Hey! This is my first "published" fanfiction. Hope you enjoy! Leave a review please (if you have the time)

The bell rang, releasing us from school. I rushed down the hall, to the exit of the building. However, a crowd of other kids had gathered; everyone was excited to watch the Reaping.

"Hey Rosie!" Myla, my best friend, was squeezing through the crowd to join me as we tried to exit the school.

"Hey Myla," I replied while scanning the herd for Jone, my brother, "Is your family still coming over for the show?"

"Of course! Wouldn't miss it for the world!" She winked, and we shuffled out of the school. The cool breeze flew through my hair, and I squinted in the bright light of the setting sun. The skyscrapers surrounded us, and we waited outside on the edge of the fountain in front of our school for my brother.

Finally, my brother emerged from the school. Most of the other people already left, hurrying home to watch the Reaping. But Jone continued to take his time, his long blonde hair flipping in the wind. Myla sighed next to me, and I rolled my eyes. It was a common known fact that she fancied him, though she always denied it.

He strolled over, glanced at us, and started heading home without uttering a word. Myla and I quickly followed him. I made a mental note to discuss this with my parents. The fact that I wasn't allowed to walk home without my older brother to "accompany" me was unfair. I was already twelve, and Myla was with me. We should be allowed to walk a couple blocks alone!

As we approached our house, Jone unlocked the front gate, and sprinted for the front door as the gate slowly closed on me. I sighed as I entered the passcode. I waved goodbye to Myla as she headed for her estate across from mine. She just moved in there last week. I walked up the lawn, entered my house, and closed the door behind me. My parents were sitting in the next room, in front of the large screen that covered the wall on our white plush couch. I headed up three flights of stairs and turned left for the West Wing. The violet sky shone through the stained glassed window at the end of the hall, and I turned into my bedroom.

I fell into my favorite pink pillow. It was covered in soft pink plush, the same pink plush that covered my entire room. I slipped off my white sweater and peeled off my tight pink dress. I then went into my closet and picked out a thin blue dress. I lifted my string of pearls off my mahogany desk and placed them delicately around my neck. I twirled around in front of my mirrors in my powder room, located across from my bedroom. I remember when Father had them imported straight from District Four. I ran my fingers through my curled blonde hair, and decided I was ready for the party. As I started down the stairs, the doorbell rang.

I rushed to the door and flung the door open. Myla and her parents were there, smiling, and I greeted them and showed them in. My parents rushed over to greet them, and they all strolled over to the viewing room.

"Where's Jone?" Myla stared up the stairs.

"I don't know…" I replied, "Let's go over to the viewing room."

We walked over, and the screen was showing Caesar's face, discussing previous Games. The Reapings took place earlier today, while we were at school. Every year, our family would watch it on our screen, and bet who will win. I glanced over at Myla, who was quietly sitting on the couch. My parents were drinking some sparkly liquid, and the rustling noises above the ceiling signaled that Jone was about to join us.

"Mr. Wallace," Myla started, addressing my father, "Can I try some?"

My father grinned, and handed her the glass. She took a sip, and started coughing. The adults all chuckled, and Myla slumped down, embarrassed. Her brown hair covered her red face. Huh… I thought as I noted her hair had lost its shine. Suddenly, the Capitol symbol flashed on the screen, and everyone quieted down. I took a seat next to Myla, and Jone slipped into the room.

The replay of the reapings started, and there was good old Poland Gold, who was commenting away. The District One reaping started, and the girl tribute was a volunteer. She had golden locks, like mine.

"Wow, she's really pretty!" I commented.

My comment was met by a round of applause and cheers. "Honey, when you're her age, you'll be twice as beautiful!" Mr. Kip, Myla's father, assured me loudly. I blushed, and the reapings went on.

The District One male was this strong, handsome, confident guy. The District Two tributes were volunteers as well, but they seemed really arrogant as they strolled up to the front. The other reapings past by without any particular or special tributes. There the strong tributes from District Four, who volunteered, and sullen looking tributes from all the other districts. I glanced around and noticed that my mom, unlike my father, was sipping from her glass quietly, with a distant look in her eyes. My eyes went back to the screen to see a young girl from District Eleven. She was small, like me, and I heard Poland say that she was twelve. I heard my father sigh, as he did whenever there was a tribute that was picked with no chance of winning. It made his job less exciting. I watched a large boy get picked, also from District Eleven.

The reapings continued, moving on to District Twelve. The entire district seemed to be coated with dust. I glanced at the clock, and realized how late it had gotten. I hoped the reapings would end quickly… The escort, Effie something, picked out the female tribute, another twelve year old. The cameras zoomed in on the girl's face. I gasped.

The girl had a round face, blue eyes, and light blonde hair. I heard Poland mention how she was twelve, and that her name was Primrose. Her hair, her eyes, her face, her size, her figure, they all looked like mine. She looked remarkably like me. There were noticeable differences, like the fact that her eyes were set further apart, her nose was smaller, her face was longer and thinner, and she was skinnier, but otherwise, she could be my sister. On screen, an older girl ran forward and volunteered to save her. She mentioned how the young girl, Primrose, was her sister. The cameras went back to her, as she screamed her older sister's name. It was then I noticed the biggest difference between us; her eyes were the same color as mine, but hers were almost empty. There was a hollow ring, as it looked, around her pupils, and it seemed as if she had experienced all hardships of the world. The bones in her face stuck out, and she was scary skinny, the skinny that every girl at school strived for.

I looked around. The gazes of everyone in the room were on me, mentally comparing my features with the girl's. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. I focused my gaze on the screen in front of me.

The screen showed the face of her older sister, apparently named Katniss. Her face was dark, and you could see the shadows in her eyes. The audience didn't applaud, but instead gave her this hand salute. The boy tribute was called, and they shook hands and left the stage.

I was still shaken when Myla and her parents left, and when my mother disappeared into the bathroom. I didn't speak as I headed up the stairs to my room. All I could think about was that girl. If she was in the Capitol, she would've definitely been my friend.

As I climbed under the covers, the sound of her voice was stuck in my head. Her voice rang with agony, and I thought about her older sister. Unlike the other volunteers, her voice was filled with desperation, whereas other volunteers had voices that rang with arrogance. Suddenly it hit me; the girl was protecting her younger sister. The little girl, Primrose, would've died in that arena. She was small, skinny, frail, and delicate. Just like me.

I clapped my hands and the lights turned out.