So, I've had this idea for a while and finally decided to put it to the paper.

I'm new to this so feedback's much appreciated.

Zarren woke from his dream groaning when he gained a coherent thought process, it hadn't made particularly good slumber but it was a high compared to the nightmares he usually suffered from on this date ever since he had turned eleven- five, strenuous years ago.

For today was the reaping, when two kids he knew reasonably well would be put in a random wood filled with traps and be killed by some giant from a high level district- it wasn't Zarren's favourite day of the year to put it gently.

He forced himself out of bed, realising that with everyone's' emotions running so high sale prices would be prime.

After exchanging his pyjamas for his crumpled clothing that he left on the floor yesterday, he headed downstairs.

The house was empty so that meant his parents must be in the shop attached to his home already.

They seemed to have left a basket on the table;

On closer inspection the wicker structure was filled with sweets of bright and cheerful colours to mirror the districts current mood.

Mr Mellark must have ordered them in the hope that the post-reaping celebrations would urge some of the town-families to buy cakes. Lovely ideas, that man has . . .

He also found a note and a number of coins from his father:

Zarren,

Here's some money for the betting,

Put it all on that hunting boy- can't remember his name.

He has about 40-something slips in this year,

Chances are he'll get reaped.

-Fa

Of course, the odds were in his favour the time round when it came to betting on Gale, a boy a few years older Zarren from the Seam;

He spent his time, as far as the youth of Twelve could tell, behind the intimidating electrocuting fence in a wood of carnivorous animals- how he's not been horribly injured, it's anyone's guess.

Zarren shook his head to clear the thoughts taking the basket, heading out the door and towards the bakery.

It was quite near his sweetshop, hardly even a minute away, but as Zarren lived practically directly opposite of the square he was delayed, stuck staring at the familiar set up for the annual occasion in only a few hours.

The fun staring and gulping at that sight evaporated after what felt like an eternity and Zarren managed to stumble his way out of sight from Twelve' central socialising spot.

Mr Mellark was in the entrance/kitchen of the bakery when the teenager entered after a strong knock, he was taking a loaf of bread out the oven, we exchange greetings and I give him the vibrantly-hued sugar treats.

He told me he'll 'have Peeta drop them on them' and pointed over towards multiple fresh and newly iced cakes cooling on the window-ledge and tells me said son was in his room and watches me go up the stairs.

"Hey," Zarren gave a small grin as he entered through the old rickety door.

"Happy Hunger Games," was a listless reply from Peeta, ever the wit, not even looking up from his hands.

Zarren's good emotion faded as he observed Peeta almost sadly.

His friend had always been the strongest contender for 'most sensitive Twelver kid' and the Reaping really got to him, ever since school had started and became friends with the potential-tributes.

Zarren knew from experience that if Peeta looked up, his pupils would be almost larger than his bright blue irises, and he could already tell that his sandy-blonde hair was ridiculously ruffled from continuous tossing and turning, stuck in nightmares that matched his naturally groggy-looking brunette, green-eyed friends'.

"The Reaping's set up," He said, moving forward to lounge on the bed with Peeta.

That managed to make him raise his head, pulling a face he sighed, "You scared?"

"Nah, there's not much of a chance we'll get reaped, is there."

A thoughtful silence followed Zarren's statement, "I guess not . . . Who's the lucky kid getting betted on this year?"

Of course discussing Zarren's fathers' betting choices was an annual as strong as the reaping itself.

"Uh- Gale, you know, the guy who hunts with Katniss?"

Peeta's head jerked slightly at that reply, he probably had talked with him or something, Zarren mused, interested at his friends' reaction.

"He came by today," Peeta told him, his voice emotionless, "Looked worried."

"I think the whole of Twelve will be if he's reaped; Him 'nd Katniss are acting as our main food source nowadays."

"True," Peeta agreed giving a shrug of his shoulders, "I think the reaping's soon, you better get going," Peeta's monotone voice told Zarren, who couldn't wait for the whole games to be over again, he hated it when his friend was self-sealed in his own little box, then, depending on the two tributes, would get either annoyed for the next month or so, or he would get furious- the boy could flare his anger to the highest extents- even Zarren had to admit it gave him a shiver down his spine to be reminded of the last time it had happened.

"Urgh, yeah you're right," Zarren groaned stretching his armed, "See ya Peeta."

He left the bakery and headed for an old, dusty building he knew as 'The Hob.'

Zarren found this name . . . . odd, and the people inhabiting the place even odder.

It was Twelve's resident black market, full of Seam folk, so they all looked starved and ill- though, for some unknown reason, they were cheerful.

Maybe being part in poverty of the worst kind gives people a sense of family . . . ? He thought as he entered the large room with a pained look on his face.

He tried to stay away from this place as much as possible, but you could win serious amounts through a good bet, which translated to the pro of more food and bedding sounded more comforting than staying clear of some law-breaking creepers by far.

He made his way over to a reasonably sized group of men in the corner of The Hob, though no one ever voiced anything, betting over a child's death sentence was considered sick- as bad as the 'dear old Capitol' who decided the kids.

Zarren approached the cluster, he handed his money out to Geezer, an aging man who people say was driven mad after a mine explosion that killed everyone save him.

"Eeeh, well if it isn't the Dona' boy," Slurred the man, "Here for the betting ? Daddy's still goin' heartless then ?"

Zarren just remained silent, determined to hold his gaze for as long as he physically could . . .

Years ago, must be about twenty-four years of them now, his sister, Maysilee Donner, was reaped.

She made it quite far in the games- until she was attacked by the arena's inhabitors.

That was the year a tribute from her same district won, his name was, is, Haymitch.

After Maysilee died, Zarren's father quit his long-time gambling fix. But there was a mine explosion and no one could afford the sweet delicacies from his wife's inherited shop (Heck, no one could afford a piece of stale bread !)

So gambling made a return. Maysilee's twin, Maeve, became sick and a bit crazy.

And father took back cheating and the thrill of either money-loss or gain.

Zarren pushed these thoughts away and forced the money into Geezer's filthy and wrinkled hand, "It's for Gale to be reaped," He said roughly and walked out the building as fast as he could without losing what precious dignity he had- fully aware of cruel and hard laughter stalking him out.

He ran back to his home, making sure to ignore the square as best he could.

He was stopped as soon as he came in the doorframe by his mother, nagging at him about time.

Time ! The reaping was in a few minutes !

Zarren suddenly gulped and went upstairs to change.

He threw off his shabby casual clothing and swapped it for a clean and pretty much unwrinkled collared shirt and clean trousers.

He came down stairs, reminding himself to breath at regular intervals and stepped outside the door, joining his parents.

Since he was so close to the reaping spot there was no 'this-could-be-the-last-time-I-walk-with-them' moment with them (something he wasn't sure to be thankful or sombre at, a regular problem with the townsfolk).

He stepped into line, smiling briefly at two of his greatest friend standing at either side of him, Peeta and Meriel, and they looked up to the stage.

Effie Trinket was there fussing over her neon hair or her stiff spring-green suit or something else equally as ridiculous.

When the Mayor came up to the podium for his Panem history lecture Zarren looks down, Twelve have heard it so many times now, he can quote it word for word.

He looked up when he heard Meriel attempt to hold down a burst of laughter to see Haymitch's drunken attempt to embrace Trinket and he too has to fight a grin.

Zarren's attention slipped when she was introduced and her perky bubblegum attitude infects his ears.

But then it was the girls' reaping time . . .

Please don't be Meriel, or Harper, or Waverly, or Delly or Marnie, or Ingrid, or . . . or-

"Primrose Everdeen !" Trinket's voice rang through the crowd.

Primrose Everdeen ? Who's Pri- Wait, Everdeen-

"Katniss," Peeta's gasp told him.

Ohhh, Katniss' sister . . . Damn ! Katniss' sister ! Twelve years old. Her first reaping. Her first time tribute . . .

These thoughts were just generating in Zarren's head when said Katniss raced passed them, "I volunteer ! I volunteer as tribute !"

He was taken by surprise at that. But, but she'll die. What's the point ?

An audible groan came from Peeta's direction. Has he ever even talked to her ? He never acts like that at reapings . . . No way ! He doesn't . . .

Zarren was just coming to turns with this new, in other cirumstances, amusing, fact when the boy's reaping was announced.

His mind snapped into focus and he stared at the hand entering the clear box of names.

He just had time to close his eyes and make his wish before the name was called out.

"Peeta Mellark !"

What ? Wait, Peeta why're you moving. Peeta ! No . . . Please no ! NO !

And Peeta took his place as male tribute, and just like that, the rest of the world fell away . . .

Zarren couldn't particularly remember what happened after that.

He was invited to say goodbye to Peeta along with Jax, the third part to their little trio.

They exchanged jokes, tears, advice, pleads, offers to take over his position, and eventually get kicked out by Peacekeepers.

By that time, both Zarren and Jax were empty of tears but the hyperventilation was still there as they watched their friend board the train that would take him to the Capitol. To the arena. To his last real bed. To his first taste of riches. To his first and last death.