Chapter 1
'Beginning a Day'

I feel like I could get into some deep discussion about something deep like identity or self-worth. I could start this entire thing of by making myself sound more intelligent than I really am. Or I could get into an emotional side, describing how I am so relatable to everyone. But I won't, because I'm not. I know I'm not all too intelligent nor am I very relatable. Hell, I'm probably the most un-relatable person you'll ever know and we are only six sentences into my introduction. How about that? So instead of trying to do something I'm not, I guess I'll just stick to who I am; a person getting tired of all this rain.

It has been raining constantly here in my section of the district. It seems rather poetic at first, especially if someone was to relate the district's personality with the rain. But really, it is just one big depression blob of grey. It has been one rain storm after another, causing issues with people going to work, school, and out in general. Not that I don't mind missing school, it can get repetitive sitting in class talking about mining day in and day out. But it is also getting repetitive watching the grey clouds clustering over my home, drenching everything. I have tried entertaining myself in other ways when I get too tired looking out the window. And don't get me wrong, listening to the "ping-ping-ping" of raining dripping through cracks into the ceiling and into pots and pans is really fun. So is watch slugs and worms trying to escape the great flooding of their hideaways by trying to come into the house. But I always wind up back on my worn down chair in front of the scratched up window in the front of my home watching the raindrops slide down the stupid glass to the sill. Even today I wind up doing it.

No one is home but me right now. Why? I don't particularly. I never try to pry into my family's business. It just makes it all the easier living with them. My dad is probably working down in the mines. While many people try to get days like this off, my dad pushes forward and works down in the mines until the light in his lantern goes out at dusk. Whether my brother is with him is the real question. My brother, Frent, should be working as well, but he has never been the one to do as he is told. I truly am surprised he hasn't been killed yet by the Peacekeepers, but then again, he is smart enough to get out of trouble. My mom's whereabouts is also a tossup. I would probably bet she is with one of her "male friends". I repeat, I try not to pry into my family's business, but I know a couple of things about them. Like how my wonderful, beautiful, and lady-like mom likes to keep certain lonely and rich men company. My dad never talks about it and neither does my mom, so I try to ignore it. Frent has brought it up once, back when we were both young, but he got into trouble about it.

After receiving punishment from dad, it sounding like a whooping from the other side of the door, he had never brought it up again.

So here I am, sitting by myself, alone. School has been canceled as the building has flooded, twice. No point in trying to clear it, in my opinion. It is only going to continue flooding. Maybe they'll cancel the reaping too… I can hope, but really I would be holding my breath if I truly thought that.

My life is that like any other life here in District Twelve; poor. I live in a one bedroom shack with my family, like many others. Only a few live in actually homes or apartments, still they are all pretty shabby just the same. The store owners tend to live in apartments above or behind their shops and the officials, like the mayor and Head Peacekeeper, tend to live in beat-up homes in the center of the district. The rest of us live in rotting shacks close to the mines. Most of us mine, so it would only make sense. We are groomed to head into the mines when we turn eighteen. Living near mines, learning about mines, seeing the mines on a daily basis; we are miners pretty much by the time we turn five. I never really liked the mines, but will probably end up going down there if I don't end up marrying by the time I turn eighteen and start a family.

Looking out the window, I can see a few people braving the stinging rain to head out to the market. They do this every year around this time. Everyone is trying to build up their reaping meal. Not the meal before the reaping, but the one for after it, to celebrate their family being safe from the Games one more year.

The reapings come to the each one of the twelve districts every year. One boy and one girl, from all the children ranging from the youngest of twelve to the oldest of eighteen, from each district have their name drawn during their district's reaping. The ones who have been reaped, or tributes which is the preferred term for them, are then shuttled off to the Capital to be trained for the Hunger Games, a barbaric "game" where all but one tribute dies. There is killing, starving, savage animals known as mutts, and everything in-between during these "games". The reaping always comes with the promise that the Games are following close behind, thus much despair.

"I should probably get some stuff," I mutter to myself.

The first time I talked all day. My voice echoes off the bare wooden plank walls. It sounds strange, foreign almost. I defiantly do not like the sound of it. It sounds scratchy… Empty. I sound like a dried up child, even though I am closing in on seventeen in a couple of months. My voice doesn't match the image I have in my head of me and I just plain don't like it.

I get up from my seat and head over towards the door. There are all the shoes we have; beaten and broken. I wish we could afford new shoes, but I prefer having food on the table more. We don't have many shoes, but they are enough to get us through. A set of boots and a set of plain shoes each for us. My dad and Frent's boots are meant for work, while my mom's and my boots are meant for when we have to help out sometimes during district festivals or other activities. Our other shoes are meant for daily lives. My dad's boots are gone, as expected, and my mom's regular shoes are gone. Frent's boots remained, meaning he defiantly skipped out on work again today. I slip on my boots. Normally I go for my shoes, but I don't know how badly the marketplace is with the rain. I am not about to get sick before the reaping. That would only be bad luck for me; too risky.

I shoot another look back at my home before I slip out the door. No need to lock up. No one ever robs here. My teacher says that District Twelve is one of the better districts because of that. The districts with a lot of cities have constant break-ins and robberies and many other crimes that here just doesn't have. I don't know how much that is true and how much is just fear the Capital is trying to instill using my teacher as a mouthpiece, but I know for one thing, I wouldn't want to live in a world where I couldn't trust my neighbor.

Even with the reaping coming up, we still trust each other. We tend to keep to ourselves during this time, out of fear and sadness. We don't like to think of our family and friends being sent to die in the Games, so we try to distance ourselves from that thought and in turn distance ourselves from them. But it doesn't matter how much I distance myself from them, I still maintain trust in them to know they won't try to rob or harm me.

The rain pounds down on my head. I have a thin windbreaker on with the hood up, so that helps slightly. But the rain is still going into my face and the heaviness of the water falling is pushing against the hood onto my skull. Mixed with the wind, it is almost unbearable.

Just keep going forward, I think as I push further and further towards the marketplace.

Somehow I manage to get to the marketplace after what feels like an hour in the rain, but was really only a half hour. The scent of the bakery is the first thing to hit me. The Mellark Bakery… It had been in the Mellark family for ages. I heard they have had the children in their family in the Games a total of three time with the first being the 74th Hunger Games. The times I had been in the bakery I have heard Mrs. Mellark tell the story of Peeta Mellark, one of their family's biggest members. He had been reaped during the 74th Games with a girl who was the first volunteer in District Twelve history. They apparently had been lovers, though he died during the Games, leaving her as the victor. Mrs. Mellark always tells the love story, preferring his death over the other two in the family. I don't understand how someone can like talking about a family member's death, but she sure seems to like it. But then again, she has nothing to worry about at the moment. They have a total of three children, two boys and a girl, all under twelve. They won't have to worry about the Games for years to come. So it doesn't matter what Mrs. Mellark says about the Games right now as she doesn't have to worry about her children.

The smell of fresh bread wafts into my nostrils. I have always liked the smell of their bread, much better than any other bakery. There are a few other bakeries in the district that I know of, but they are further away and are never as good as the Mellark's. Usually I can never afford anything more than a couple of dinner rolls, but Mr. Mellark sometimes throws in a slightly stale sticky bun for me to snack on once in a blue moon.

I walk into the building, glad for a break from the perpetual rainfall. The inside is like any other building in the district, leaking. There are pots everywhere, filling with raining leaking in through creaks in the ceiling. Not as bad as my place, but still nothing to brag about. The Mellark kids are rushing about, switching out pots that are full and running outside to pour them out and switch them again. This doesn't really faze anyone in the store, as they are all too preoccupied with the bread, as am I. The fresh bread lines the shelves as the few costumers scan them. We are all in here for one thing; our reaping meal. I only have so much money to spend, but the reaping meal is something to splurge on. I normally only spend enough on a dinner roll per person, but something like this calls for multiples. I walk over to the dinner roll tray and take eight, enough for two each. Everyone in my family always likes when we have dinner rolls, so I figure it is worth it.

The counter is being manned by Mr. Mellark. I'm glad; I didn't particularly want to listen to Mrs. Mellark talk about Peeta again. I walk up to the counter and show Mr. Mellark the buns before placing them in a bag I had tucked in my pocket.

"That'll be six cents, Dae," he says.

First time someone has said my name today…

"Really, normally it is six cents for four," I say.

"Are you really going to argue with a price like this for eight buns?" he asks with a smirk.

I shake my head and pull out six copper coins. Our currency in Panem, my proud country, is called Panemin. The higher currency, usually seen only by the rich, is bills with pictures of our presidents' faces on it. I have never really seen it, only in pictures. The rest of us trade with coins or other valuables. The lowest of the coins are made of copper, with its pinkish tint. Then come brass in the middle and then finally nickel. Nothing too fancy, just some basic metals. I don't know how trading circles of metals works as payment, but not questioning it is how I get food on my family's table. I had Mr. Mellark the six pink-orange coins.

"You're sixteen, correct?" asks .

I nod.

"I'll be turning seventeen in a couple of months," I respond.

"Almost near the end," he says, reaching under the counter. He pulls out a single stale sticky bun. "For good luck."

I take the bun that is handed to me.

"Thank-you," I simply say, before leaving the store.

I stand underneath the awning as I get my bearings. I place the bag of bread, now joined by a hanky-wrapped sticky bun, beneath my jacket, so there is no risk of the bread getting wet. I know look around. Bread alone does not make a dinner worth celebrating. I need something with more substance, a meat of some sort. There is only one person I trust to get that from…

End of first chapter. What do you think? I know I only mentioned her name once, in passing, but the main character and narrator is Dae Coop. Yes the title of this chapter is a bit of a pun. I was trying a new way of narrating. It is kind of hard to write in this tense, but I feel like I am managing. I hope to get more into it next chapter by introducing another major character. I would have written more, but it had reached over 2,000 words by this point and for a "chapter" that has now pages to separate everything out, that seems like it would get a bit wordy. How about you tell me? What do you think so far? What would you like to see happen? Is the length of this chapter too long or too short? Maybe just right? Tell me in the reviews.

Take note this is NOT an SYOC/SYOT. Any submissions will be deleted and/or ignored. Thank you.