A/N: I read The Hunger Games a few days ago and I've fallen so in love with it that I've decided to try and mesh it with the other thing I love, Glee. There are going to be parts from the book that I've omitted and parts that I've changed for obvious reasons. I really enjoyed writing this first chapter, and I hope you enjoy it as well. Please feel free to leave feedback. I've rated this story as M, because although there isn't much mature content in the first few chapters, it comes into play later on.

I do not own the Hunger Games or Glee...I wish I did.

The sun blinded me when I opened my eyes, and although I shouldn't have, I grabbed the blanket and covered my face with it. However, today isn't a day for sleeping in, so I grudgingly get out of bed and start to get ready for the day.

I throw on my worn clothes and lace up my boots so they won't come untied when I'm out wandering around. I dip my hands into a bucket of water and rub my face with it, mostly my eyes to wake me up. It was still rather early, which meant I definitely had time to head out to the woods. I wish I could stay out there all day long, for today is the day that everyone in the country dreads; today is the day of the reaping.

Before I exit the house, not caring to wake my mother and tell her I'm leaving, I take a look at myself in our cracked mirror. My blonde hair has become shaggy again, but it's been months since I let my mother touch it. I quickly pull it back and braid it, mostly to keep it out of the way when I hunt.

Hunting has always been second nature to me, ever since my father taught me how when I was little. He did most of the actual hunting back then, but I picked up a lot of knowledge and carried it with me. I kept a journal and recalled our trips into the woods in my writing. Surrounding the woods was a fence that was supposed to have an electrical current running through it, but most of the time it was off. There were also holes in the fence, plenty big enough for myself and my father to squeeze through.

Five years ago, when my father died, I was too scared to enter the woods without him. My mother and I were starving, and she wasn't doing anything about it. I tried as hard as I could to find something, anything for us to eat, but I often came up empty handed. She and I were slowly starving to death.

One night, while scouring our home for something to eat, I came across the journal I had kept back when my father was still alive. I read the entries and became engrossed in them. Then, after turning a page to find no more writing, I decided that it was time to venture out in the woods on my own.

On my first day by myself, I did a lousy job finding food, but I eventually caught a small rabbit. It counted as something and I was proud of my first kill. I didn't go far into the trees by myself, mostly fearing that I would forget how to get back, but I went far enough to find where my father and I would hide our bows and arrows.

My father crafted the bows with his own hands, and they were beautiful. Had it not been illegal, he could have sold them and made a fortune off of them. I loved to watch him work on the bows and arrows. I found it so fascinating that he eventually made one just for me and he even showed me how to use it. I've always been good with the bow, but I've only grown better over time. I spend so much of my life in the woods that it's become second nature to me.

Ever since that first day, and that first rabbit, I've been returning to the woods to hunt for food for my mother and myself. Eventually I started to hunt so much game that I began to sell it at the Hob, which is a black market of sorts. It took me a while to return to the market after my father died. He was well known and well liked there, which meant the same for me, for the most part.

The fence, as usual, has no electricity coursing through it. I crawl under my usual spot and make my journey into the woods. I keep my bow and arrows in the same hollow logs my father and I did. It's the perfect hiding place. I can't being them home, because it's very much against the law, but crawling under the fence and hunting in the woods is against the law as well. Almost every single thing I do on the daily basis breaks a law of some sort, but it keeps my mother and I alive, and that's all that matters.

I take a seat on a nearby rock and bathe in the sun before I check the snares I set up the night before. Right as my eyes start to drift shut, noise pulls me back to reality.

"Hey, Q."

Santana. My eyes fly open to see the girl wearing what she normally does, her sack on her right side and her hand holding a dead turkey. She flashes me her perfect smile, which is somewhat of a rarity in my district because there isn't anybody that works on teeth here, and sits down beside me on the rock. Santana is the only person I know that calls me Q, which is short for my real name, Quinn.

"Santana." I nod my head at her and let the corner of my mouth turn up.

"Jay gave me some goat cheese this morning to celebrate."

I roll my eyes at her and she smiles again while bringing out the cheese from the sack she carries with her, then she pulls out a roll and breaks it in half, spreading the cheese on each side. This is a treat, but I wish today was something actually worth celebrating about.

"Thanks," I say as she offers me half.

Santana lives in a family of six, which is something unheard of in our district. She has two younger brothers and three younger sisters, as well as both of her parents. Trying to support and feed that many people is difficult, especially in District 12. Santana is one year younger than me, but she is just as, if not more, courageous as I am.

I met Santana in the woods a few years back while hunting. While I was checking my traps, I actually found her tangled in one of them. I laughed before I could stop myself and watched her struggle a bit longer before I cut her free. We've been friends ever since. I've taught Santana a lot of things, but she has taught me plenty as well. I could hardly shimmy half way up a tree trunk before I met her, but now I can climb up almost faster than she can.

She and I hunt together and split the game. She has many more mouths to feed than I do, so I often let her take more. Santana is the support unit of her family, much like I am of mine, and we watch each others backs. I'm actually quite close with her family. I spend more time at her house than I do at my own.

"We could live out here, you know. You and I."

Santana's voice startles me, and I laugh at her.

"What about your mother? And your father? And all of your sisters and brothers? What about my sorry excuse for a parent?"

Santana shakes her head and laughs.

"It's just a thought, Quinn. We could do it."

My eyebrow raises and I shake my head right back at her.

Santana and I check the snares we se the night before and gather up our game before heading back to the hole in the fence. I hide my bow and arrows and wish I could crawl in there with them.

Santana and I take our game to the market and sell the extra off, making some spare change. She and I have been doing this for months now; coming here and making deals with some of the people you'd least expect.

After we finish up, I bid her farewell and head home to change into my dress for the reaping.

The reaping is something every person in the district must attend, unless you are on your death bed. The concept is simple; every year, the pick two slips of paper out of a giant ball. Every teenager, aged 12-18, has their name on a slip of paper in there at least once. Usually more. You can re-enter yourself into the drawing if you want extra food for your family. One for every member besides yourself that isn't of age for the reaping. Ever since I was twelve, I've entered twice. That means my name is in the ball 14 times.

Santana is in there many more times than I am, so many that I can't even keep track. Every year I dread it's her that they'll pick, but so far we've been lucky.

The drawing is for the Hunger Games, which have been held every year in our country for 74 years. Two teens are pulled from each District (there are twelve) and all twenty four of them compete and fight to the death inside of a dome. All of it is televised.

There is no escaping the Games, no matter how hard you try. People can volunteer to take your place, but that very rarely happens in a poor District like ours. I'm seventeen, which means I have one year left in the drawing until I'm free. I wish the same was for Santana.

I pull my mother out of bed and tell her to get ready, and she does so in a robotic manner. When she's finished, I get myself ready and wear a dress I found in her closet. You have to look your best for the reaping.

When we arrive, they herd us like cattle into sections divided by age. Santana's age group is next to mine, and I seek her out and give her a small, reassuring smile. There are thousands of slips of paper in that ball. I'm praying that neither of us get picked.

Santana's little sister, Jay, is in the reaping for the first time this year. She's only twelve, and it's very heartbreaking to see when young ones like her get picked. Santana refused to let her re-enter herself, so she's only in there once. She's safe. I don't know what I would do if Jay was chosen. She's as much of a sister to me as Santana is.

The ceremony begins, and the woman on the stage begins the speech about our country and why we hold the Hunger Games. I've heard it so many times that I don't even listen any more. I can only concentrate on the balls holding all of our names. Mine fourteen times. Santana's more than I can remember. Jay's once.

The woman on stage, whose name I can't remember for the life of me, heads over to the ball and it becomes so silent you could hear a pin drop. She reaches her hand in and pulls out a slip. My palms begin to sweat when she takes her time to open it.

When she finally rips the seal, and clears her throat, I close my eyes so hard that it hurts and wait for the worst. Which is exactly what I get.

The woman on the stage calls "Jay Lopez" into the microphone.