Chapter One; The Beginning.

I lay in my bed, watching the dust float around my room as the rays of the early morning sun breakthrough the shutters at my window. It falls and settles as if it knows it's the only day it can do so. Today is reaping day. I sit up, thinking of what the day will bring. What will happen? Who will be picked? I don't know. While these things are churning in my head I slip out of bed, put on a simple T-shirt and pants, and head to the kitchen to do my morning chores. I push open the door and walk to the little closet in the back with my aprons. I slip one over my head and start tying the strings when my mother walks in and starts yelling. "Peeta! Where are you?" She asks, can she ever not yell? I doubt it. She never has. "Over here, mom!" "What are you doing in here? You need to be getting ready to go to the square!" "I'm starting on my chores." "Not today, you're not! I'll have your brother do it! Now get out of here and get cleaned up! Now!" I sigh, and do as she says.

The walk back to my room seems to take forever. But when I do finally get there, I go into the bathroom and turn-on the water. My clothes are still clean, so I fold them and put them back in my dresser, or what I call a dresser anyway, and slide into the tub. Just as I start to get comfortable, it hits me. All these questions I don't have answers to. The same ones that come up every year at this time that I can't answer until the reaping is over. It starts giving me a headache, and the more I think all of it, the more fear creeps into me. Stop it, I tell myself, you'll only make it seem worse than it is. So I try to keep my mind clear of thought, and it works for about fifteen minutes, then it all comes swarming back and I'm forced to get out. I pull out my nicer shirt, pants, and my newly polished shoes, then slick back my blonde hair. I stand in front of the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. Blue eyes full of worry, my whole face is full of worry, basically. I look myself up and down and notice how tense my muscles are. On reaping day, this is normal. I begin to relax a little as the smell of fresh baking bread fills the air. Perfect. I walk into the kitchen to find them waiting for me. My mother, father, and my two brothers. "About time, Peeta." Says Mason. He's eighteen and it's his last year in the reaping, so he's in a fairly good mood today. I sit at the end of the table and we eat in silence. This is the only day we get to eat the fresh bread, which is a good thing, I suppose. Getting reaped, here in District Twelve, basically means your death being chosen out of thousands. But at least I would have a good last meal here at home before I'm killed. If I ever get reaped.

But with all those names in that bowl, and my own being in there only five times, I'd say the odds are against my name being read off that slip of paper, but there is one person I worry about. Katniss Everdeen, the girl I've had a crush on for eleven years, since the first day of school. Her name will be entered twenty times, having to signup for tesserae. Grain and oil in exchange for having your name entered a few more times in the ball. I see her do it often. The thought makes me sad. And the other thought that her and her family might not even have anything to eat this morning, makes my appetite diminish. I finish my meal and wait out the rest of the time in my bedroom. I stare out the window, thinking, for what seems to be hours, but is only half one, before I see people heading for the square. I get up and face the mirror once more, only to see my father behind me in the doorway. He stares at me with a sad expression for a few minutes before he says anything. "Hey, Peeta." He says. "Hey dad." I reply. "You okay?" "Yeah, I just have a lot on my mind right now, that's all." "Peeta, I doubt your name will be chosen. Mason has a greater chance of it than you do, but with all those names, the odds are more against either of your names being called. You'll be fine." He says, but he can't hide the worry in his voice. "It's not just me I'm worried about. Actually, I wasn't worried about myself at all until you mentioned it. It's someone else." "Oh. . . May I ask who?" This takes me by surprise. He usually leaves this kind of stuff alone so he doesn't have to deal with it. So, Naturally, I push his offer away. "No, it's nothing. I better start making my way to the square before the peacekeepers come break down our door." He looks at me, he wants to say more, and he does. "Are you sure?" He asks, clearly not convinced it's nothing. "Yeah, I'm sure." I say flatly. He looks like he wants to say more, but he just sighs and waves me out the door. I walk in an ocean of kids, ages twelve to eighteen, as these are the ages of the kids eligible for the Games. As I enter the square, I'm herded into a roped-off section for sixteen-year-old boys, like myself, and await the ceremony. I hear the town clock strike twice, noting that it's two O'clock.

Mayor Undersee comes up to his podium and gives his speech, the same one every year. About the past of our country, how it used to be called North America, but crumbled and Panem evolved from it's ruins with the big and rich Capitol, and 13 districts supporting it. Then the part about the dark days, how the thirteen districts rebelled against the Capitol in terms of freedom, but twelve were obtained, the thirteenth blown to the moon, you could say. And the result from it was The Hunger Games, a cruel way of the Capitol showing us that we cannot overpower them. So each district has to send one boy and one girl to fight to the death while the rest of us sit and watch. "It's both a time for repentance and a time for thanks." He says. Yeah, sure its. I think. As he reads the 'list' of Victors District Twelve has had, I wouldn't really call it a list. There have only ever been two, only one still alive. Haymitch Abernathy. Always drunk, always alone, and almost always never around. He stumbles onto the stage, and tries to hug Effie Trinket, the escort for District Twelve. The mayor tries to get everything back under control, and quickly passes the attention to Effie as soon as he does. She walks - Or should I say skips - up to the podium. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She gives her speech, and it's time for the name drawing. As like every year, it's "Ladies First!" She goes over to the girls 'ball, and rummages deep into it and pulls out a single slip of paper, and walks back to her spot., and she slowly starts to unfold the paper. Please don't be her, please don't be her, I think. But when she reads the name, I get a sort of sting. It's not her, but it might as well be. It's Primrose Everdeen, her twelve year old little sister...

Author's note: Hey guys! So this is chapter one of an on-going saga. . .

And it's the first real story I've ever written for here! I just got my Fanfiction account, but I've been writing these 'stories forever!

So, please let me know what you think and if I should continue!(:

It would mean A LOT if SOMEONE actually read it xD ~Alexis