A/N: I was re-reading the series (attempting to finish before the 23rd!) and came across the one line in Catching Fire that always floors me.

"I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love."

This got me thinking really hard. I found myself wanting to know who exactly Johanna Mason had loved and lost, and even more than that, I found myself wanting to know more about her all together. Why she is the way she is, how she became the not-so lovable but brave and courageous girl Katniss met in the Quarter Quell. This girl had to have a backstory and if I knew anything, I knew it had to be good.

So I figured, if Suzanne left Johanna's past to the readers' own devices, why not give my take on this victor from District 7? And here we are!

This is Johanna's story. Beginning from before her first reaping and where it will end, I'm not too sure yet. But I think I'm going to have a real journey with this one. Feel free to give your opinions where you think I should take this! Enjoy!

PART I: REAPED

CHAPTER ONE

It's my seventeenth birthday today.

I grab a handful of pine needles from the soft earth I am laying on and begin to count them. One, two, three….

The air is fresh and smells strongly of pine, the scent wafting from the numerous trees that shield my secluded spot. When the sun is so high and bright, like today, it is nearly impossible to ignore the pull that draws me to this place. My sanctuary.

Four, five, six, seven….

I try very hard to forget what tomorrow is. I try even harder to forget how many more times my name will duplicate after I collect my tesserae today. It's all a wonderful, twisted birthday present. Collect tesserae, throw my name in a few more times, reaping tomorrow. In fact, it's so wonderful I'd like to give President Snow a wonderfully tight hug just to thank him. Maybe if I squeeze hard enough, he'll choke and die.

Wonderful!

Eight, nine, ten, eleven…

If I could only find a way to skip these next two years. Hide out somewhere, wait out the storm, and then blend back into society like I was never gone.

If I was nineteen, I'd be safe from the Games. From the clutches of the Capitol and the fickle, vain crowds longing to see my blood televised. I could work amongst these pine trees with my axe and hack away at the unwavering trunks. Each time I'd bring down my blade, I'd know I was doing something worthwhile. I'd be putting food on the table. Father and Thorn's earnings are meager and another paycheck would do wonders. Maybe Mom's cheeks would stop looking so hollow all the time.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…

Yet there's that small, stupid part of me that secretly hopes my name will be called at the reaping. That part of me that has always thirsted to prove something. To who? I don't know. My family? The Capitol? Maybe both. I want to show them all that I am worthwhile. That I am more than a surly, sarcastic teenager and have something of means to say. Maybe then Thorn will accept me and my parents will know that I, too, am a child to exude pride over.

Fifteen, sixteen…

Screw the Capitol.

If I was in the Hunger Games, I could outsmart those stupid Gamemakers and win. Then when I'd be crowned victor, I'd stand up and tell everyone to go ahead and fuck themselves, Snow especially, because if they expect me to prance around and be thankful for winning, they were sorely mistaken. That's not Johanna Mason. I don't prance for anybody.

Seventeen.

I hate the Capitol. I hate Snow. I hate the Games. I hate having to collect tesserae and make myself even more vulnerable to the Capitol than all of us already are.

I hate playing by their rules.

I don't play by anyone's rules.

I force myself up and find my path out of the tree cover.

Please, begs that small, stupid part of me, please pull my name out of that glass bowl. I want to fight. I want to show you how much I hate you.

I want to win.

The Justice Building is disgustingly clean and bright, like standing irony compared to the dark, dirty district. I track mud in on my leather boots and make it a point to wipe them on the velvety carpet. I know the way to the tesserae office from years of my frequenting and I turn down a corridor to my left. There is an office there, and I let myself in.

There are two Peacekeepers inside, along with the small, hunched-over man who documents all the names of those who take tesserae. He looks about 85 and his hands always shake when he writes. The man is looking down at his papers and the two Peacekeepers are busy in conversation. I clear my throat somewhat obnoxiously to announce my presence.

The Peacekeepers stop their conversation and look up at me. I ignore them and stare down the man at the desk.

"Johanna Mason. I'd like to enter myself for tesserae."

He looks up, slowly. "Mm, yes." He shuffles some papers on his desk and infuriatingly slowly, searches for the sign-up sheet. "It seems… the sheet may be in the other office. Give me a moment."

The man pulls himself up very shakily and once standing, looks like he may fall over any moment. One of the Peacekeepers rushes behind him and grabs his arm to steady him. "Let me escort you, Aloysius."

The two hobble off into the corridor and the door clicks shut behind them, leaving me alone with the other Peacekeeper. I cross my arms and lean back slightly, hoping I look intimidating. I feel his eyes on me. How annoying.

I snap my head up. "What?"

I catch his eye for a moment. He can't be older than nineteen.

Already doomed to a life of the brainless, I think, marching around in their bright, white suits. Pity.

"I- nothing," He stutters.

Good.

"You just…" He musters, clearing his throat. It sounds like he's trying to stifle a laugh. "You look like you've been lying in mud, Johanna."

I don't whether it's his use of my name, which he evidently picked up from my introduction, or his irritating attempt at conversation but he's getting on my nerves.

"Yeah," I say, straightening up. "And what's it to you?"

"Not much," He replies coolly. "Just wondering why. You don't look old enough to be working in the trees yet."

This guy's digging his hole even deeper, the more he speaks. Making assumptions and prying where he's got no reason or right to.

I seat myself on the desk, resting my muddy boots on the chair behind it. I raise an eyebrow at him, inviting him to challenge me. Surprisingly, he doesn't.

If I wasn't mistaken, that bastard was smirking.

"Alright. But you don't look near old enough to be tagging along after these morons." I say bitingly, gesturing to the door and the other Peacekeeper, "And yet, here you are."

He puffs out his chest slightly, ignoring the jibe. "I finished training at the top of my class. They let me into the districts earlier than my peers, said I was ready."

"Why not?" I reply, with a yawn, as if this is all very boring. "I don't suppose it takes much to wave around a gun and discipline the innocent. You just kind of need to be an asshole, I guess."

The Peacekeeper deflates a little, but rigidity sets in on his facial features. "I'm not an asshole."

"Not yet."

I jump off the desk upon hearing the footsteps in the hall and the old man, Aloysius, comes in, waving around the sheet in his hand. I sign my name on it four times, one for each member of my family, and shuffle out of the building.

The whole time I could feel that stupid Peacekeeper's eyes on me.

What did he want? An apology? Ha. I've never apologized for anything, especially not something I meant.

And I did mean it, about the Peacekeepers. That they're all assholes. It's because of them that District 7 feels like prison. If you ignored the fifteen foot, electrically charged fence running around the perimeter, this place might just feel like home. The people are pretty nice, in general, if you ignore the crabbiness that comes with being generally underfed. And the land is beautiful, full of towering evergreens and the scent of pine everywhere you go. And at times, when you really think about us all and the situation we're in, it feels kind of like you are part of a big family.

The Peacekeepers do everything they can to destroy that.

I remember walking back from the store one day, Mom had sent me to buy whatever bread I could with the remainder of Thorn's pay, and a crowd had formed around town center, right near the Mayor's house.

There'd been a huge, ugly Peacekeeper standing in the middle, lash in hand. A boy of maybe nine or ten stood before him, shaking and crying, clutching a tiny apple in his palm. I'd understood right away. He'd been caught stealing the apple and was awaiting his impending punishment.

The boy looked as though the breeze could carry him away at the slightest breath. The bones of his elbows protruded scarily through his thin knit shirt. I felt for him. He must have been starving.

Other Peacekeepers stood lazily around the ring of the crowd, keeping things subdued, as their greedy eyes watched the boy being lashed. A couple of times, a few of us tried to push forward to help the boy but they held us back like a barricade.

We could do nothing but watch until they left his bleeding, broken form, no longer crying, on the ground. The ugly Peacekeeper then pried the apple from his fingers and walked away, the others following like a flock of sheep.

The crowd converged and carried him off to the healer. The boy's mother had been in the crowd and I realized why she hadn't been yelling. I saw her limp, frozen form being supported by two other people; it looked like she'd passed out from shock.

After that day, I cursed the Peacekeepers harder than I already had. Disgusting, foul and hideous excuses for humans…

I hadn't even noticed I'd been walking until I recognize the path I'm treading leads towards home. I duck under the gigantic evergreen in front of our rickety, wooden house and swing in through the front door.

"Johanna! Is that you?" I hear my mother's voice call from the kitchen.

I follow the sound of her words to find her placing a meager pot of broth on the kitchen table. "Who else?"

"Don't take that tone with me."

She is lining bowls at each of our places and though her words are firm, they are devoid of any real harshness. She just sounds tired.

"Where're Thorn and Dad?" I kick off my shoes under the table and take my hair out of its ponytail, running a hand through the knots.

"Should be home any minute. Work ran late since they're off tomorrow."

The way she says it, you might think we all have some sort of holiday to look forward to tomorrow. No work, sleeping in, send two kids off to be killed. Oh yes, it's all quite fun.

"Right."

My mother's not much of a talker. Not with me anyway.

She busies herself around kitchen and I try not to nod off until we hear the door click open and the sound of my father and brother's voices. I sit up and brush the drowsiness out of my eyes as they fumble into the kitchen.

My father kisses my mother's cheek and she gives my brother a squeeze. They all take their places at the table. My dad manages a simple, "Hello, Johanna."

Thorn takes his place across from me. He is twenty-one and works in the trees with my dad. He's big and muscular even without being fed a proper meal in his life, and he's really smart and good at whatever he puts his mind to. It's so annoying.

"Hanna," He nods.

"Thor," I say evenly.

I kind of hate my brother. I say 'kind of' because you can never really hate your family and all that, but if we weren't related I bet I'd hate him for real. I think it goes back to us being kids and him always being the best at everything, never getting into any kind of trouble whereas I was being sent home for fighting every week, but there's just something else about him that I don't like. Maybe it's that shit-eating grin he always has when he looks at me.

I hate it. It makes me want to slap him really hard.

And, okay, maybe I kind of don't like him because my parents clearly prefer him over me. But whatever. I don't care.

"Ready for tomorrow?" He asks casually, ladling some of the broth into his bowl.

"Always." I reply in a clipped tone.

He eyes me over his bowl speculatively, trying to find some kind of fear or weakness in my eyes that he can exploit. Tough shit, I think as I harden my gaze.

"You sign up for the tesserae today?" He questions.

"Yeah, I did." I say, rolling my eyes and receiving the pot from my mother. "I am capable of doing the one thing I'm responsible for, Thorn."

That smirk plays on his lips again. My hands twitch.

"So your name is in there how many more times now?" Thorn asks in a nonchalant tone.

"Enough." My dad interrupts, just as I open my mouth with a retort. "We are not talking about this right now. Eat your dinner. Both of you, quietly."

"Course not." I grumble into my soup, not expecting a reply. "We never talk about it. We never talk about anything that matters. Like this stupid reaping."

Usually when I rant like this, my family does their best to ignore me.

But I know I've done something wrong when the table goes quiet. I look up into my dad's tired but fiery eyes.

"Johanna. Enough."

"Alright fine, I was just-"

"Johanna." This time it's my mother. "Control yourself. You're always off running your tongue about everything. The Games. The Capitol."

She whispers the last word like it's forbidden. Her cowardice makes me angry.

"So talking about the reaping is me 'running my tongue'?" I try very hard not to roll my eyes. "Right, sorry. Didn't realize. But last time I checked, it wasn't against the law to think or say whatever you wanted."

My dad sets down his spoon and I know I've done it.

"Listen to me." I force myself to look up. My dad eyes me wearily. "Keep that tongue in check. We may put up with your unbridled rants but believe me, they will get you into some serious trouble, Johanna."

I chance a look over at Thorn. He's having a field day. That disgusting grin is back and plastered on his face widely as he watches me get scolded. I'd like very much to throw this bowl at his head.

"It may not be against the law but that doesn't mean they won't punish you for it."

I know he's right but I can't help being angry about it anyway. It amazes me how cowardly everyone is in our district. We outnumber the Peacekeepers ten-fold but we've never risen against them once. Not when we're starving, not when we're forced to partake in the Games, not when our children are left bleeding in the streets for stealing an apple. Never.

We wield axes from the time we can walk and yet we shiver when a Peacekeeper strolls by. We are stronger, we are smarter. But we are also cowardly and afraid.

I wonder if it's like this in all the districts.

"I don't care," I continue, fueling the fire in my father's eyes, "I'll say what I want. The only freedom we have here is our tongues and if we can't use that, then we have nothing."

My dad's jaw twitches and he looks at my mother for help. She is watching me, just as speechless as he is. It is Thorn who speaks up.

"You're so stupid, Johanna." He shakes his head, bringing his spoon to his lips. He is the only one at the table still eating. "You think talking like that's going to change anything? It won't. Saying these kinds of things will only make it worse for you. If they hear you, they may as well rig the reaping so you're chosen."

I laugh coldly, pushing away my bowl and standing up.

"That's exactly what I want."

"J-Johanna?" My mom sputters, my proclamation too potent for her to ignore.

"I hope I get reaped. I want to go into that arena. I want to do something, rather than sit here obediently and live this worthless life."

It's Thorn's turn to laugh.

"If you're reaped, you'll die at the Cornucopia. You won't last a minute in the Games."

"Why not?" I feel my face getting hot. My temper is reaching its short peak. "I'm strong enough. I'm smart enough. I can w-"

"No." Thorn is standing too. He picks up his empty dish, ready to clear up. "You're not. You're none of those things. You will lose."

My parents are struck into silence. They usually always intervene in my and Thorn's arguments. I think even they sense that an irreparable bond is about to be severed.

"Think so?" I say calmly, surprising even myself. "Fine. Just watch. Just wait. I will win. I will be a victor. I can do it, right Dad?"

It's useless asking him, I know it. They've never taken my side. It's a futile, pitiful effort on my part. His silence is answer enough.

"That's fine." I say, collecting my jacket and boots. "You'll all see. When I'm crowned victor and they ask me about home, my family, I'll just have to tell them I have no family to go back to. Because no family is better than this."

I storm from the room, small pangs of hurt and guilt making home in my chest, but they are quickly subdued by my anger. Hot tears find their way down my cheeks.

They'll see. I'll show them.

I can win. I will win.

Tomorrow at the reaping, even if my name isn't called, I will volunteer and will go to the Capitol to play in their sadistic Games. I'll show Snow, the Capitol. The Peacekeepers, my family.

I'll show them.

I'll show everyone.

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