Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games

Part 1-Gale

Part 2- Mr. Mellark

Part 3- Madge


The woods were the one place where I could be myself the one place I was I ever truly happy. Technically, my home was in District 12, the Seam to be specific. A place where the streets were crawling with starving children and the air was polluted with coal dust. But in reality, the only thing that made the Seam home was my family. It was the woods that made me feel free and comfortable and, well, myself.

I remember the first time my dad took me out here, when I was eight. The rush of emotions the fear, anticipation, and awe as I crossed the gate for the first time. I felt so insignificant in comparison to the vastness and seemingly endlessness of the woods. It was a foreign world, a change from the ever-the-same Seam, with only the gate as the boundary.

I remember following eagerly, and reverently, after my father. I wanted to be exactly like him tall, strong, and confidant. I remember marveling at the fact that he knew exactly where he was going, and didn't get lost within the massiveness of the forest. I paid rapt attention when he taught me how to make various snares and traps, and how to fish in the lake.

Because my father worked in the mines, our trips to the woods were not often. We went on the Sundays my father was off, and wasn't too exhausted from his week in the mines. It was always a pleasant surprise when my father woke me up early and told me to get ready. I reveled those Sundays, until one day they were taken away.

On the day of that fateful mining accident, I lost more than my father. I lost my innocence and childhood, as well. At only thirteen years old I became the head of my family. But when I looked at my younger brothers, Rory and Vick, and the bump on my mother's stomach that became my sister, Posy, in just a few days time, I knew that my goal would have to be achieved early and I would need to become just like my father.

I did whatever it took to provide for my family. For the first time, I went into the woods alone in the days following my father's departure. Remembering our lessons, I set up snares to capture squirrels or rabbits to be eaten or sold at the Hob. I submitted my name extra times in exchange for tesserae. And with the assistance of my mother's small laundry service, my family survived.

Now, five years later, I tread through these same woods. I walked through the forest with ease and familiarity. I knew it as well as I knew my right hand. After my father's death, the woods became, even more so, a place of solace and escape. A place where I wasn't expected to be strong, and where I could let go of the pressures of being depended on that lay on the other side of that gate.

I reached a spot that had become quite special to me, a rock ledge that overlooked a valley, surrounded by thick berry bushes. I pulled out a loaf of bread that I had traded a squirrel for at the Mellark's bakery. On a whim, I took an arrow from my bag and stuck it in it as a joke. Hopefully, it would bring a smile to her face. Even though it was considered a celebratory holiday, there was little to smile about. Today was the first day of the Hunger Games.

There was a soft sound of a footstep that interrupted the otherwise silence of the forest. Of course, the footstep was only audible to my trained ear, but to anyone else it would be soundless. I looked up to see the other reason why the woods, and this specific spot, were also special to me. Katniss Everdeen.

"Hey Catnip," I called. She smiled slightly at the old nickname I gave her, and I felt a distinct lump of pride that she seemed pleased to see me. Of course, she was always happy to see me. She liked me, just not in the same was I did.

"Look what I shot," I continued, holding up the loaf of bread. Like I had hoped, she laughed at the sight and I saw her eyes light up at the fact that this was actual baker's bread, which was rare for us.

She was so pretty when she laughed, though she rarely did it and never outside of the woods. She was always pretty, but especially then. He skin was soft and olive toned; her straight black hair was pulled back into her usual braid; and her eyes were gray, as was common in the Seam. We could've passed for cousins, but I thanked God, that we weren't.

She took the bread from my hands, pulling the bow out, and brought it to her nose. "Mm, still warm," she said, salivating, and once again I was glad that I had made her happy.

She asked me more about procuring the bread, before pulling out cheese from her bag that Prim gave us from her goat. "Thank you, Prim," I said, excited at the prospect of this meal. "We'll have a real feast."

Remembering what day it was I decided to try and make her laugh again. "I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games!" I said in my impression of Effie Trinket and her ridiculous capital accent.

I plucked a berry off a nearby bush and threw it in the air. "And may the odds "

She caught it in her mouth, before saying in her own capitol accent, " be ever in your favor!"

Although, we joked about it, it wasn't a laughing matter. There was a high probability that either of us, or both of us, could be chosen this year. Katniss had her name entered twenty times, me, forty-two. Although we both agreed that we would take care of the other's family if one of us were chosen, I honestly didn't know what I would do if she was chosen. I couldn't bear it if I lost her.

When I first met Katniss, she was a skinny, awkward twelve-year old. I was going through my usual rounds, when I saw her by one of my snares. At first I was surprised, frozen in my footsteps, never before encountering a person here. But I got over it, as I saw her reach up toward the rabbit that was caught in it. I now knew that she was only admiring it, but at the time I was sure she was stealing it.

When I approached her, I only meant to warn her off, but the mere sight of me frightened her. She jumped back in fear as she took in the sight of me, and that was when I recognized her. She was one of the other children who had lost their father in the mining accident. I knew that she had one younger sibling, a young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes that was uncommon in the Seam. That was because her mother was originally from town, and had married into the Seam. One had to be really in love to actually marry into the Seam.

"What's your name," I had asked her, interested in the reason she had found herself on this side of the fence.

She said her name so quietly, that I misheard and thought she said Catnip. And that was where my nickname for her originated. "Well, Catnip, stealing is punishable by law, or hadn't you heard?"

"Katniss," she corrected me, before claiming that she wasn't trying to steal from me. "I just wanted to look at your snare," she alleged, "mine never catch anything."

What could this little girl possibly know about snares? I couldn't help but think. Besides, I noticed what she was holding in her hand. "So where'd you get that squirrel?" I retorted.

"I shot it," she said, pulling a bow from her shoulder that I had not noticed before.

I couldn't help but gawk at it. Where could she possibly have gotten one? My father once brought one with us into the woods, and showed me how to use it. But he wasn't an expert, and I don't think the bow was even his. But it could be extremely helpful now that I was dependent on what I got in the forest. "Can I see that?" I asked.

She gave it to me, but retorted cleverly, "Just remember, stealing's punishable by death."

I couldn't help but smile. We began talking about hunting, and from that day on we formed a tentative alliance. I taught her about snares and fishing in exchange for knowledge about bows and arrows, and in time, my very own one. She taught me more about the edible plants in the woods and how to use certain leaves to my benefit.

Soon, we became a team, hunting partners. We looked out for each other and trusted each other completely. We shared our wealth and divided it equally among each other. We made sure that both of our families were fed and well.

But somewhere along the way I fell for her. I can't tell you exactly when because it snuck up on me. It happened in stages. First it was simply admiration, for her strength, determination, skills, and talent. Then, as she grew older, I realized how pretty she was and how attracted I was to her. I began to simply enjoy being around her, and the moments that I spent with her were time treasured. I found myself wanting to impress her, make her laugh; make her notice me, not just when we were hunting together. Before I knew it, I was in love with her and did not want to live without her.

How she felt about me was a mystery to even me.

As we cut the bread and spread the cheese, I couldn't help thinking about the impending Hunger Games and my feelings for Katniss. An idea that had played around in my mind more than once arose once again. A scene played in my mind of Katniss and I, together, never having to fear the Hunger Games again.

"We could do it, you know," I said out loud.

"What?" she asked.

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it."

I waited, anxiously for her response. An expression of her feelings for me, or at least the slightest desire of wanting to run off with me. When she didn't say anything, I regretted bringing it up at all, and making our feast awkward.

"If we didn't have so many kids," I amended, quickly. Which was true, of course. I would never be able to run away and leave my family to fend for themselves and we'd never be able to all run away in the woods.

"I never want to have kids," Katniss commented.

"I might. If I didn't live her." If it was with you.

"But you do," she said, irritated, and I found myself reciprocating the feeling. Was it that unimaginable to imagine herself with me? Was I that unappealing to her?

"Forget it," I said.

I sighed mentally, and wondered if Katniss would ever come to love me the way I loved her.

-HG-

The Hunger Games drawing was always a busy time for the bakery. Since it was technically considered a holiday, people chose to celebrate it with their favorite breads and pastries. It was customary to have feasts for breakfast and dinner, so people were in and out of the shop since morning. Even those who couldn't afford the delicacies that were served here used their savings to purchase something special. For example, that boy from the Seam who hunted with Vera's daughter. I had a special spot in my heart for them, besides I do really enjoy squirrel stew. She always shoots it right in the eye, too, so as to not ruin the pelt.

The Hunger Games required me to wake up earlier and labor diligently for hours. I loved my work, and the early hours were never a problem for me, but it was always hard for this day. My mind was always elsewhere, worrying about my boys.

I carefully kneaded the dough beneath my knuckles, feeling the soft powder mold and take shape as I contemplated what might happen in just a few hours. Out of my three children, two were still eligible to be drafted into the hunger games. I don't know what I would do if that happened.

I looked beside me at my youngest son, Peeta. He was carefully icing a batch of cookies with colorful frosting of various cheerful phrases and artful designs. Peeta had such a skill and passion for baking, I had no doubt that he would take over the bakery for me when it was time for me to retire.

"Good job, son," I complemented him.

He looked up from his current design, and smiled at me. "Thanks, Dad."

"Oh, and where's my compliment?" my middle child, Bran, asked as he came through the door from the front where he was working the cashier. "I've been working like a mule all morning, I think I deserve to be appreciated."

Now, Bran, on the other hand had no passion for the baking industry. He burnt things twice as often as he perfected them. He was groggy in the mornings and hated waking up early. But I didn't hold that against him, in fact I was proud of him because of it. Because, despite his aversion to this job, he was always loyal and willing to contribute and help out when it was needed. I was proud of my son for being a good person, and talented in the things he was good at.

"I don't know about the working, but you definitely have the sounds down," Peeta retorted. "Was that snoring I heard an hour ago or was that you practicing your singing? I think it's about time you give up on that dream."

"Oh, ha ha Peeta," Bran said. "Who knew the Pillsbury Dough Boy was so funny?"

"Well, when you've got skills like me, it's pretty hard to find any faults," Peeta smirked.

"Well, if I remember correctly, someone happened to beat your wimpy little ass during the wrestling competition."

Peeta said nothing, but moved on to frost another cookie.

"Who was that again?" Bran asked rhetorically. "Do you remember or did you get beat so hard it's too dim, and painful, to remember?"

Peeta made a sound of indignation, but otherwise continued his task. "Oh yeah, I know who it was. Me."

Peeta anticipated what would happen next, and was able to put down icing bag. He didn't move fast enough, however, to keep from being unearthed by Bran who ran at Peeta and knocked him to the floor. Peeta then grabbed Bran on the way down, and attempted to pin Bran to the ground. Bran easily wriggled out of Peeta's grasp and kept him down by locking his arm above his chest.

"Give up, little bro," Bran said. "You've got no chance."

"Oh yeah?" Peeta contradicted as he flipped Bran over, resulting in a resounding thud as he hit the floor. It was then that I noticed the cookies precariously on the edge of the table.

I pushed them back and announced, "Hey guys, break it up, break it up. Get back to work."

They both stood up, brushing off their clothes, and laughing good-naturedly. "You're lucky Dad broke it up," Bran said. "You would've been toast."

"Remember who was on bottom when he did," Peeta said, playfully punching him.

"Whatever, little brother," he said. "Anyways, Ma said that breakfast was going to be ready in ten, so finish up."

With that, he exited the room. "C'mon," I said to Peeta, "Let's get this finished up before your mother get's annoyed with us for being late."

He chuckled, and returned to his task of icing the cookies. I finished making the bread and put it into the oven to bake. Once Peeta was completed with the cookies, he went out front to put them on display. When he returned I instructed him to move the bags of flour that had just come in to the back before washing his hands and joining us for breakfast.

I tidied up around back, not liking the sight of a messy kitchen. Once I was content I went up the back stairs that led to our apartment above the store. I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands. While I lathered my hands under the sink, I looked at my appearance in the mirror.

No longer was the man in the mirror the young, blonde-haired baker's apprentice with only schoolboy worries. Somehow my life had passed by before my eyes and I had become this balding old man with worry lines etched deep into his wrinkles. Some moments in my life stuck out with clarity, every detail ringing clear in my memory, while others seemed like a hazy blur. Sometimes I wondered if I was conscious during a majority of my life, or if I had simply woken up after a thirty-five year hibernation.

But I had no regrets, that much I was sure. I was proud of my three sons, one of which was married, the other graduating from high school in a year, and Peeta showing such talent and modesty at sixteen. My marriage was…. stable. Loving, at times, but always stable and sure. I ran a successful business and was still enjoying my life doing it. For the most part, my life had been content and peaceful. I couldn't ask for more than that.

With a sigh, I turned off the faucet and dried my hands on the towel. I went out to our small kitchen, with a small wooden table, a regular stove and oven, incomparable to the industrial one downstairs, and white marble top counters. Peeta and Bran were already sitting at the table, talking animatedly about some school gossip, and my wife was standing at the sink washing off a few knives and pots. On the counters cooling were pastries, fresh since this was a special occasion, with a side of stew using the squirrel I had acquired this morning.

I walked up to my wife and wrapped my arms around her waist, and kissed her cheek. "Good morning, sweetheart." Though we had both been awake for many hours now, we had only brushed past each other without actual greeting.

She tutted impatiently, and disentangled herself from me. "Balthar, why do you insist on humoring that little girl? We don't need you trading precious goods for this…this awful squirrel."

"I'm not humoring her, its called sympathy, Merope," I explained, wearily taking a seat at the table. "They need it. Besides squirrel has a certain quaintness to it. I enjoy it."

"Well I don't," she complained, as she put plates in front of everyone's seat. "And you know that you'd rather not eat if you had the choice. We both know why you do it."

I didn't respond to that. This was a constant argument that had never abated during the course of our relationship, even when we were only dating. Merope was jealous of Vera, but what she didn't understand was that Vera was a part of my past. A ghost of the woman I once loved. But those feelings were never reciprocated and were long gone. But that didn't mean I had to be callous to her daughters or her when they were in need.

"I like squirrel," Peeta said, in an attempt to dissipate the awkwardness.

"Of course you do," Bran said, suggestively.

"What does that mean?" Merope asked.

"Oh, nothing," Bran said. "Only that Peeta has a wittle crush on Katniss Everdeen."

"I don't," Peeta said, though his skin turned slightly pink.

"Of course he doesn't," Merope said. "He knows better than to stoop to the level of Seam trash."

Peeta's slight frown at that went unnoticed by Merope, while I reprimanded her. "There's no need to be crude."

"I'm just saying that it's not in our son's best interest to get involved in someone who's headed nowhere. Besides who know what she get's up to illegally, though you're willing to associate yourself it ignorantly."

I sighed. Sometimes I wish that my wife wasn't so proud and determined to see the worst in those who were not as fortunate as us. But there was no point in trying to change her views. She was too obstinate and tenacious by far.

We began picking at the meal in silence. The only sounds were of the fork scraping against the plate and the chewing in our mouths. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Merope eating the squirrel stew with a disgusted expression on her face.

"Well, isn't this just the idyllic picture of a happy family," a voice said from behind me.

We all swiveled around to see my eldest son, Rye, and his wife, Thalia, waking hand in hand toward us. Thalia was a beautiful girl with long blonde hair and a tall, willowy frame. They had gotten married a little over a year ago, and now lived in small apartment alone. Though he still worked shifts at the bakery, he mostly worked at Thalia's parent's shop, where they sold jewelry.

Merope got up quickly from her seat, her mood considerably brighter, and ran over to embrace her son and daughter-in-law. "Rye! Thalia! What a surprise! I didn't expect to see you before the drawing!"

"Yeah, well, it's Terra's first one, so we figured we would spend dinner with them afterward and spend breakfast with you now," he said, as he returned his mother's hug, letting go of his wife's hand in the process. "Besides, it's Bran's last year."

"Don't I know it," Bran said, as he walked over to his brother. "How's married life suiting you these days, old man?"

He laughed, and looked adoringly at his wife. "Perfect." She smiled back at him and mouthed 'I love you'.

Bran pretended to gag, but slapped his brother on the back good-naturedly. "And how 'bout you Peeta?" Rye asked. "How've you been?"

"Good, I guess," Peeta said. "Bit nervous about today."

"Honestly, Peeta, what are the chances of it being you," Bran said. "You'll be fine."

He shrugged. "I suppose."

"Let's stop all this mournful talk," Merope said quickly. "Sit down! Sit down! I'll get you guys plates."

While Merope busied herself preparing plates, I walked over to Rye and Thalia. I wrapped my arms around Thalia and planted a kiss on her cheek. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"Great," she said, sweetly. "And what about you, Mr. Mellark?"

"I'm good, I'm good."

With a final smile, she walked over to Merope to assist. If there was one thing, Merope and Thalia actually got along really well. "How are you really, dad?" Rye asked. "Not worried are you?"

I sighed. "I'm a father. I can't help but worry."

-HG-

The melody was simple, a pretty tune that seemed to sparkle with staccato soprano notes. I closed my eyes and breathed the alluring sound in, soaking it in like sun at the beach. My fingers found the notes automatically, pressing lightly on the familiar ivory keys.

Music was both my passion and companion, almost like a stuffed teddy bear a child would have when they were young. I started learning piano when I was five, and I had a natural talent. Every time I played was like the first time. I felt the same excitement and emotion when I completed a new piece and could listen to the wonderful sounds fill my ear. My life would not be complete without music.

The piece progressed and flowed smoothly. I followed it through the crescendos and decrescendos, the pianos and the fortes, the melodies and the harmonies. I followed it to the inevitable ending, a trill that took one on a cliff, but never dropped. Once it was completed, I kept my eyes closed, reveling in the piece and committing it to memory.

"That was beautiful, Princess," my father said, breaking through my trance.

I turned to see him leaning against the arched doorway that led to my music room. I didn't know how long he'd been there listening, being too immersed in my music. There was a touch of nostalgia in his smile as he looked at me.

"You're even better than your mother was," he commented, after a pause.

I bit my lip. A part of me was glad that he compared me to my mother, that we had something in common. Any tidbit I learned about my mother was stored away in a special part of my brain. They were sacred treasures that I didn't receive very often. But I couldn't ignore the 'was' in his statement. It was almost as if she was already dead. The cynical part of my brain couldn't help but think that she might as well be since she spent the majority of her time holed up in her room so drugged up on morphling so that she probably wouldn't recognize me if she was conscious. She was my mother, but she was more like a stranger. I just wished that she could be a normal parent.

But nothing about my family was normal. For one, my father was the mayor of District 12. I still couldn't really see him that way. To me he was just my father, but his profession affected me, nonetheless. He was always busy, doing something or other for the District on Capitol orders or making sure everything was running smoothly. That, coupled with my mother's illness, left me lonely in my house most of the time. It was usually quiet, but after sixteen years I've gotten used to it.

"Thank you, Daddy," I replied, smiling, hoping that I wouldn't betray any of my ponderings. I knew that my father felt guilty as it is and I didn't want to add to that. I loved him, and I knew that he loved me as well.

He moved away from the arch and took a seat beside me on the piano bench. "I have something to give you," he said, rummaging in his pocket. "It's been intended for you, and I think you're old enough to have it."

He pulled out something small from his pocket, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. He handed it to me and I carefully unwrapped it. In my hand lay a small circular gold pin with a tiny bird inside of it. It was beautiful.

"It's a mockingjay," my father said. "Your Aunt Maysilee wore it in the arena."

In my family, Aunt Maysilee was hardly ever mentioned. All I knew about her was that she was my mother's twin sister and that she was chosen to enter the 50th Hunger Games but didn't win. I felt a sudden connection with the pin, the only thing I had of the Aunt I would never know.

"It's beautiful, Daddy, thank you," I gushed. "I love it."

"I'm glad," he said. Then kissing me on top of my head, he said, "You should start getting ready soon."

"Okay," I said, and we both stood up. We silently exited the room and ascended the stairs. At the top he turned right into his office and I continued straight to my room.

I carefully placed the pin on the dresser while I got ready. Today was one of the only days I ever dressed up and took care about my appearance. On school days I was required to wear the ugly brown school uniform like everyone else. On weekends I didn't go out much, and even if I did I wasn't one to display my wealth and fortune, I wore simple clothing.

But today was technically the first day of the Hunger Games and it was customary to dress up. So I would be wearing an expensive white dress that my father bought for me. It was pretty, but it wouldn't be comfortable and it would make me stand out.

After taking a shower, I took my time to lotion and spray myself with perfume. While I was getting ready, my eyes gravitated to the pin that lay on my bureau. I wondered if there was a part of her spirit still in that pin. I decided she must have been brave and independent and free, like a mockingjay.

I wondered about her games. Whether she died at the bloodbath at the cornucopia or not. I didn't think so in my mind she was smarter than that. I wondered how she was finally killed. I didn't ponder that for too long, because it was upsetting. I could only imagine what my mother went through seeing her twin go into the Hunger Games and watching her die at such a young age. I wondered if that was one of the reasons my mother accepted the morphling so readily so she wouldn't have to deal with the haunting memories of those games.

As I looked into the mirror, brushing my long blonde hair, I wondered what I would do if I was chosen to be in the Hunger Games. It wasn't likely that I'd be chosen, but it was possible. Just the thought of it caused fear and made me want to cry. If I was chosen, the likelihood of me surviving was minimal. But I figured I would try. With the spirit of my Aunt Maysilee in the pin, I would try and make it back home.

While I put the pink ribbon into my hair, I saw from my window that Katniss and Gale were headed in this direction. I quickly finished my hair and attached the pin to the dress, before going downstairs to grab the allocated money off the counter and meet them at the back.

I opened the door just as they reached the back porch. They were both dressed in hunting gear and covered in mud and leaves, evidently just coming from the woods. It was common knowledge that Katniss and Gale illegally hunted in the woods. The peacekeepers looked away and my father didn't say anything, of course, since he was one of their main customers. He had a love for the wild strawberries they found in the woods and was willing to pay for them.

When they saw me, Katniss gave me a small smile and waved. Katniss was the closest thing I had to a friend. We were the same age, and both not very social, so we ended up sitting at lunch and partnering together. We didn't talk much, and never outside of school, but like I said, I was used to the quiet.

Gale, on the other hand, had the same opinion of me most of the other kids my age had. They thought I was stuck up and spoiled because my father was rich in this district of poverty. I was resented, even by the town kids, because of my father's wealth. Either that, or they thought that my father was in cahoots with the capitol and was afraid that he would get them in trouble or something. They steered clear of me, not bothering to ever get to know me.

"Pretty dress," Gale said, contempt smearing his tone telling me this wasn't a complement.

Now Gale was Katniss' best friend, though Katniss' opinion of me didn't affect the way he thought of me. Well, in truth I didn't know what Katniss thought of me. I wanted to say she liked me, at least a little bit, but I couldn't be sure.

I pressed my lips together. Gale was always quick to comment on the things I couldn't control, and try to belittle me. At first I just took it. I hadn't wanted Gale to think he could walk all over me, but he was intimidating. First, he was handsome. I couldn't help but notice the perfect slant of his jaw, the deepness of his beautiful gray eyes, and the tone of his muscles. Just his sight took my breath away. Secondly, he was very tall and muscular. He had an aura around him that said you didn't want to mess with him. But I didn't want him to think that I was someone he could put into a box. I didn't want to let him get away with treating me in such a demeaning way and choosing who I was to be. So I started throwing it right back in his face and coming up with witty comebacks. And that's what I did now.

I smiled falsely, just the curve my lips instead of an expression of emotion. "Well if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

Gale's face scrunched in confusion as he took in my meaning. Finally, he said, "You won't be going to the Capitol. What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old."

The Hunger Games was still a scary prospect for me as it was every one else. I may not have as many slips as others my age, namely Katniss, but there's still a chance I could go. There were eleven year olds who were chosen with only one slip.

But he couldn't focus on the fact that we had a common fear, a common enemy. No, he had to focus on the fact that I had more, even though it was out of my control. I wish that this district wasn't ridden with poverty. I, too, thought it unfair that I had so much when others had so little. I empathized with Katniss' and Gale's and those countless other suffering children's situation. But there was nothing I could do about it.

People looked at me and thought that I would be someone who let her money go to her head and pranced about thinking she was better than everyone else. In all honesty, though, it was them who were obsessed with my money and put me on the pedestal above them.

"That's not her fault," Katniss said, and I was grateful that she had chosen my side over Gale's. I knew that she had every right to feel the same way as Gale did, him being her best friend and them being in the same boat, but I was glad that she didn't.

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is," he replied. But the blame was still there. Though, I thought that perhaps some was directed at the Capitol, he still blamed me.

I quickly completed the transaction with Katniss, trading the berries for the money, before wishing Katniss good luck and turning to go back inside.

The interaction left a cool feeling in the pit of my stomach. I hated that I was so sensitive and that the littlest of comments could bring me down. But the truth is, I wished that I wasn't the mayor's daughter or that it didn't have such a negative connotation.

All I ever wanted was a normal life. Normal parents. Normal friends. I just wanted to be known for who I am and be loved and wanted for that. So that when they hated me or looked down, or worse up, at me, I had someone to remind me that I wasn't who they thought I was.

With a sigh, I brushed my hand against the pin on my dress and I remembered Effie's little mantra. It seemed as though every one needed just a little luck to be in their favor.


A/N: Well that was the first chapter. Reviews, suggestions, criticisms-all are accepted. i hope you enjoyed =D