A/N: This is the first in a huge, epic series. It was meant to be a one-shot :P

Anyway, it's basically about Wiress's life. The entirety of it. This story will be about some parts of her life between ages of 7-11, with flashbacks in between.

I sit on a little wooden stool in a tiny, cramped room that smells of fear. I don't like fear. It makes me shudder.

Right now, I am shivering with cold. I wasn't allowed to wear anything more than a pair of thin shorts and a cotton t-shirt that hangs loosely on me. It's below freezing, judging by my rough estimation. What were they thinking? I'm not even wearing shoes or socks. My toes are a vivid, bruised blue.

But if only I wasn't radiating with that dreaded, stupid fear right now! Then I would be less cold. I still don't like fear. I can't imagine anyone who does.

"Wiress Jineer!" a voice booms. I hug my knees and close my eyes.

My entire family was and still is gone. Poof. Missing.

Ever since I was born, I think. I was just abandoned somewhere as a baby. Unwanted. They sent me to the Community House, but I ran away when I was 4. Now I'm 7. I have not killed anybody. I have not commited some vicious crime. Why am I here again?

I am an orphan. O-r-p-h-a-n. I don't like that word. I don't like the way it lingers coldly on my tongue. Now I probably have hypothermia.

I used to live below a small factory, in the basement, to be exact. All by myself. I never disturbed anyone. I used the things they considered garbage for my survival. Apple peels. Broken bits of wire. It was staunching for my growth, surely, but I lived. I'm still alive, I think. Maybe or maybe not.

But the best thing was that I didn't know about the Hunger Games. No way. I just sat there, built little electrical contraptions to give me heat and warmth and a little bit of sunshine, false as it is, ate bits of apple peel now and then, and waited.

I didn't kill anybody. I didn't commit crime.

Why am I misunderstood?

Now they've sent me back to this dreaded Community House. I've been exposed and discovered. I've been interrogated as if I'm a surly criminal. But all I am is a skinny 7-year-old who has a basic knowledge of engineering. I haven't killed anybody.

They've told me all about the Hunger Games, things I wish I didn't hear. About the Avoxes, that grand old lustful Capitol. They make it seem as if it's a lovely thing. To view the killing of children for a vile perception of entertainment. I hate it.

Avoxes are like me, from what I've heard. Can't speak. Not fair.

I can't speak either, not really. I never finish. Not out loud.

Maybe it's because of some "crime" I committed. Maybe it's because my entire family is cursed with nonexistence and I'm the last one standing. Like a row of dominoes. And now I'm the only one left. I'll topple soon, too.

Why can't I talk like a normal person again?

Nobody understand what I try to say. Sometimes I don't, either.

They don't now, either. I try to tell them that I never did any wrong, but all that comes out is,

"I never—"

and they finished with

"Heard of such a magnificent sense of beauty? Why, of course! This is the Capitol, dear. We are the only beauty the world has left. We're all up for admiration."

I growl somewhat inaudibly. The foolish Сapitol lady is still smiling that fake, polished smile. The Capitol man is doing the same. Smiling an ugly, acid smile.

They didn't hear me growl. Which is just as well, because I'm sure that somehow, somewhere, it's illegal to growl at someone of Capitol status.

I hug my knees more tightly now and cry silently. They see me cry, and inquisitively ask me what's wrong. At least they have a sense of compassion.

I feel sorry for them, too. It's not their fault that they were born in this foolish Capitol world. If they were born in my district, or in any of the districts for that manner, I'd think differently. I'm a terrible person.

I cry hysterically now, but it's still silent. They might as well cut out my tongue now, it wouldn't make a difference.

I'm brought into a room in the Community House. There's a little cot, and a desk with a lamp on it. It looks like it's been fitted with a low-watt bulb. I suppose I can work in the dark if I have to. There isn't a cabinet with clothes or anything. I suppose that these are the only clothes I'll ever wear. The ones I have in my possession right now. There isn't much else, but there are walls, of course, steel ones, and a ceiling with a lonely light bulb hanging from it. It appears to be short-circuited. No big deal, I think. I can fix it if I have to. And if I can't, there are plenty of purposes for broken wire and shards of glass. The ceiling's low. I can touch it with the tip of my finger by going on the tips of my toes, and I'm short even for District 3. The Capitolites, however, are standing there quite pathetically, shoulders hunched, looking uncomfortable. They tell me to get suited to my new room and leave quite simply.

This isn't the room I had lived in before. It's different. But it's still very coldly familiar. I don't like this feeling.

I think that all the rooms here are identical, like in a prison. I remember that when I was very small, the first time I lived here, we weren't allowed to communicate with anyone else while in the Community House. The kids who were old enough for school, of course, could talk there. But not me, the little toddler. I think this is why I can't finish my sentences. I have so much to say, but I just don't know how to say it.

I don't even know how to be around people anymore.

I remember that I wasn't allowed to bring anything with me from my little basement in that factory. All of my gadgets, the ones that could have made my life so much easier here…

I sigh and look around. Metal on metal. I don't like it. It makes me feel even colder than I was before. I think I have frostbite too. I shiver in the aloofness of it all. I am alone. That's a fact.

A fact I've known for quite a while. But not so much as this. I know too much now. Too much sadness to know. I need to forget it. But I'm too good at remembering.

I need to finish…my…

I will somehow…someday, I'll…

Someday, I'll do something important. I'll make myself recognized, even if I'm forgotten afterwards. I don't want to just sit here and wait even more. I want to do something important.

My eyes grow wide. How can I possibly do all that in this stupid, infantile Community House?

This is how my new, unfortunate life begins at the meek age of 7.

A/N: Reviews make me happy, and when I'm happy, I write more. So please review! And don't favorite or add this to alerts without telling me why.