The Forgotten Tribute

Rated M for violence, language, and sexual situations in later chapters.

DISCLAIMER: The only characters that I own are Claire Moore, Logan Smith and the other characters that weren't in the original Hunger Games. All other characters belong to Susan Collins.

Author's Note: So I've decided to take a crack at this idea that has been swimming in my weird mind for quite a while now. Thank you so much for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated especially those with suggestion to improve the story. Enjoy. I apologize in advance for my grammar and spelling mistakes, I don't have a beta, and for those of you who have read my other stories you know I don't spend a lot of time editing because I just was to get new chapters out ASAP.

SMACK! Her hand collided with my cheek. I was used to it by now. Almost every day I would take abuse intended for the other children in the District Home. I live in District 12, the coal mining district, the weak district, the forgotten district.

The warden's at the District Home were heartless. The children were neglected and abused. I had lived here my entire life. I never had a childhood, but then again no one in District 12 did. All of us had to grow up fast to survive. We all had to endure hunger and pain.

There were always people like me at the District Home. People who would take on the responsibility of caring for the kids and being the parent they never had. That was me and my friend, Logan.

Logan was kind and compassionate. I mostly just protected and provided. Together we had kept the kids alive. We would find food for them, and we would go hungry. We never did anything for ourselves.

I glared at the warden who hit me, while holding the little girl behind me.

"Make sure she never steals from us again," demanded the warden.

"If you fed us this wouldn't happen," I retorted.

"You be careful what you say Moore," she sneered. "It could get you in trouble someday."

"I'll take my chances." I stared at her until she disappeared around a corner.

"Are you alright?" cried the girl behind me.

"I'm fine Lilly," I forced a smile and pulled her into a hug. "But you have to promise me that you take food from the kitchen again. Okay?"

"I promise," Lilly assured me. She had bright blue eyes that still had hope in them. My eyes were a dark brown and filled with sorrow and pain, but no fear. I couldn't be afraid, I always had to be brave.

I took Lilly back to the nursery, and when I was sure that she was okay I walked down the hall to meet Logan. I found him helping one of the thirteen year olds with her homework.

"Hey," he said when he saw me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, you have a minute?" I asked. Logan quickly finished explaining something to the girl and rushed off with me. Holding my hand we ran up to the attic. It was our place. The one place where we could be ourselves. Where we could talk. The one place we felt safe.

"What happened?" he inquired.

"A warden caught Lilly stealing some bread from the garbage," I explained rubbing my stinging cheek.

"How hard did she hit you?"

"It's not the worst I've had, but it's definitely going to leave a mark."

"Are you nervous?" he questioned.

"About what?"

"The reaping," Logan answered. "District 12 is the one required to submit an extra tribute this year, that means there's an even higher chance that you or I will get picked."

"I know, but we always have a high chance of getting reaped. I mean, I can't even remember how many times our names were put in to get tesseraes for everyone," I replied.

"True, but we've gotten lucky six years in a row it's bound to happen sometime," he argued.

"We can still get lucky again. Besides even if we are chosen what difference is it going to make? We're probably going to die soon anyway," I countered.

"You don't know that," he scolded.

"Are you kidding me?" I exclaimed. "I haven't eaten in three days, and neither have you. And when we do we only get a half slice of bread, if that!"

"But Claire," he began. "We'll be out of here in less than a year. We could start over, we could have a family."

"Logan, no matter what we do we're always going to be miserable. We'll always be poor and hungry. And no one wants to marry a girl from the Home. You see how we're treated at school," I complained.

"Do you have to be so goddamn negative all the time?"

"It's not like I have anything to be happy about," I grumbled.

"What about me?" he asked.

"What about you?"

"I care about you. I don't want you to die," he confessed.

"Logan, you know I don't like you that way."

"I know, I don't either. But that's not what I meant. You're like my sister, Claire. And you can be happy, just try. Here, take this," he shoved small package into my hand.

"What is it?"

"I was going to give it to you after the reaping tomorrow," explained Logan. When I opened it I saw a brand new knife.

"How did you get this?" I interrogated.

"I swiped it from the Hob," he smirked at the smile on my face. "I knew it would make you happy."

"It's fantastic!" I exclaimed. I had taught myself how to throw knives when I was twelve. Then I was determined that if I was chosen for the Hunger Games I would win, so I stole a knife from the kitchen and started throwing. I wasn't any good until I was fifteen, and now, three years later, I was phenomenal.

"You want to try it out, don't you?" he sighed.

"You bet," I confirmed. Grudgingly, he stood against the wall. I flipped the knife in the air a few times and in one motion I sent the knife soaring through the air. With a thud in was embedded in the wall just a centimeter from Logan's ear.

"Still got it," he joked as he plucked my knife out and handed it to me.

"You bet," I agreed. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's alright, I understand," he assured me.