About me
I am a nineteen year old girl. My mother tongue is not English, so any grammatical mistakes or spelling mistakes may occur, however I do double-check on them. Some sentences may be formulated very oddly, but you can always point them out to me. I am very open about tips and tricks and whatnot, so any help is welcome.

Chapter One
Introduction

District 12. The dull morning light wakes me up and brings me back to this harsh reality. Since the war, twenty years ago, when I wasn't born yet, the Capitol has taken away so many things from us. Our security has tightened up and Katniss, our symbol, is continuously under guard. I think they're still afraid of the rebellion's fire that burned within them as they fought to their own defeat for freedom. In some places, they are still fighting – but now against Coin. Food supplies are scarce because of those on-going fights within the far districts. At night, I pray for them to surrender, because starvation is the cruellest thing to collapse from. How can we, children, even stand a fight in The Hunger Games, when our skin is so weak and our bones sticking out from it?

My body shifts one more before I open my eyes. My family and I live in this very nice house. We're only four though, just my mother, father, brother and I. Family of the winning tributes of district 12, we are very lucky to receive private training. This way, we do stand a chance if we indeed are unlucky to get picked out at the reaping. My brother is now eighteen and it's his last year as a candidate tribute, and chances are really big for him. However, Katniss always told us to fear for the people whose chances are slim too. Her little sister, and my mother, only had her name entered once and was picked out. I take a deep breath before I swing my legs out of bed. Tomorrow's the reaping and Peeta wanted to train all day with me to take away the stress. In no time, I am dressed in comfortable clothes, resistance to any type of training or any kind of weather. I usually only find out what my training will be when I arrive at the spot. My mind shifts to the next day, when I will be standing in a square, pressed tightly to the other candidates. Bad butterflies immediately start to flutter in my stomach, making me nauseous.
I move slowly, because my muscles are still sore from yesterday's training with Haymitch. He insisted on taking me out in the woods and have me climb trees all day. I know that this last week of training's adjusting my weaknesses until I am average enough with them. This way, I stand a bigger chance in the arena too, if the odds aren't in my favour. We mock it, day by day, and the closer we get to reaping day, how more tense the mocking gets.

My aunt, Katniss, doesn't talk about her time in the arena – there's no need to, she says. We can see it on television every year. She urges us to behave, to do what the Capitol longs for us; or we must pay a price she had to pay too: almost no freedom. Her privacy remains within District 12; there is no way they can run though. Stuck forever in the dusty coal mines of the dull district we live in, though not as condemned as the regular civilians – for she still has a status of a victor, though Coin doesn't trust her. And Katniss doesn't trust Coin – well, no, that's an understatement. This is something that my aunt does talk about, about the traitor Coin, who had led the rebellions to victory only to double-cross them into continuing the Hunger Games for her own personal gain: more power for her.

Peeta greets me with a jovial expression that is only his; the gleaming of his eyes and the brightness of his smile remains the same, no matter what happens. It's something that I adore about him; no matter how hopeless the situation is, he'll always get you through. He's also a gentle trainer, nothing like Haymitch or Katniss. I mean, they're both great and everything – but distant and hard. I guess that's what it takes to win in the competition, but outside of it I'd like to be least confronted with the arena's atmosphere. I press my lips on his cheek and greet him with a humbled voice; the nerves really are getting to me. Peeta doesn't waste time today and takes me to his house, to teach me the ways of disguising myself – something I have looked forward to ever since seeing the footage where he hid himself. It takes a lot of concentration, and my uncle urges me that I must not let my mind slip away to other things as I paint, because details are lifesaving here. He makes me mimic the structure of a tree bark, not really the simplest of disguises if you ask me. It's a struggle, and my attention does slip away after a period. Peeta, observant as ever, notices and takes me out for a little break. The break? Observing the nature, the way it looks like and asking me how I would paint them.

In the distance, I can see my brother train with Haymitch and Katniss. He's had more training than I have, because of his chances to get in. My name's only in there four times, while his is in six times. His actions are smooth, and you can see the flow of his muscles underneath his skin. He's really bulky, my brother, quite the opposite of me. I'm more slim, lithe. Speed will always be my advantage in the arena, while his would be power. Sweat breaks out on my skin when I think what would happen if we were both picked – oh, how tragic would it be: brother and sister, niece and nephew of a victor, both chosen to fight in the arena. It could happen, if Coin wanted some revenge on Katniss for whatever reason. It has been done in the past twenty years. However much I respect my uncle, I don't really think that painting is my thing. And although I understand how it saved his own life in the arena, such a long time ago, I don't think it would do wonders for me – for I don't have any talent.