephone goes down the list of volunteers, asking each of us a question as to why we want to volunteer our lives for the sake of our district. The first is a pretty girl with straight brown hair down to her waist allowed to roam free, but when she turned to the side, her nose, with a bridge long enough for a bird to perch on it, appeared. Her name was Damara. She didn't last long. It wasn't her answer, so much as her appearance that turned off Mayor Apex. It's unfortunate, but everyone knows that there's more to being a victor than skill. The second girl was the bitchy blonde, two braids taking all of her hair into their ties and down to the neckline of her dress. It was black and hugged every curve on her body, but not in a classless way. That's what made me mad. She looked gorgeous. She pasted on her fake smile as she told her name to Persephone, Dael. I fought off a laugh as she said it. She eyed me, but I'd expect nothing less. I was under her skin, just like she was mine, just how I liked it.

Next, it was me. I turned my face towards the cameras, unlike the rest of my opponents, knowing who was really making the decisions on my future, the people of The Capital. They were probably all loosing their minds back there. We are the talk of the town right now. I know it.

He scans me up and down, the raw sunlight catching my face in its gaze. I smile, making sure to crack a joke and answer the question directly, oozing confidence from within. There's no doubt in my mind that I've got this. The only question is whether he thinks whether Dael or this other girl are equivalent to me.

The last girl, Amaranth, has a bleach blonde pixie cut and barely a nose to complain about, barely a dress to look at. She's axed, just like the first one. Yes, she would have gotten all the sponsors she wanted, but not exactly in a way that would reflect well upon our district, which is the endgame.

I hold my head up high as Mayor Apex stands at the podium to announce his decision on this year's female tribute, and it's me. The crowd goes wild, screaming and grunting, and pumping their fists, but it quickly settles to a quiet beating of hands. I turn to Dael and perk the right corner of my mouth to smile as she walks away, leaving me to be crowned by a wreath of leaves and white flowers.

"Okay! And now for the boys."

I remember there was some talk at school about how a number of boys were thinking about volunteering, but I don't know for certain. For all I know they could have all chickened out by now. A lot of times they do. Guys always seem to think they're stronger than us, but I've learned it doesn't matter what they think.

Persephone's hand reaches into the bowl and pinches a single card between her delicate fingers before moving back to the podium. As she opens stickers the seal I can feel everyone stop breathing, including me. It's not the same kind as before but definitely still nerve wracking.

I press my lips together hard hoping that the camera's are pointing somewhere else right now. I look up and see my face on the screen and instantly tense up.

I almost forget about Persephone, until she clears her throat. It's so soft I almost didn't catch it but I guess she did that was on purpose. I'll admit that some things in the Capitol are cool, but obsessing over how a cough sounds to me is a little much.

"Daxard Lyles."

My heart settles a little. Not bad. I could deal with killing him. I mean, I've seen him a little around the North Village a little, but then again everyone in the district knows each other. A couple glances were probably the closest we've ever been.

He obviously doesn't see the reaping the way I do. By the time he joins me on stage his eyes are puffy and his face looks like a wet tomato.

"Well then," Persephone says, looking at the blubbering red mess beside me and spreads a fake smile across her lips. She's obviously just as disgusted with his break down as I am. "Do we have any volunteers?"

She looks at the crowd almost desperate. All her friends in The Capitol must be having a good laugh right now. At least it make me look good by comparison. For a second the crowd is quiet in anticipation. I let out a deep breath, but it's all too soon. And the winner is...

Just as I am finishing my thought, two hands next to each other raise in the air.

"I volunteer as tribute," they say in strong booming voice, unified, eyeing each other maliciously, their noses only sitting inches apart, their hands still strong and raised in the air.

They're both pretty similar in build, but the differences stand numerous against that. The first, named Cerulean, like the sky, is dressed in a navy blue fitted suit and brown hair. His black eyes pool with rage, but his lips twist to smirk ever so slightly. It's an odd combination to play on screens among The Capital, but I'm sure they'll manage. He's quite handsome, but he has a face that says he knows it. He expects to be fawned over. The second one is just a bit taller, and leaner, his body taking its size from built-up muscle rather than genuine form. His hair is almost a honey tinted blonde, from root to tip, dipping down onto his tanned forehead effortlessly, drawing everyone to his intoxicatingly blue eyes. I almost can't look away. Then, suddenly, as they approach the podium, muscles flexing purposefully as they make their way down the isle, seven peacekeepers standing between them to keep them from spoiling everyone's fun before the games even begin, my heart stops.

I know him. No, not only being a friend of a friend of a friend, or even catching a glimpse of each other from opposite sides of the sidewalk on frequent occasions, but actually knowing each other. When we were younger we used to compete at the Mullet. He knows how to handle a spear, that's for sure. He's almost as good as I am with my knives. Almost.

We've only actually talked a couple times but it doesn't take much for him to make an impression. Let's just say he's a little intense. He's strong, not weak. He's confident, not shy and self loathing. He's arrogant, but brave and smart, and a little unhinged. That's what I like about him though, that he never gives in no matter what. It's the one thing I always aspire to do.

It's a close call between the two, but all rank defenseless beneath Cato's vicious smirk, even cutting me to the bone. Persephone guides us both towards the podium, on either side behind her. He walks with his head held high and his muscles flexing unintentionally at the crowd, encouraged by its noise and excitement that the tributes have been solidified. They love us.

When he reaches me he crosses his arms and sets his feet shoulder length apart. I tense up a little, but nothing prepares me for what comes next. He looks at me, scanning me up and down, and gives me a head shake and pitiful smile, like somehow I was the weak one.

I sigh ever so slightly to myself. Now this is going to be more difficult.


A/N: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of the characters within the stories by Suzanne Collins.

I hope you all liked it. I'm always trying to improve my writing in any way possible so PLEASE REVIEW.

Also, I tend to reuse some of my own original characters in other fanfics so you can have fanfic of a fanfic feel, then all existing within the same universe, so if you want more check out Flightless birds, Forbidden, or Innocent In Water.