Hi Guys!

So, here we go! New story. About President Snow's granddaughter, fittingly named, "Rose." Mwahahaha!

I will try to make this book brutal, LIKE the Hunger Games, but I've never (ever) done a book with violence. Argh! I'm going to try my hardest, though. (-_-)

Tips:

1) Don't get too attached to any specific characters.

Um...I think that's the best advice I can give you! LOL!

So, *deep breath* here it goes.

Oh, and I want to say "Hi!" to any You Love Me people that have followed me over to this story. Thanks again for reading it and your reviews meant so much to me! :)

Okay. I'm gonna stop now. :D

*hugs*

-Homey

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins created The Hunger Games, Panem, and any other District characters mentioned here. Rose, Art, Karryoun, Sander...they're kind of mine. I created the names. I created the personalities. Suzanne Collins is the one who gave me the "base" to start!

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, characters and plot. Please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

I've known about The Hunger Games since I was born.

The Capitol loves it. We eat it up, year after year, relishing in the death of young teenagers. It's never seemed wrong to me, but it's also never seemed right.

As I'm here, on the train, I realize how very wrong it actually was.

Did all the boys and girls before me feel this way? Did they dig their fingernails into their palms until they bled? Did they wake up screaming at night? Did they take it calmly that death was irrevocably theirs, or did they fight it?

Art sits across from me, completely oblivious to the fact that we are going to have to kill each other. I stare at him with disgust as he shovels food into his mouth. But I suppose I understand. It's been a long time since we've had a good meal.

"Are you gonna eat that?" He asks around a mouthful of gosling, eyeing my plate hungrily. I grimace.

"No. Take it. Take the whole damn thing. Won't make any difference. We're all going to die out there."

He looks at me for a long moment, swallowing and grinning the grin I know so well. "Who says? You or them?"

"Them-" I begin, then reconsider. "Me. Both? I don't know!"

He gives me a knowing look and plucks a piece of the juicy meat from my plate. "God knows we haven't eaten like this in ages. Appreciate it."

I cross my arms stubbornly. "They're taunting us, Art, don't you see it?"

"So?" Nothing bothers Art.

"So it's…it's wrong. It's unfair. It's unjust."

"It's a lot of things," he says, taking a drink of milk. "But it's also good!"

At last I smile hesitantly and he laughs.

"There's your pretty grin, Rose. Now eat. You'll need to keep your strength up if you want to…" He trails off, seeing my eyes harden.

"I'm tired," I say in a disturbing, controlled voice that doesn't sound like my own. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Rose-"

I cut off Art as I march down the hall and slam my bedroom door.

I didn't want to be Snow's granddaughter. I didn't ask for it. When he died, I wasn't sad. When people ask me about it, though, I tell them I loved him. I tell them he was a good man. That usually gets them to shut up.

In truth he was horrible. He committed unforgivable acts, took countless lives. I began hating him when I saw how he treated my mother. He made every day miserable for her up until her death. I'm sure any way out was merciful at that point.

I wasn't old enough to fully understand but I remember standing there, seven years old, an innocent witness to his abuse.

"You're worthless!" He screamed.

Mom stood in the far corner, cowering away from him. "Daddy…I….I…"

"Don't call me daddy you...you...I don't want any part of you! Pregnant, again? Who was it with this time, hm? Who was it with?"

"Daddy…Rose is here."

"So? She's your offspring! She's filthy. Used. I don't want any part of her."

She turned away from him, then, toward me. Marching forward, she took my hand. I remember feeling so safe the moment those slender fingers closed around my plump ones.

"Let's go," she said in a shaky voice. "Grandpa has business to attend to."

I never saw her cry, though I'm sure she did. How could she not? She was living a life she didn't want, with a daughter she didn't want, and a demon for a father.

She died when she went into labor. Her petite body couldn't handle the twins she was carrying. I don't think the doctors tried that hard to save her, either. The babies were buried in a nondescript coffin right along with her. Later, I got two dolls and pretended they were my brother and sister. As if they could ever make up for losing them.

Snow insisted on me calling him grandpa, although to other people I called him many different names, some of them no child should ever say. I loathed him with a passion. I wanted him dead, buried in one of those boxes, like my mother.

As I got older, and Art moved into the mansion with his mother, things got better. Dorie was a sweet lady who looked after me-kind of like a nursemaid. In return for her kindness, I worshipped the ground she walked on. She was gentle, always had kisses to give, and never said a harsh word.

I told Art he was lucky. He just laughed and said she was overprotective.

"At least you have a mom," I pointed out.

He didn't say anything after that.

That was when we were fourteen, and four more harsh years would come before we were assigned this fate. Things were bearable up until the year Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were entered in the Games. That year, I watched them with bated breath along with the rest of the world. Katniss, my own age respectively, seemed so brave and strong and sure. Peeta was there for her, loving her, the perfect boyfriend.

I decided I wanted a boyfriend of my own and enlisted Art to fill the position. After a very awkward instance when we went much too far, we decided just to remain friends. That left me still pining for a Peeta of my own and I began to experiment with other boys. Things got worse with Snow after Katniss won-and even worse as he finally noticed how many suitors I entertained. He called me names he used to call mom, he slapped me and told me he hated me. I yelled it right back at him.

He might have been planning to kill me; I don't know. But then all hell broke loose with the District Eight uprising, and his attention was diverted. I watched as it all played out on screen, until it eventually trickled away into real life. My life.

After they captured Snow, they imprisoned the rest of us. Everyone from the mansion was put in cells, Dorie, Art and I included. We stayed there for a few months until they announced there was to be a final Games.

"What do you mean?" I asked when they told me.

The man-Plutarch, I think-looked at me coldly, sternly. "I mean that you're going to be entered in the Hunger Games. All of you between the ages of twelve and eighteen, please step forward."

There were twenty-six of us. Nadine Samski got off the hook because she was three days away from turning nineteen, and they said newly-twelve Poyka Delaney was allowed to live. That left twenty-four of us; me and some of my best friends.

Which was just peachy. Because I'm going to have to kill them.

I have no choice.

I spend the rest of the train ride in silence. I have no idea where they're taking us, until some servant on the train finally spills the news that we are going to Thirteen. They've built up a whole training center there, like we used to do to them.

But it's not my fault. It's not my fault.

The day we pull in, Art is his usual, unrealistically cheerful self. Sander and Karryoun, two of our friends who rode on the same train with us, act as if nothing life-altering has happened. But it hits me, over and over again. Only one will live. I have a feeling it won't be me.

"I wonder if they'll let us go shopping," Karryoun muses as she threads her arm through mine. We step down onto the train platform, the smell of coal in the air, stinging our noses. She brushes a blonde curl back from her face. "It's…quaint, to say the least."

Until now, I haven't even taken notice of District Thirteen's appearance, but it's nothing like they showed on TV. It's built back up, bustling with people and buildings and business. I see men and women entering shops and leaving them. They're all smiling, as if life couldn't get any better for them.

Assholes.

"Look at them," I sneer in Art's ear as we are prodded forward by a guard. I turn to glare at the man, who glares right back. "They don't even care that we're going to die."

"Rose," he says in a reprimanding tone. "We're not going to die."

I frown. "Our chances of coming out alive are maybe one percent. And…and the chances of coming out together…" I catch my breath. "There's no hope."

He wraps an arm around me and squeezes me shoulder. "Calm down. We'll be fine. You'll be fine."

I notice he doesn't say that he'll be fine.

Karryoun, oblivious to the entire conversation, turns and waves seductively at the guard. He takes in all five foot three of her curvy frame, and his eyes widen.

"You're cute," she says with a giggle. I see the corners of his mouth twitching. He things she's just a stupid, easy blonde. Ha! As if.

Karryoun often plays this game with many people, and she always does it to get what she wants. She knows the effect she has on people, mainly guys, and uses that to her advantage. Pretending to be stupid and head-over-heels is one of her tactics.

"Move on," he says, clearing his throat. When I stop walking he nudges me forward with the tip of his gun, which earns him a glare from Art.

"Maybe we can…get together later?" Karryoun suggests, twirling a finger up his arm. He frowns at her bravery.

He clears his throat. "Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to keep walking."

Karryoun giggles, wiggles her hips, and flips her hair. "Fine, fine. You want to play hard-to-get? Well, I'm game!"

And with that she turns, strutting forward to take her place by Sander. The guy looks after her, stunned, then realizes I'm staring.

"Keep walking!" He barks, earning stares from several passersby. Recognition dawns on their faces and they rush forward in one simultaneous heard, asking our names and scrutinizing us, already betting on who is most likely to win The Games.

"They're bloodthirsty," Sander hisses.

Art grins. "They're awesome."

Karryoun gets a little puckered line between her eyebrows, which means she's worried. She takes a good look at us, her friends, taller than her and stronger looking.

"I'm going to die," she whimpers, swaying on her feat.

I reach out to steady her. "Look, it'll be okay. You're going to try. If you say you're going to die then…then you will. It's all about attitude!"

She closes her eyes and then opens them, offering me a timid smile. "You think?"

"I'm sure," I lie through gritted teeth.

I can tell she doesn't buy it, but she thanks me anyway. I see that we're now almost to the Training Center. The Guard behinds us waves the remaining overzealous fans off and herds us forward.

"You'll need to line up by security once inside," he explains, ushering us through the double glass doors. They swish shut behind him, and there's a ding, like a bell. He rolls his eyes. "Great. That means we're the last ones."

Our group of four splits up, girls going in one direction, guys in another. I watch as Karryoun, one place ahead of me in line, gets her fingerprints taken, blood drawn, weighed, and measured. At last the man gives her a nod and she moves forward.

"Hi," he says as I walk up. "Have a seat."

I slide in the plastic chair in front of him. He takes my hand, gently pressing my index finger down on an inkpad.

"So, how was your trip?"

I consider answering him with a sarcastic remark, but sigh instead. "It was…okay, I suppose. Not my best three days."

He looks up at me from under a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "You know, that's the first honest answer I've heard all day." Another finger is pressed into the inkpad, and then onto an index card, which he scans to be stored in their computer system.

I shrug. "I could say it was wonderful and fun and exciting, but then I'd be lying. And an idiot."

He chuckles. "Well, I'm somewhat of a therapist, so I deal with idiots all the time." He hands me an alcohol pad and I rub the ink off my fingers. "Name's Dr. Aurelius. You?"

"Rose."

His eyes brighten with understand. "Ah, you're Snow's-"

"Granddaughter," I finish, averting his gaze. "The one and only."

I notice when he takes my arm, his hands are a bit shaky. He plunges a needle into my vein, draws a dropperful of blood, and sets the plastic tube aside.

"You know, it's not contagious," I snap.

He looks up at me. "Pardon?"

"Being like him. I didn't catch it, so neither will you."

He blushes, ashamed. "I'm sorr-"

I cut him off by standing and slipping my shoes off, hurrying over to the scale. He marks my weight down and takes my height. I'm five foot five. Average.

"Thanks," I mumble as I slip my shoes back on.

He looks over his shoulder. "You're the last one of the day. How about I show you to your room?"

"Fine," I agree reluctantly.

We walk, and he fills me in on the place, what food's best, and basically anything else I'd need to know. But not the important stuff. Not the things I'll need to know in order to survive. Never those.

"So here we are," he says at last, stopping in front of a door marked 305. I turn to him and give a short nod before slipping inside. There it is. Goodbye. I won't ever see him again, not that I wanted to. He's like the rest of them. Arrogant. Selfish. Unforgiving.

There's that word-the key to all of this. Forgive.

I plop down on my bed, knowing that they're serving a meal in the cafeteria soon but not hungry enough to go. My appetite is ruined.

These Districts are punishing us kids. The ones who didn't have any say. We're not responsible for what happened-but they still want us. They want to hurt our parents and grandparents, Aunts and Uncles, cousins and friends in the worst way.

They want to take us from them.

I realize only one of us will live, but I'm not even sure I want it to be me. What's the point? People like Art, Sander, and Karryoun. They have so much to offer. But then there's me: Rose. Named after my grandfather's favorite flower. Tied to him in inexplicable ways. I'll always be living in his shadow. Like with Dr. Aurelius: They're hear my name, and they'll tremble, and they'll run. Because, in their minds, I'm just another one of him. I deserve to die.

As soon as I think the words, I stiffen. I imagine mother, a beautiful life wasted, and then I imagine what Dorie's reaction to my thoughts would be like.

When we said goodbye, she straightened the collar of my dress, and her eyes met mine. "Now you, Rose Snow, are going to try. Do you hear me?"

I nodded mutely.

She frowned, unsatisfied. "I mean it."

"I know," I said.

And then she'd fixed me with one of her signature, purse-lipped, hands-on-hips glares that sent my cheeks burning with shame.

"If you give up, I'm gonna be pissed as hell. You understand?"

My eyes widened. Art laughed from across the room.

"I understand," I whispered at last, hoarsely.

And here I am. I know if Dorie could see me, she would be pissed. She'd go on and on about how beautiful I was, how I was wasting my life.

But I'm not. I have no life to waste.

Art knocks on my door a while later, and comes shuffling in with a muffin in his hands and a sheepish expression on his face.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey, back," I say.

He strides over to hand me the muffin. I sit up and take it, picking off a piece of the crusty corner and stuffing it into my mouth. I hadn't realized I was hungry.

"Thanks," I murmur after a while.

He hesitates, and then sits down on my bed beside me. "You weren't at dinner."

"Duh," I say, offering him a smile. "The Mr. Obvious award of the year goes to, you guessed it, Artimus Pride!"

He wrinkles his nose. "I hate my name."

"Agreed."

He grins. "You hate my name?"

"No, I hate my own name."

"I think it suits you."

I turn, shove against him so he falls onto his back, and sit on his stomach. "Don't you ever say that again, you idiot. My name sucks."

"Okay," he huffs, gasping for breath. "You weigh a ton…get off."

I pick myself up off him and go to sit on the edge of my bed. The muffin, so appetizing before, is slightly unappealing. I chuck it toward a garbage can in the corner but it misses and lands on the carpet.

"So are we going to be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman?" I ask after a moment.

Art shrugs beside me. "Maybe."

I sigh. "So, how is everyone taking it?"

"Like it's some big party."

"Huh, I would have thought you assumed the same."

He raises his eyebrows, giving me a knowing look. "There's a difference between cracking a few jokes and being okay with dying, Rose."

"Really? Because I don't see one," I mumble, picking at a loose thread on my dress.

"What?"

"Nothing."

There is a long, slightly awkward pause before Art lays his hand on my shoulder. "We'll try to find a way. Like those people Kat and Pete."

"Katniss and Peeta," I correct.

"Right." Art sighs. "There has to be a way."

"Like, how?"

"Maybe…maybe everyone could agree to just not kill each other. That would have to stop them, right?"

I shake my head. "They'd just…then they'd kill us themselves. Kill us all."

Art stands and heads for my door. "It's worth a try."

I shake my head. "No, it's not."

He pauses before he turns and handle and grins at me. "Just as a heads up: tomorrow is training. I suggest you be there at breakfast."

"And what if I'm not?"

He rolls his eyes. "Be there, Rose."

I stick my tongue out as he leaves, making him laugh. I allow myself a smile. I might as well enjoy the last few days of my life.

I go and pick the muffin up off the floor, take a bite.