A/N: This is a telling of Johanna Mason's Hunger Games experience how I would have envisioned it. I put her in the 63rd Hunger Games, and seventeen when she was chosen, because that would make her 29 during Catching Fire; I always figured that she'd be in her late 20s/early 30s while in the Third Quarter Quell.

"Hanna, dear, could you please tell your brothers that dinner's ready?" my mother inquired from behind the kitchen counter, already beginning to put portions of food on our plates.

"Yeah, sure, whatever, Ma." I swung my legs off the stool and traipsed out the backdoor. "Ash! Alder! Dinner's ready!" I called out to them before turning around and slamming the door unceremoniously in my wake.

They would hear me. They always did. Being only nine, they were too scared to wander too far into the forest. Even though I didn't approve of them being out there alone, I knew they would always have one another. Plus Alder was always the more cautious one. He would keep Ash in line; keep him from going past the Gorge.

"Johanna!" My mother let loose an exasperated sigh as she threw her towel down on the wooden countertop, "What have I told you about just calling to them? What if they don't hear you?"

I was just about to open my mouth to tell her where to shove her directions when Ash and Alder came slinking in, packs hanging loosely off their backs, covered in mud.

Guess they got into a wrestling match again. I just hope it wasn't too close to the Gorge this time. I smiled smugly, knowing that Ash would have handed Alder's ass to him on a platter. Ash was always the bigger one of the two; he could handle more weight than Alder could.

"What was that you were saying, Ma?" I asked, smirking-probably more than I should have been.

Ma just rolled her eyes and went back to dividing up the chicken between the four of us since Pa wouldn't be back from the lumber mill until much, much later and would have eaten on the site.

"Sit down, you," She pointed her knife at me playfully. "And you two," she pointed to Ash and Alder, "Take those filthy shoes off and change into something clean or you don't get a single bone from this chicken."

The boys scurried down the hall to their room, pushing and shoving in their haste to get changed and be the first to get their food. I couldn't help but laugh a bit at their antics. Those boys always acted like they were never going to eat again.

As I sat down, I felt a churn in my stomach. I realized that this might be my last dinner in this house. This might be the last time when things were normal with my family. Tomorrow would be the Reaping and everyone in the house would be on edge: I could very well get picked to participate in the 63rd Hunger Games.

I had as much of a chance as everyone to participate. Well, maybe a little bit more, seeing as I've had to take out five tesserae every year prior to this one to support my family; to help get food on the table. But what that number of tesserae that I've taken out in the past adding up to 25 and this year's total being eleven slips, my name will be in the Reaping Ball 36 times.

My chances are much higher than most to get picked.

But as long as there's bread on the table for Ash and Alder, I'm okay with that.

When I was fourteen, I began to put two and two together; I began realizing how my slips would multiply in the Reaping Ball. I recognized that by the time I was eighteen years old, I would have my name in the ball 42 times. I knew I would get picked to play in the Games sooner or later.

That was when becoming a lumberjack started to appeal to me. I figured that being a lumberjack would help me out more in the long run, should I get picked at the Reaping than being, oh, say, a tailor like my mother. The Valley had few career options, but being able to throw an axe with precision would be a better skill to know in the Games than knowing how to hem a pair of trousers.

I started to go to work with my father, and I don't think he realized my true motives as to why I was so eager to watch him and his buddies chop trees. I could've been at home helping my mother with some "women's work," as my Uncle Blythe would so kindly put it. But I really don't think he cared why, I think he was just happy to have my company, because Lord knows I was a loner child and would've rather spent my time alone in the forest than with anyone else.

When my father started to teach my how to actually use an axe, it was like a dream come true. The weapon was a bit heavy at first, but after awhile, I became accustomed to its weight. According to Pa, I was a natural. My axe felt like an extension of my own arm, so easy to control, so easy to put my commands into motion.

Soon after my training with Pa began, I took an interest in tree climbing. I figured that if I were ever chosen, I would have to know how to get to higher ground as fast as I possibly could. The trees were harder to confront than axes for me. I didn't have the balance at first and it made climbing slow and awkward.

But as time passed, I leaned which branches could hold my weight and which would snap if I even put a toe on them. I began to silently slink around the forest with an axe looking for a moving target: a squirrel, a raccoon, and hell, I once took on a mountain lion and lived to tell the tail. Hitting my targets straight between the eyes soon became too easy for me, but I liked it. It was familiar, comforting, almost. Several days a week, I would bring in food for my family, illegally of course, but I don't think Ma ever cared. Food was food. As long as the animal wasn't sickly when I struck it, Ma could make just about anything out of it.

"Johanna? Could you please pass the salt?" Ma murmured, breaking me out of my thoughts. I hadn't realized that Ash and Alder had come back from their room and were already digging ravenously at their plates.

I handed Ma the salt and robotically ate my food. I didn't taste a thing; my mind was elsewhere.

After dinner, I went back into my room, grabbed my pack, made sure my axe was sharp, and slunk out my window. Ma would understand. I always went hunting the night before the Reaping. I had to make sure my family had enough food incase I was chosen.

The forest was comforting. Always was. Despite the fact that I constantly reminded Alder and Ash to stay far away from the Gorge, I always hunted beyond it. I could climb up high in the tall pine trees and slink branch to branch to branch to get across, but I never took the same route more than twice for fear of someone following me.

Twilight was falling fast and I knew that I would have a limited amount of time before the night animals would come out to play. The stakes would rise, but I wouldn't be doing my family a favor by getting mauled by a mountain lion the night before the Reaping. The Capitol didn't care if you were dying of the plague or had several broken limbs, if you were called in the Reaping, you had to participate in the Games. No exceptions. And my chances of survival would diminish significantly if I were injured severely beforehand.

From my perch high in the pine trees, I could make out a doe silently grazing ten feet away. I got into position, swinging down a few feet so I could have a better shot and let my axe fly. A clean shot between the eyes; not too deep that it severed her head in half, but deep enough that it killed her on contact. She dropped like a fly, instantly.

I quickly sung down the tree and began to clean her up. Silently, I grabbed the plastic containers from my pack and began to fill them with her meat and a few select organs that Ma liked to use while cooking. I didn't have the strength to haul a full-grown doe up into the trees and then over the Gorge. That was too much to ask of any seventeen-year-old girl. Well, one that wasn't a career-from the Capitol's lapdog districts 1, 2, and 4. One who didn't train for the Hunger Games her whole life and act like it would be a gift from God to be chosen to compete.

With as much strength as I could muster, I dragged the doe close to the creek so other animals would find her when they came to take a drink; free food for them tonight, compliments of Johanna Mason.

As I cleaned off my axe in the cold water, I thought of how I should act tomorrow. I didn't want to be too standoffish in the case that I was chosen because then the others would see me as a threat, and I didn't want that. I didn't want to be one of the first targeted for slaughter. But I needed to have the element of surprise on my back. Everyone knows that District 7 is the proud supplier of lumber for the Capitol and surrounding districts and that their tributes are generally axe-savvy, but I needed a way to keep suspicions about my talent away. But how?

It was as I was sharpening my blade that I had an epiphany. I would have to pretend to be weak. Act like a poor seventeen-year-old girl that had the misfortune to be chosen to compete to the death in the 63rd Hunger Games. If I was chosen and was set compete, I would be absolutely dreadful in training, get as low of a score as possible and then when the time came to be placed in the actual arena, I would snatch an axe before anyone even saw it coming and dart up high into the trees. If they even have axes. Or trees, for that matter.

Placing the blade cover back over my axe, I stood up and made my way to a sturdy pine tree that I was sure had branches that could take me back to the Gorge. I slipped my axe back into my pack and began to scale the trees.

In what seemed like no time at all, I found myself at the forest edge. The moon was fully raised and I could see the silhouette of Ma in the kitchen, leaning over the counter taking to Pa. I smiled to myself. This was my home, the log cabin that my father made with his own bare hands. This was where my family was. And in that moment, I knew, without a doubt, that I would do anything to protect them. Even if it meant my own destruction.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

I awoke to the smell of eggs and bacon the next morning and the sound of my mother pounding on my door to let me know that breakfast was ready. Smiling, I turned over on my stomach and grabbed my watch from my bedside table: eight o'clock in the morning. Leave it to Ma to wake a teenage girl before noon. But then again, it was Reaping Day and the ceremonies began at 10:30 AM sharp.

I stumbled out of my worn, but still comfortable, cot and grabbed the robe my mother gave me for my fourteenth birthday. I slipped on my shabby slippers as I left the room.

"Morning," I yawned, stretching my arms out as I sat down.

Ash and Alder were snickering to one another about how much of a rats nest my hair was, and I silenced them with a glare.

"Smells good," I told Ma as she presented me with a plate of four bacon strips and a pile of scrambled eggs. This breakfast was much more than we could have afforded on a regular day. I guess Ma has been saving for this for a while to get such fancy food. I wondered if Pa knew. But judging from the genuinely surprised and overly joyful expression on his face, I'd say he had no idea.

After I finished my portion, Ma shooed me out of the kitchen and turned down my offers to help clean up, claiming that I needed to bathe and get myself looking presentable for the Reaping. I had a feeling she wanted me to look as best as I possibly could in the case that I was chosen, seeing as I did have 36 slips in the Reaping ball. She probably realized that this morning might be my last in this house and wanted me to have an easy morning.

I did what I was told shuffled into the bathroom. As I drew myself a bath, I doubled back into my room to grab the pink dress that I had left on the chair. I hated the color, but it was the only dress I owned that made me look overly innocent. The black one would make me look like too much of a threat and the white one would make me look too… sexy, I guess. If I could even be considered such a thing.

Setting the dress down on the toilet, I looked in the mirror. I had my mother's eyes: wide-set and dark brown. Too bland to be considered pretty on me with my choppy, chin length brown hair and high cheekbones. Yet they fit my mother perfectly.

I took my time bathing and getting ready, making sure that my hair was presentable and my dress went just so. By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, Ma was shouting at me to get my shoes and meet her outside on the porch with Ash and Alder. I do so quickly and closed the door behind me.

My mother grasped my hand, a rare form of affection from her, and began tugging me towards the town square where the Reaping would be held. Before I went off to the pen designated for seventeen-year-old girls, she squeezed my hand and gave me an affectionate glance.

The Reaping went by slowly with the same boring speech from the district Mayor about the story behind the games and some other things that I just plain tuned out. It wasn't until Camille Bauble, District 7's escort, was reaching into the girl's Reaping Ball that I even realized that I should be praying to God that I wasn't chosen.

Camille pulled out a slip and unfolded it. She cleared her throat unnecessarily and read off the name.

"Johanna Mason."

A/N: Because nothing makes me happier than The Hunger Games, I plan to update this more often than my other fanfictions.

Am I doing good so far with this idea? Reviews would be nothing but helpful. ^-^