Hey persons! This is my first Hunger Games FanFic. I got bored. Just an idea that came to me. It revolves around the story of Pixel Miller of District 3.

I don't own the Hunger Games... Blah blah blah. Let the story begin!

1 ~ Just Another Reaping

Pixel. By far the worst name in the world. I bet no one in history had ever been named after a miniscule, coloured square on a screen; except me.

Sure I live in District 3, technology is supposed to be our favourite thing, right? Doesn't mean we like being named after it.

I guess you'll be wanting to know about my District before I bore you with complaints about my awful name.

No one knows much about District 3, well at least, no one seems to know much. We're one of the wealthier districts, probably because we devote our time to making expensive supplies that are sold everywhere in Panem. At age five I was taught how to wire a TV, and at my young age of fourteen, I can pretty much make an almost-computer from scratch.

That's all anyone in this district does for a living. Make electronics.

Maybe you'd think we'd be a district dwindling into poverty, but we're far from it. Sure, we don't get more than what we need of food and essentials, a little more if we're a bit lucky, but no one here ever dies from starvation or anything similar.

In fact, District 3 is so well off, we consider ourselves among the wealthiest districts. 1, 2, and 4, when really, we're about as equal to them as District 12 is to the Capitol. Unfortunately, I seem to be the only person who lives within a hundred miles of my home, who accepts this fact.

My friends are all held under the illusion, that if their names were ever drawn in the reaping, they would be able to claim victory with the blink of an eye, when really, I doubt any of them would survive the first ten minutes. The longest any female tribute from this district has ever lived in the Hunger Games was four hours, and that's after forty eight years of the Games running! It's truly pathetic.

But my friends aren't the only ones who think they could beat the people who spend their lives training day and night for the Games (who will hereafter be referred to as the "Careers"). My seven brothers all seem to be under that impression also. And you haven't met my brothers.

The oldest is Raph, who is five years older than myself. He has an ego of infinite capacity, even though I highly doubt there is any part of him that is possible to humiliate more than his appearance humiliates himself. He is the least manly man I've ever known. He has a mousy voice, the sort that can only be heard when he speaks an inch from your face. His build is somewhat depressing. I fail to believe there is any muscle hidden under that frail skin. And the way he stands... If he could stick his bum and chest out any more, you'd think he was a chick. In fact, I think most people debate about that point in their brains for a long, long while when they first meet him.

Despite all this, Raph sincerely believes he could take out all the Careers with one swipe of his fist. Luckily, he is too old to even have his name put into the reaping, and accidentally placed in the selection of female tributes like it was last year.

My next brothers actually have some common sense. The twins, Lyle and Nigh, unlike Raph, figured out what protein was during their seventeen years of life and ate it. I might actually believe they have a bicep hidden under their flesh, but its still hidden very deep. Very deep. They both take pride in their smarts, problem is, they think wit is all it takes to win in everything. Witty as they are, they are as cowardly as cowards get. There was once a spider in our room at night. I woke up to the irritating cries of my terrified brothers, and found them both clinging to each other, because a spider was on Nigh's bed. They would die instantly in the Games.

Then sat the brother above me. Kai. Kai was disappointing, but not near as embarassing as Raph. He was scrawny sure, but he actually understood the meaning of the words "humility" and "social", unlike my other brothers. Kai was only a year older than me, surprisingly, he was about ten grades smarter. He doesn't think he is though. He bashes himself up over every tiny mistake he makes, usually its funny, other times it gets annoying. He's the sort to stress over nothing and have a cardiac arrest over anything of importance. I still manage to get along with him better than everyone else.

Then there's me. In my misguided opinion, the most masculine in my family, and that's saying something, because I am very female. Unlike my withered brothers, I have square shoulders, which gets extremely annoying. I could beat any of them any day in an arm-wrestle. It's pathetic and humiliating.

Then there are my younger brothers; Grant, Smetch and Hash. Yes, my parents pick charming names for their children. I sometimes wonder if Mum was drunk when she named me. My younger brothers weren't yet old enough to insult my family's name with their feminity.

So, I guess you'll be wanting me to cut to the chase about now. I've droned on quite a while. You're probably wondering why the heck you're even reading my story if there's no point to it. But let me assure you, I have an interesting story to tell.

I'll take it you know all about Panem and the Capitol, so I won't bother explaining our dull communist political system. I'll take it you've heard of the Hunger Games. The epic battle to the death of twenty four teenagers. My story properly starts on the day of the reaping. That joyous day when two names are drawn out of those bowls.

Here, in District 3, to see your name pulled out of that bowl was like being condemned to death. The Careers thought we were a nuisance in the Games, the others think we're in line with the Careers. We get killed off pretty fast. We tried too hard to fit in with the Careers. Way too hard. And that's what put this district in our bottomless pit of shame, only problem is half the district is too blind to see our falling, and instead of pulling a parachute cord on our fall, put a couple anvils on our backs, making us sink even further into the depths of idiocy. In fact, some of the nitwits seemed to enjoy plunging into humiliation.

The last winner from our district was Leon Ford, and that was thirty three years ago, when he was fifteen. The lucky guy had been born the year the Hunger Games were created. Lucky...

It was just the morning of another reaping day. I was dwelling under the impression that my name had a one in fifty-million chance of being drawn from that bowl, and continued to ignore the sunlight pushing through my windows, and clawing at my eyes.

But just closing my eyes and burying my face in my pillow wasn't enough to let myself settle again. District 3 may be wealthy, but it doesn't mean I don't have to share a room with three of my brothers. They were proving my fifty-million to one chance of being drawn theory very wrong.

They were muttering about numbers, coming up with depressingly low chances of any of us getting pulled, and then figuring out how likely it was for any member of our family to be picked. They seemed to be enjoying doing maths.

"Three hundred and fifty two to one," I heard Lyle conclude. Even though he was at the other end of the room, on the top of his bunkbed, and attempting a whisper, I could hear every word effortlessly (and I wasn't trying, I wanted to sleep in). I heard Kai let out one of his stressed sighs.

"One of us is going to be chosen this time," Kai muttered from his end of the room.

"Maybe Joe'll volunteer," Nigh added hesitantly. "He was talking about it yesterday. He reckons he could win it in two days." Joe? Win? I had to supress my laughter. Joe, the fat, unintelligent, blob, thinks he could beat all the Careers, let alone one? And my brothers actually sounded as though they believed him? This was sad.

"I actually think it'd be sort of cool to get chosen," Lyle remarked.

"I actually think it'd be sort of cool if you shut up," I groaned, putting on my best Lyle-impression voice.

"I actually think I might be able to win it," Lyle said, in his attempted whisper. I snorted. What was the world coming to? My siblings were so stupid! It was quite funny. I didn't even need to play the annoying-little-sister role to humiliate them! But that didn't mean insulting them further wasn't funny.

"Hey Kai," I started, lifting my head from my pillow. "Is that spider still near Lyle's head like it was last night?" Kai had no idea what I was talking about. Probably because the spider didn't really exist, I was just proving a point. I saw Lyle's blue eyes widen and stare at the wall suspiciously.

"Where was it?" he asked, trying (and failing) to mask the fear in his voice.

"He can take on the Games single-handedly, but can't defeat a spider!" I said. "It's... Lyle!"

"Shut up," he muttered.

"Last year's victor had a phobia of snakes," Nigh informed me, sounding very formal and serious. I raised an eyebrow.

"How would you know?" I inquired. My brother bit his lower lip in. Victory. "You stalk Leslie don't you?"

"He did," Lyle added. "You should've seen what he had on his-"

"I deleted that," Nigh interupted forcefully. For identical twins, their voices sounded very different.

"You had every single frame of her saved on your phone," Kai said. "You were obsessed."

"I can't help she was hot!" Nigh retorted.

"She's from District 4 sweetheart," I told Nigh. "Even if she was ugly she'd still be out of your league." I smiled at Nigh's face, which had suddenly turned about the same colour as a beetroot.

"Shut up," he growled. I blinked slowly and dropped my head back down onto my pillow.

"You going to place any bets Kai?" Lyle asked.

"What?" Kai mumbled.

"Y'know? On who gets picked? Me and Nigh are going to see how much money we get by the end of the day. Start up a little betting service. You could be our honourable first customer."

"Isn't that what you tried last year?" Kai asked. "And what if you get picked? Your name's in six times this year."

"Well Raph didn't get picked last year," Nigh remarked.

"Precisely!" Lyle agreed. "If any of us get in, I'll be banking on us winning anyway."

"And throwing your money through a shredder," I muttered.

"Seriously Pix," Kai said. "Show some support for the District. They're our team."

"And I would love to rip the heads off some members of this 'team.'"

"I feel really sorry for the idiot who winds up marrying you," Nigh spat. "Is it even possible for you to smile?" I looked over at my brother and produced my best, worst smile, before narrowing my eyes at him again.

"Not many guys like the constipated girls," Nigh said. I bit my cheek in. I had no come back. It was infuriating.

"I'm really hungry," I decided. "I'm going to go eat." I slipped out of my bed, and got to my feet, and walked towards the doorway through the centre of our U of beds. Nigh and Lyle's bunk, Kai's and mine.

"Thanks Pix," Kai muttered gloomily as I walked out. I never found out what he said thanks for.

My feet hit the cold pine floorboards and sent a chill through my whole body. Why didn't we have carpet in the hallway? I skipped through the remainder of the hall on my cold toes. I could hear Grant and Smetch arguing in their room, over their stupid compact-computer again. They seemed incapable of fighting over anything else. A shudder went through my body. Grant would be in the reaping today. Twelve. That dreaded age. What if he got picked? I shook the thought away. There were so many other names in that bowl, and his was in once. There was no chance. I'd never really understood just how real the Games were as my older brothers turned twelve, but now that I'd stood there through those eerie moments of soul-twisting silence waiting for a name to be called, I felt a strange need to make sure my brother wouldn't be chosen. But even if he did get chosen, I wouldn't be able to volunteer for him, I was female. Surely Kai or Nigh would volunteer for him. No, that would mean losing them. There was really no way I could help my brothers.

I walked into the hallway and opened the small cupboard built into the wall. My own private meter-squared dressing room, seeing as my mother and myself were the only females in the household. I threw on a simple set of tight-fitting, blue jeans and a black skivvy. I swear I only ever look good in black. My paler skin tone just won't work with anything the slightest bit pale.

I stepped out into our small kitchen, scanned through our cupboards and the fridge, and found there was nothing that interested me. Even if we didn't have much food, I could afford to be picky every now and then. So with breakfast looking boring and dull, I changed tactics and chose to skip my first meal. Hey, the kids in District 11 can go without food, so why can't I? Mum'd say, "You have it, so eat it!" but I couldn't be bothered to think about what my Mum wanted. It was the day of the reaping! No school! No work! It's just like a holiday! Only two people get sentenced to death after it, but no one worries about that until noon.

I walked into our living room, its only as big as the two bedrooms, with barely enough room for three beds to cram into it. Mum was still lying on the sofa asleep, Dad's armchair was empty again, but I figured he'd just slept outside again. Our two bedroom house was simply too small for our family. The small TV was still sitting on its box. Dad had made that TV, brought it home, given it to us. It was probably the most expensive thing in our home regardless. The poor cardboard box could barely support the forty-eight inch screen.

"Hey Mum," I whispered. She didn't stir. "Mum," I whispered louder, nudging her shoulder. She didn't move a muscle. Clearly she'd been drinking again. That's all Mum spent our money on during reaping week. Alcohol. She seemed to think we were destined to be chosen for the Games. The worst she'd gotten so far was someone who shared the same age as Lyle had been selected. I think Kai got his ability to get over-stressed about things from her.

"I'll be back by twelve," I muttered to Mum's sleeping self.

I crept across the room and out onto the small porch. I threw my cloak over myself and walked down the street.

It was still pretty early. I probably should've been embarassed walking around in a cloak, but no one in their right mind would avoid the sleep-in on reaping day, I was practically invisible. Fortunately Tiargo and I probably weren't in our right minds. I knew he would've been up hours ago, reaping day or not.

I stalked through the streets, humming happily to myself. It just seemed to be a happy day. I'd already insulted my brothers, Mum was drunk, so I'd be able to get away with almost anything, I'd been able to pry joy out of my brothers' fear, and then the sun was shining about ten shades brighter than it normally would've, and it was still only eight in the morning.

I stopped outside Tiargo's house, if you could call it a house. The unfortunate building seemed a little lop-sided, and it was only a double-roomed dwelling. His roof had been caving in for months, some of its tiles were littering the ground beneath it.

I smiled at the sight of his house. Tiargo seemed so much poorer than my own family, but yet, they seemed so much happier. He and his parents were always cooperative, loving, considerate, the perfect family. I assured him it was because he didn't have siblings, but he really didn't seem to agree with me.

Now, you're probably expecting me to go back into some reminescent story about my past with Tiargo, and how I saved his family's lives from starvation or something a while back, or vice-versa. I'm not.

Tiargo and I met like any other ordinary people, at school. We became friends, at school. I hadn't actually known he'd been living in the poverty he was for six years, he'd always acted too happy to be dying. It came as quite a shock to me when I found out he lived in the poorest part of the District.

So there I stood, at the enterance to his house, after crossing a small muddy path. My shoes were now caked with mud, I couldn't care less though. I examined the splintering wood of Tiargo's door for a moment. The whole door looked just about ready to crumble at the fainest touch of human flesh.

His voice caught me off-guard.

"Pix," came his whisper. I jumped slightly, and turned to face him. How he'd managed to stand right up next to my ear without my knowing? I had no idea.

"Hey Ti," I greeted, smiling at him.

"You ready to watch some poor kids get sentenced to death this afternoon?" he said it like it was nothing. That smile remained on his angular face, that dimple stayed dented in his right cheek, his hazel eyes still bright and happy.

"You bet," I told him. "How many times is your name in this year?" I asked him, smirking. Like it made any difference. No matter how many times your name was in, they always seemed to draw one no one really cared about.

Tiargo ran a hand absent-mindedly through his messy, cocoa-coloured hair.

"You're doing it again," I said. His hand immediately froze.

"What?" he asked.

"Fixing your hair." He quickly messed it up again. I rolled my eyes.

"No I didn't," he protested.

"I'll believe that the day the Capitol decides to turn us into unicorns and make us have jousting-tournaments." I smiled to myself as images of unicorns with bloodstained horns ran through my mind. I half-wondered where I'd plucked such an absurd idea from. Tiargo laughed and slipped his hands into his pockets.

"The Capitol are getting close to looking like unicorns themselves," he muttered. "They're more brutal than knights ever were. It was probably better living fifteen hundred years ago."

"Probably," I said. "You weren't around." He punched my arm.

"Neither were you," he added. "I swear I've never been more jealous of dead people before." It was my turn to punch him.

"Don't lie," I teased. "We all know you love me." I attempted a wink, but my eyelids refused. Tiargo put a hand on my cheek.

"How did you know," he whispered in mock-shock. He then started singing.

"My heart sings when I see your face,

I don't care that it's such a disgray-ayce,"

"Gee thanks," I muttered. "You don't even know the song, do you?"

"No, but it rhymes!" He once again went to fix his hair.

"And again," I murmed.

"What?"

"Your hair." He muttered something under his breath. He decided to change the subject.

"Your name's in three times, right?" he inquired.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "You still haven't told me how many times you got one of those food-package things."

"I'm in seven times. The seventh was because I wanted a cake."

"You heard anything about any idiots willing to volunteer?"

"Nope. You?"

"Lyle was saying something about Joe, but knowing Joe, he'd probably pee himself if his name got drawn, and then faint."

"He's too thick to know what fear is," Tiargo joked. "You wanna go somewhere, or something?"

"Yeah," I decided. "Let's go eat." Tiargo offered me his arm. I slipped my own arm through his, and we skipped towards the street, whistling and looking like complete imbeciles.

{Four hours later... After dancing around in a dried water fountain and throwing rocks at Ms Macintire's windows with Blake and Olive.}

I approached my house again. It was about ten minutes past twelve, but hey, I was known for being late for everything of importance.

The first thing I saw was my hungover mother, yelling at Dad out the front of our house (something about me being missing). Dad saw me and raised an eyebrow threateningly, in the sort of way that said "You're dead young lady". I ignored him, and hastily sprinted the rest of the way into my house. Smetch and Hash were jumping around on the couch, enacting the Hunger Games like they were merely games. They were pretending to mutilate each other and die. Perhaps there was some hope left for my brothers. I laughed quietly as I passed through the lounge room.

When I came to my own bedroom, I found Nigh sitting on my bed telling Grant (who had no permission from yours truly to be in that room) how likely he was to get chosen, and stressing the poor kid out. Lyle was writing something down in his notepad, leaning against the wall beside Kai's bed.

"Where's Kai?" I asked.

"Where were you?" Nigh questioned.

"Out," I answered simply.

"With your boyfriend," Lyle added.

"He's not my boyfriend," I argued.

"Don't hide it Pix," Nigh said. "You've been lapping at his heels ever since you turned twelve."

"Fine then," I sighed. "I was out on a romantic date with my boyfriend 'Tiargy-Poo', during which, I enjoyed my first kiss while watching the sunset." My brothers just looked at me.

"But it's not sunset," Grant observed. I ignored my younger brother's lack of knowledge of the language of sarcasm, and turned to Nigh.

"So, now that you think you know where I was, where's Kai?"

"Where were you really?" Nigh inquired.

"I repeat: Where is Kai?"

"Where were you?"

"Where. Is. Kai."

"Why do you care so much? You just left the house for hours."

"And you would've never committed such a terrible crime, you perfect child you."

"Shut up," Nigh growled.

"Where's Kai," I repeated.

"You still haven't told us wher-"

"You haven't told me where damn Kai is."

"Toilet," Grant answered.

"What?" I asked. "Is that it?" I turned to Nigh. "He's on the loo, and you refused to tell me? What the hell is up with you?"

"I-" Nigh tried.

"It's okay, I know you're a social-retard."

"And you're a stuck-up bitch," Lyle fired. "Don't deny it."

I glared at him. That cut deep, but there was no way in hell I'd tell him that. There would be pain.

"Thank you," I lied, with mock-politeness. "I'll just leave you to your stressing then. Goodbye brothers."

And with that, I stepped back into the hallway, and into Kai. Kai looked awful, and I don't mean because he was his normal scrawny self. He looked pale, and he was the only member of the family who actually had some form of tan on his skin! His hands were shaking, and he smelt like... He smelt like spew. I gagged as I inhaled the putrid odour.

"Where's Dad," Kai managed, sounding as weak as he looked.

"Outside," I responded. Kai nodded and walked slowly through the house.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. I should've remembered Kai always spewed when he got himself way too stressed. It had happened during the last reaping as well. At least this time he'd spewed at home, instead of in public.

About another two minutes passed before my mother re-entered the house, to give me a lecture about disappearing earlier on that day. Then she decided to stress about what everyone was going to wear to the reaping. My brothers all obeyed Mum and dressed in their finest, which really wasn't all that fine. Dress pants and a button up shirt, all seven of them. I, on the other hand, saw no point in getting dressed up to watch two names, that weren't going to be my own, drawn out of a ball. There was no point in dressing up to be a face in the crowd. I still left the house in a skirt and an apricot shirt with a black cardigan pulled over it.

We all left the house at around half-past one, and dawdled through the streets to get to the reaping.

It was only a matter of moments before I stood away from my brothers and family, in a crowd of teenage girls.

The silence was unbearable. Everyone seemed to believe their name was going to be chosen. None of them actually bothered to think "It's not going to be me" just as it would be for all but two of us, instead they all seemed to dwell on, "What if it is me?"

The silence was enough to bring me to that thought. If I was chosen to be in the Hunger Games, I'd garentee I'd be one of the first gone. I had no experience in hunting, fishing, or gathering; no experience with any weaponry; no experience with even winning over audiences. If my name was ever drawn, I knew I was dead.

A man in his early thirties approached the centre of the stage outside the Justice Building, and tapped the microphone standing in front of him. He was given some microphone feedback in response. Apparently whoever had set up the reaping hadn't decided it was deserving of a proper microphone. Regardless the man carried on.

The man introduced himself as Ugbert (apparently he was the mayor of District 3, there's something I didn't know), before reading us the history of Panem, complete with the exact same wording of the past fourteen years, and probably before even then. Ugbert then read out our list of victors. Total: One. Leon Ford. After that depressing list, another man stepped to the microphone, clearly from the Capitol. Bleached skin, grassy hair, deflated nose, inflated cheeks. Very Capitol-like.

Capitol man called himself "Darren". I thought Darren was an ugly name, but didn't bother shouting out to him what I thought. He gave the signature "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds ever be in your favour!"

"Or you die!" someone in the crowd yelled. Good on them too. The whole thing was far too solemn. That small joke about two people's fate was actually amusing at that point in time. Darren ignored the comment and elaborated on the Hunger Games some more, taking every oppurtunity he could to say that the Capitol are amazing and we're all scum (well that was the gist of it anyway).

Finally Darren's dull elongated speech was over and he said, "I'll be a gentleman and let the girls go first." He winks at the crowd, and most respond with a glare, but every girl in that crowd has stopped breathing, out of fear.

I found myself frozen with anticipation also as Darren's hand sunk into the bowl. I watched and waited. The seconds seemed to be growing tiresomely long. I stared at his hand, finally it settled on a sheet of paper and it was all over.

I was safe. He'd chosen, and it wasn't me. It couldn't be. The odds were more than in my favour.

Darren leaned back into the microphone and unfolded the small sheet of paper.

"Pixel Miller," he read.

Pixel Miller? Pixel Miller! Me?

My jaw fell to the ground. I wasn't scared. I wasn't angry. It was just unrealistic! The chances of my name being the one drawn from that bowl was miniscule! It couldn't be real! I was just having some crazy nightmare, wasn't I? One that was freakishly realistic.

I could feel everyone's eyes resting on me.

"Pixel," Darren repeated, speaking a bit louder this time. "Pixel Miller?"

I cautiously picked my way towards the front. This all seemed weird beyond comparison.

I pushed through the final row of girls blocking my way to the front. Darren smiled down at me and gestured to the stairs leading up to the stage. I eyed them suspiciously. I was half hoping I would step on one and find myself falling into oblivion, and figuring out it was just a dream.

That wasn't what was going to happen.

I walked up the stairs. My eyes kept whizzing over the crowd. My stomach tied itself into a thousand knots. My knees started shaking.

Eventually, my foot touched the wood of the stage. I swear the sound of my shoe hitting echoed through the whole of Panem.

Darren offered me a hand. I just glared at it. My head was spinning. It all felt like a dream. It was too surreal.

"Congratulations Pixel," Darren said, offering to shake my hand. I just lowered my eyebrows.

"Uh... Hello?" I tried. No one even laughed at my stupid statement. I'd just been sent to my death. There was no one in that audience who didn't know that.

I didn't know where to look anymore. My heart was pounding. I didn't want to humiliate myself more than nescesary. My shoes suddenly became extremely intruiging.

Darren chuckled in an attepmt to lighten the atmosphere, but his attempts failed.

"Now the boys!" he announced, with another cheesy smile.

Even though I was staring at my amazing shoe, I could hear all the boys in the crowd shuffle uncomfortably.

Darren buried his hand in the second bowl, before raising it again, and plucking one from the top.

He wrenched his hand from the bowl, gripping a slip of paper between his index and middle fingers.

It was at this stage, I noticed just how badly I was breathing. I was hyperventalating. My lungs were heaving against my chest. This only added to my dizziness. I could feel the blood escaping my face, as I did one of the stupiddest things I've done in my life (and I've done a lot of stupid stuff).

I, Pixel Miller, fainted. In front of my whole District.

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