So, hi everyone! :D This idea has really been brewing around in my head for a while, (Probably because I've read so many Cato/OC fan fictions) and I simply couldn't resist writing one of my own! I'm a little nervous of how to play Cato just right, but hopefully I will figure it out a long the way. And oh, just to let you know, Katniss isn't in here. It's the 74th Hunger Games, but she practically never existed. Mainly because It would be too much of a struggle in the end whether I kill Katniss off or not. She's too epic to be killed off, anyway. :P Enough rambling, go ahead and read. Hopefully, you enjoy as well. :)

I watch in silence as a herd of cows are swallowed up into a huge Capitol building, being prepared for their demise. The Peacekeepers press the butt of their guns into the animals back, urging them to keep moving. One of them even has a whip to keep them in order.

My chest tightens at the sight.

I wait anxiously, staring at the door way, waiting for Trice to appear. But he doesn't. And it had been that way for fifteen minutes.

That was the only reason I was here at this moment.

I didn't like coming out on the day the animals were prepared to be slaughtered. Mainly because I liked to distance myself away from it all till it was my turn to put the animals down. It gave me time to get the animals wails out of my thoughts.

But soon enough, I'm sure I won't only hear the cries of the animals, but people. The reaping.

That was another reason I was here.

Trice and I were going to walk to the square together. But it was unfortunate that on the day of the reaping, Trice had also been chosen to put the animals down that exact day.

I could only imagine his anger as this moment. You could say Trice was quite short tempered when it came to Capitol matters. It hadn't always been like that. It mostly started once his little sister, Myla, at the mere age of thirteen was selected to go into the games.

Trice was furious. I can still remember his blood curling screams as he tried to fight his way through the crowd and to Myla.

I didn't know what to do at the time as I watched the scene unfold before me. I didn't have time to think really as I tried desperately to pry Trice back from punching the Peacekeeper.

I felt numb as Myla, along with a sixteen year old boy, was yanked off the stage and lead to the Justice Building. It reminded me of when the cows were led to be slaughtered. But I guess that's where Myla and that sixteen year old boy were heading for. Along with every other boy or girl who had been picked as a tribute from the other districts.

We said goodbye to her in the Justice Building. And Myla had made me promise that I would look after Trice once she was gone. It suddenly scared me at how Myla was so serious and so utterly composed as she talked to me, while being prepared to be sent to the Capitol where she would face her inevitable death.

She was brave. And far too beyond her years to seem so calm about what was happening.

It seemed too hard to remember that same smiling little girl who skipped down the road as she hummed songs she had learned from her mother. Even with the horrors of the world happening around her, she still found the good in everything.

And I didn't realize at that point that I'd never see that little girl again. I was in complete denial. Though it was rare, some younger children won the games. Myla was smart, but she certainly wasn't a Career who could wield a weapon.

Trice had tried to show her how to use an axe or even a knife to skin animals he brought home, but she never grasped it. I never took Myla for the girl who would be able to put down an animal, anyway. I just wished I knew in advance so I could have pushed her to learn. That I could have perhaps gave her a stray of hope to hold onto.

Or maybe I should have saved her myself. Maybe I should have volunteered. But I guess I was just a kid as well. I was only fourteen at the time and still then, I was naïve to the world around me. And the sick people who lived in it.

The day Myla went into the arena, no one came out of their homes. All the doors were closed, the curtains pulled, probably all watching in anticipation to see if Myla was at least going to get out of the initial blood bath.

No such luck.

Myla was one of the first of tributes to die. Once that gong rang, she ran straight into the fight. And I wasn't so sure it was for supplies.

I wonder if Myla knew she was going to die. That she had no chance at winning these games and decided to get her death over with as quick as possible.

The guilt consumed me fully as I watched the monitor. Myla on the ground, her eyes wide open as blood dripped down from the corner of her lips.

Those brown eyes stared right into my own. Though they were vague and literally lifeless, I still couldn't hush the voice that screamed in the back of my mind. The one that demanded an answer by shouting why I hadn't saved her. Why I hadn't stopped Myla from dying.

I was weak. A weak little girl who had thought over her own life then Myla, her best friend's little sister. The little girl who had brought slight joy to this dreadful imprisonment they called District 10.

Those nights after she died, I never slept. Each time I did, I could see her honey brown eyes. Wide and empty. Only this time, she repeated the words that had been haunting me for the last days. Why didn't you save me?

I could never speak in these dreams either. It's as if I was paralyzed. Frozen in time while the scene of Myla's death played out in front of me.

Each time I tried to scream for her. Tried to tell her I was sorry, that I was a coward, but I couldn't. And I was forced to watch Myla die, once again, without me saving her.

Myla may hadn't been my sister by blood, but she was in my heart. But sisters were supposed to help each other out, weren't they? They weren't supposed to be selfish, right? That's what I had been. Selfish.

Trice was quick to tell me I was wrong. I wasn't the monster that had allowed Myla to die. It was the Capitol.

And I guess he was right. Still, I wasn't convinced. Especially when he told me it wasn't my fault, but there was something in his eyes. Something that said otherwise.

He knew it too. He knew I could have saved her.

But would Trice have really wanted that? For me to give up my life for Myla's? I wasn't sure. And I didn't get my answer, even when I persisted to ask him.

We didn't speak of Myla short after. The subject had become too painful. Even for all the folks in town.

My mother had attempted to speak with me about it once. She knew how close I was to Trice. And Myla, for the matter. I didn't reply to anything she said. I didn't want to breakdown. And though I felt weak, I didn't want to broadcast it.

I needed to be strong. Even if it meant pretending.

"Ren!" The sudden shout brings me out of my thoughts and I glance up from the wooden fence I had involuntarily been clutching to see Trice.

He jogs towards me, away from the confines of horror that lay in that building and towards me.

I grip tightly onto the fence, leaning over and calling out, "Hurry up, Trice!"

He picks up his speed at that, grinning at me as he runs over and places his hand on the top beam, "Was that fast enough for you?"

"It'll do," I reply with a curt nod, "How was it?" He doesn't need to ask me about what I mean. He knows I'm talking about the slaughter house.

"Long," He says, hopping over and landing on the ground swiftly. "Especially with the wait up until I get released."

"I would think so."

"And don't you look nice," He taunts, his eyes scanning my attire in amusement and reaches out to tug at the hem of my dress. I swat his hand away and glower at him, running my hand over the white fabric to smooth any creases away.

"I'll have you know my mother spent months working on this dress for me. Don't mess it up." I tell him sternly, and it's the truth.

My mother had wasted her free time on me. Just to make this dress. And it was hard, considering fabric was difficult to get a hand on.

But I had managed, trading in the little money I received from putting down the animals. I had bought them from a nearby store. It was hard for me at first, seeing as I usually spent my money it to get food for the three of us. My mother, my father, and me.

I didn't have any siblings. And most of it had been because my mother had been too weak to actually carry another baby.

It didn't matter to me. I had Trice. And he was practically the brother to me I never had.

Trice had also pitched in to get the fabric needed for my mother. And he also enjoyed seeing her face lit up as we walked through the door with a roll of it. I knew each time I saw her get so happy about it, that I couldn't let her down and suddenly stop bringing the fabric home. So I took on extra shifts to feed the animals and such.

And this was the result of all the hard work. This dress. It was easily the nicest thing I had.

My mother had tailored it to fit me perfectly, falling down just below my knees. Along with sleeves that reached just to my elbow and a fitted waist line as well. It was just as easily the most feminine thing I possessed in my wardrobe too.

"My bad," Trice mutters, his dark brown eyes darting to the road. "I should go get ready. Do you mind waiting for me as I get dressed? You can keep my mom company."

I shake my head, "I don't mind. Let's go."

I follow Trice, talking softly with him about his day and mine. Though most of the time my thoughts linger on the reaping. I do my best to pay attention, but it's hard. Especially since just two years ago, on this exact day, Myla was chosen.

I rid myself of the clawing scene that automatically plays in my head at the mention of her. It's over, Ren. Stop thinking about her.

I'm thankful when I arrive at Trice's house and a take seat with his mother, Mrs. Swistun. Just like Trice, she talks about her day and even prods at Trice's and I's friendship.

Mrs. Swistun had some silly hope that Trice and I might end up together in the future. It certainly wasn't the first time I heard it.

She had been talking about it since we were children, and how when we grew up, we would surely fall for each other. But I honestly didn't see that happening and not once I had thought about Trice in that way.

Trice truly felt like my brother. But Mrs. Swistun didn't seem to understand that. So I let her blabber on and fill herself up with hope that it will one day happen. When it certainly won't.

"Is she bugging you again about our non-existent relationship?" Trice asks as he steps out of the small room he calls his own. I laugh, though Mrs. Swistun rolls her eyes at her son.

"Can't a girl dream?" Mrs. Swistun says, "Besides, Ren is way better than Asher."

Trice's cheeks immediately flush a bright red at just the mention of Asher, "Mother!"

I can't help but laugh softly at the mention of Asher, who Mrs. Swistun obviously wasn't a fan of. Asher was one of the boy's favorite in District 10. And I didn't blame them. She was stunning, with long blonde hair and sparkling green eyes.

I had spoken to Asher here and there, we were friends, I suppose. I mostly walked with her through the square as she helped her mother with her shop.

She wasn't all that bad as Mrs. Swistun thought. Asher was nice and polite, just slightly ditsy at times. I guess that was her fatal flaw to Mrs. Swistun.

I decide to end their bickering when I say, "We should go. The reaping will begin shortly."

This makes them turn deadly silent. And I almost regret saying it, but Mrs. Swistun is quick to agree with me. She clears her throat before speaking, "Of course. How could I forget?"

Trice nods stiffly, "Yeah. We should go. Are you going to walk with us to the square, mom?"

"Oh no dear, you two go first. I'll catch up." Mrs. Swistun says. Trice hesitates for a minute, and then agrees reluctantly.

"See you there," I give Mrs. Swistun a brief wave, Trice trailing closely behind me as exit the small house and rear onto the gravel street.

We walk in silence, though at some point, Trice grabs my hand. And I understand what he's trying to tell me immediately. That he's afraid. And that's okay, because I am too. I'm grateful for it, that he provides me with brotherly comfort when I need it.

At this moment, I don't see where Mrs. Swistun gets the idea that we can be together. Because that's all Trice is to me. A brother.

It's not a long walk to the square. We arrive there quickly to our dismay and get in line to sign in. We remain in silence till Asher struts by and I can't help but nudge Trice, and give him a taunting grin. It's enough for me to forget where I am for just a second or two. And that in just a matter of minutes, one girl and one boy will be selected to go into an arena to fight to the death.

But it ends completely when I arrive at the front of the line, a Peacekeeper staring me down. I go back to appearing indifferent and scribble my name on the paper. "Report to your section." The Peacekeeper says, sounding quite bored.

I feel sudden anger brew up in me. About how heartless this man is. As if he doesn't care a child is going to die for the Capitol's sick enjoyment.

But that's exactly how it is. He doesn't care. None of them do. And that's why Myla was dead.

I force my feet to move away from the Peacekeeper and I find my place in the sixteen year old girls section.

I spot Asher, who is just a row over from me, standing in the seventeen year old girl section. We gave each other a brief nod, meaning, good luck.

Once everyone is piled into their rightful sections, we turn towards the stage and watch as Aurielle, our District escort, staggers in on her high heels.

She smiles, running her hand threw aqua blue curls that sit perfectly on the top of her head. Her odd colored eyes scan the crowd and with a loud, cheery voice, she welcomes the Mayor. We all clap slowly, most likely dreadfully, for him.

He begins over the History of Panem, though we don't need to be reminded about how we ended up in this cruel world with these horrible games. We've heard enough about them to classify we hate them. And the Capitol.

As he reads on, I scan the sea of people and surprisingly, I catch sight of my mother. Who seems more worried than me as she fumbles with her hands and stares up at the stage with wide blue eyes. The same eyes I have.

My father is by her side to. His arm wrapped around her shoulder. Just like me, he appears casual. Indifferent.

And that's probably where I learned to keep my expressions so neutral. My father and I were alike in many ways. Besides having my mother's blue eyes, I looked like him, the same brown hair, the same nose. Everything. I was just the female version of him. Similar in every way. The way we looked, talked, and acted, all completely the same.

We both seemed to take the weight of the world onto our shoulders. And there had been times in the past where he argued about me going and volunteering to take care of the livestock. But I didn't listen. We barely got by as it is, and when he realized he couldn't do it alone, he taught me how to use an axe, though he was reluctant.

We catch each other's gazes for a just a second. But it's long enough for me to notice the same look my mother has in her eyes. Worry.

Nothing is going to happen, I tell myself. The reaping will be done with soon, and I'll go home. Eat dinner with mom and dad, and act like the reaping never happened. Like we always do.

I repeat this over and over again to myself, certain at one point I will actually come to believe it. But I know I won't. I never do.

I focus my attention back on the stage when Aurielle shouts, "Ladies first! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The only sound that is heard is the clank of her heels as she walks over to the reaping bowl that will contain our fate. Or well, the girl's fate.

Almost teasingly, she waves her fingers over the reaping bowl, a mad smile on her face. And I truly believe this woman is mad. For liking the Hunger Games. For encouraging them.

She eases her hand into the bowl, shuffling the slips of paper to where they part open, and I imagine each one containing my name on it.

She fishes one out finally, and that's when everyone including myself, sucks in a sharp breath and silently wishes it's not them. That they aren't going to be picked to die. And though it's selfish of us all, we hope that it's someone else who will be reaped.

My heart pounds hard against my chest, nearly threatening to burst right out as Aurielle makes her way back to the microphone.

She peels the slip open slowly, her voice ringing out loud and clear as she says, "Ren Corby!"

I nearly stop breathing at that moment.

If you liked it, feel free to add it to your favorite stories or whatever. And review if you liked it! :D