Hi guys!

So this is the first chapter of my 72nd Hunger Games story! I hope you enjoy and please review, I want to know what you think!

This chapter is only a short one, but the next will definately be longer!

I do not own any of the characters in the Hunger Games except my own.

This story is dedicated to my good friend Ellie. (Peeta_Forever - Twitter)

Enjoy!

RavenclawCookie

We stand in lines upon the parched cobblestones in District 8 - my home, the home I fear I will be leaving soon. My heart thuds so rapidly in my chest I swear the other kids around me can hear it. Then, all of sudden, they're all looking at me. Each and every eye is upon me and my face begins to burn with embarrassment. Why are they looking-? And then suddenly, a numb feeling spreads through my body like poison from a viper's sting. My knees grow weak and my saliva clots in my throat. No...it can't be me.

Then I realise I am being called up towards the stage. My head snaps forward and I force my legs to carry me towards the stairs leading to the stage.

"Come up here, dear!" My legs tremble violently as I walk, my hands clutching the hand-sewn dress I designed especially for the occasion. The Reaping - a time we all dread more than anything in District 8. In the Career Districts (such as District 1,2 and 4) they see being selected to be dropped into an arena to fight to the death as an honour to their District and the Capitol. But we don't think like that in District 8. Not at all.

Someone is pulling me towards the centre of the stage, but to who it is, I am unaware.

"Let's give it up for your female Tribute - Elly Finlie!" There is a round of quiet applause, but as I look out to the sea of faces before me, I see nothing but remorse. They all know what fate lies before me. I search among those faces for my family, but they are no-where to be seen.

"Now for our male Tribute!" Our bubbly Capitol host trills happily. She toddles over to the large glass ball which holds thousands of paper slips. She reaches into the container, her lightly-tinted funchisa hand searching for it's unsuspecting prey. "Cornelius Twig!" I see a tall, lean boy -surely he's eighteen?- march forward, a vunerable and obviously-fake look of terror upon his face. I can see him fighting not to smile. He obviously isn't a very good actor. I know him, though. His face triggers an unrequitable sense of De Ja Vu in my mind and his name rings a bell of familiarity. I've seen him somewhere before, I am certain.

But I don't have time to think about it because before I know it, I am being shoved into a door behind me. A formidable-looking Peacekeeper grasps my arm and leads me down the corridor of a neatly-polished building, much unlike the houses and streets we District 8 citizens live in. He pushes me into a room and I collapse into a chair as the door snaps shut behind me.

I know I stand no chance. The Hunger Games have always chilled me to the bone - year after year I have watched innocent children be brutally murdered before the eyes of millions. Now I realise that I will be one of those to fall.

The door flies open and my mother and sisters are rushing up to me, hugging me, comforting me, tears of grief and sadness rolling down their cheeks. But I am feeling too numb to do more than stare at the floor. I am almost thankful when the Peacekeeper arrives to take them away. At least it makes it more bearable for me to leave with a short and bitter-sweet farewell.

I step lighty onto the sleek and shiny Capitol train, stationary in it's perch on the tracks, Cornelius at my heels. I can feel his excitement buzzing around me, but my numbness seems to be fending it off.

I am surprised by what I see before me - the train cart is luxuriant - it is lined with velvett (a material of extreme rarity in District 8) and huge carts of food are laid out for us. I drop into a seat beside the window, wonderment in my eyes as I gaze around the cart. Some of my numbness is beginning to ebb away, but as I watch my District fade into a mere dot in the distance, it returns with biting vengeance.

Our mentor is eager to inform myself and Cornelius of strategic skills that he thinks will be useful in the Games. I barely listen, just twirl my finger round one of my chocolate-brown locks. What's the point? Even with all of this supposedly handy advice, almost all of our Tributes seem to drop like flies before they've even reached the Cornucopia.

Cornelius, however, seems positively brimming with excitement, hanging upon every word our Mentor won the Games ten years ago and has sleek black hair that falls in front of his eyes. I remember him vaguely, although I was merely five years old at the time. I have been admitted into the Games at fifteen and I doubt I'll live to see my sixteenth birthday.

Cornelius attempts to make small-talk with me when our Mentor (who I realise is called Kristov) announces he is going to find some food. I glance at him so often, his floppy blond falling in front of his bronze eyes as he talks excitedly about the upcoming Games. I reply with a few dull nods and one-word answers before retreating to my bedroom.

I flop onto my bed and the tears come flooding down my cheeks before I can stop them. I think of my family, my sisters and how they will have to watch me die and live every day of their lives in the sewing factory reliving my death in their heads.I know it's over before it's even begun.

I fall asleep, my eyes sore and throbbing from crying. The sun is rising already and our Capitol Chauffeur, Serpentia (the one with the fuchisa skin) is pounding upon my door with her chubby fist. I slouch out of the door and have a quick breakfast, deciding against listening to Kristov rabble on about his triumph in the Hunger Games and return to my bedroom. I stay there for the whole day except to eat.

The train slows and I yank open the door of my bedroom as the cries of euphoric Capitol citizens fill my ears. I rush to the window, to find Cornelius already there, waving cockily to the baying crowd. I watch, my brow furrowed.

What game is he playing?

The Chariots.

I step into the strong metal carriage, hitching my beautifully-embroidered dress (threaded with millions of hand-sewn beads) up to my ankles as I jump onto the cart. I smile for the first time in days as my Stylist -Eddard- swats my hand away playfully.

"Let the dress FLOW." He says brightly, his emerald eyes glimmering with excitement. My own Hazel ones lock with his and I feel myself becoming instantly calm. "Just relax and enjoy yourself, Elly." He says soothingly. "You look beautiful." I grin sheepishly, Cornelius hopping in beside me wearing a suit of the same theme, but with different colours embroidered into the silken fabric. We sparkle like a cluster of stars as the Chariot rolls forward and the Capitol anthem blares into the arena. We are the glimmering remnants of a dying supernova.

We have by far been outshone by some of the extravagant outfits modelled by other Districts. The Tributes of District 7 - a handsome black-haired boy with a chiselled face and a tiny girl no older than fourteen - look striking with vines and leaves twisted round their slender bodies, representing the trees they cut down in their District of Lumber.

I spot the Tributes of District 4 (a small girl with flowing sunshine-yellow hair and a boy with shocking red locks) looking stunning in silver gowns with shimmering sequins that resemble the scales of fish and actually ripple in waves when they move.

We have clearly been outshone, but I still think we look radiant, and as we roll out into the large stadium, it is clear that the crowd thinks so, too. I hear hearty cries of "District Eight!" and various whoops and cheers. I return their cries with one of the first genuine smiles to cross my lips in days. Cornelius is standing beside me, punching his fist in the air. He is a crowd pleaser, for sure. The crowd adore him, and he them. The feeling of affection is mutual. The chariot circles the crowd and I glance behind me at the District 9 Tributes, who look quite honestly, embarrassed to be here. They give a few shy waves, but mainly keep their heads bowed towards the floor. I return my gaze to the front, just as we are disappearing from the view of the crowd. My cheeks are hurting from smiling and I hop quickly off the chariot along with Cornelius, who is bubbling with excitement.

"Can you believe that?" He cries, grinning at me. "That was amazing!" I can't help but grin back. The feeling of riding in that cart to the cries of the bating crowd is exhilarating...but I have to remind myself that they are all there to watch me die. It is a thought that sickens me to my very stomach and my smile is wiped quickly from my face.

I hope you enjoyed!

Chapter 2 will be coming very soon!

RavenclawCookie