(Crimson's P.O.V.)

I shoved my twin brother, Bristol, as we ran to the TV. We lunged onto the couch in our living room, and directed our eyes to the television. Today, all of Panem would be watching. Today, would see who the new President is. According to the history books, many people did not like to use the term "President" after the end of President Snow's ruling, which was over 500 years ago. People started to accept the term again though about 200 years ago. You could say I was kind of a history buff. I mean, how could I not be? My name was Crimson Mellark for Peeta's sake! If your ancestors overthrew the evil government 517 years ago, you would be interested in history too.

"The results are in," said the newscaster. For a split second her face dropped, before she smiled again and said cheerily, "Panem welcomes our new leader, President Zannabeth H. Rothenberg!" I stiffened, and looked at Bristol, whose face had visibly paled.

"No…" my mother said at barely a whisper.

The TV no longer had the newscaster, but instead it had the new President on the screen. She smiled, and waved at the crowd in front of her. My brother and I exchanged looks, hoping that President Rothenberg wouldn't live up to all that she said she would.

"Thank you all so much for your support," she said into the microphone she stood behind. "I could not have done this without you, so I promise to lead you the very best I can. I will give you my one hundred percent, everyday. The first thing I will do is establish where you will live. You will be taken to the district we think fits you best, and the rest will live in the Capitol with me." The crowd cheered. Her smile grew before she delivered the piece of information I dreaded to hear. The piece of information all the children of Panem dreaded to hear.

"And, of course, we will bring true entertainment back. We will bring back the Hunger Games!" she yelled the last part. I felt myself go numb. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. All I could do is sit, and think about how I might die-my brother might die. My 12-year-old brother! And, what for? For their stupid entertainment? I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

~3 years later~

I woke up in a happy mood. A happy mood that lasted a split second. It went away when I remembered. Today was the day of the Reaping. I got up, and put on the dress I had laid at the end of my bed the night before. It was a simple crimson shirt dress with no sleeves. My mom bought it for me saying it matched my name. It was always my favorite. I brushed my hair, and put it into a simple side braid.

I made my way into our kitchen. It wasn't much of a kitchen. It was part of a medium sized room, that also served as our main living space and my brother's bedroom (not really a bedroom, seeing as there was no bed and he slept on the couch). After the new President was elected, we were forced to move from our decent home in District 11, to this small crappy house in District 12.

I saw my brother munching on an apple for breakfast. I was way too nervous to eat.

"Where's Daddy?" I asked my mother, who was currently peeling the skins off of the potatoes.

"Out hunting," she said. That's where he usually was. He would usually take my brother or me, saying the skill could be useful if we ever got selected for the Hunger games. It was necessary since our chances got higher every year. This year we each had our names in twelve times. I would rather have my name in twenty times, and his in only four, but he refused. Suddenly, I heard a gasp, which interrupted my thoughts.

"Oh, my darling! You look so beautiful and grown up! I just wish it was for a different occasion," she said as she sat the half-peeled potato, wiped her hands on her apron, and ran to hug me. I hugged her back, knowing it could possibly be one of my last few hugs I have with her. I would not cry. I did all my crying last night. I always cry the night before the Reaping. If most kids were honest, they did too.

My brother stood up from the chair he was sitting in, giving me a look that said it was time to go. I nodded, and released my mom. She looked at me and gave a sad smile before turning around to hug my brother. Then she allowed herself to get serious.

"Listen, don't you ever, and I mean ever, volunteer to take someone's place. I don't care if it's the starving child you met one time. I don't care if it's a kid who's the only provider for his family. Heck, I don't even care if it's your best friend. I care about you two and you two only. At the end of today, I want you both sitting at this table for dinner, you got that?" she asked. We both knew this stern speech well, and knew that she only did it before every Reaping because she loved us.

We both nodded in response to her question, and headed to the door. Once we were outside, we started towards the place where the ceremony was happing. We were walking slowly might I add. We were in no rush to get there.

"So…" I said, trying to fill the silence.

"So?" Bristol questioned, not helping at all.

I gave him a look, and asked, "So, do think you'll get picked?"

"For the sake of the other tributes, I hope not. They'd drop dead in fear the moment they see me," he said, flexing his arm where there was supposed to bemuscles. I rolled my eyes, but laughed. I have to admit though, he's stronger then he looks, but I would never tell him that.

We arrived at the location of the reaping, and got in line for the stupid finger prick and paperwork. I started to get nervous again. Fortunately, the line was moving pretty fast, and before you knew it, we had made it through.

Bristol and I said our goodbyes, and headed to where we were supposed to be. I was now in a crowd of girls who probably didn't like me. Most girls didn't. I was a tomboy at heart, and I preferred to hang out with guys. I headed over to the side of the crowd, where there a rope. I looked for a certain someone, when I saw the familiar face was already looking at me. I smiled and waved. He waved back, and was about to mouth something when he was interrupted by the starting of the ceremony.

Some lady with bad fashion taste comes up on stage. A video is played. You already know what all happens. Next thing we know, the time comes. The time where we will know who has been chosen to be sent to their death.

"As usual, ladies first," the woman says into the microphone. She reaches her hand in, and grabs a small slip of paper, and reads aloud.

"Crimson Mellark," she says, cheerful as ever.

Say what now?

A/N: Okay, so I apologize for any errors in this, but its 5:40am, and I haven't slept all night. Also, something has gotten up underneath my left shift key, and it only works half of the time. Oh, what fun. Okay, I'm tired. You know the drill. If you wanna, follow or favorite this story. If you don't, then don't. Please leave a review, because I need sleep.

God Bless!