A/N:

*dusts off old-fashioned microphone* Okay, I realise that I've left this untouched for way too long. I had it planned out, I swear, but life got in the way.

I'm editing the first three chapters, so there may be slight differences in the content.

Spoilers for the entire Hunger Games trilogy. Titles taken from Payphone by Maroon 5 featuring Wiz Khalifa. Finally, a title that isn't Panic! At The Disco…

Chapter 1 - Sitting 'Round Wondering

{Willow}

There are a lot of things I don't understand.

I don't understand why my mum wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming, and why the only person who can calm her down is my dad. I don't understand why my dad looks at perfectly ordinary things, like flowers, and then winces and turns away like it hurts to look at them. I don't understand why sometimes, my mum bursts into tears for no apparent reason, and I don't understand why my dad never lets us open the third drawer on the wooden chest by the dining table. I wish someone would explain to me what the hell went on. I say went on, because everywhere my parents go people point and whisper about Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. And since my parents haven't done anything extraordinary as far as I know, it's gotta be from way before I was born.

I'm turning seven this year, and this year, I'm gonna get my questions answered. In the first grade of school, students all over Panem learn about the events that happened nearly a hundred years ago. The Dark Days. The Rebellion. The Hunger Games.

But before that, I have two weeks of summer holiday to go. And today –

"Hey!"

I writhe in the yellow sunlight coming from the window in my room, as the cold morning air tickles my skin, no longer rebuffed by the thick fabric of my blanket.

My mum is standing beside my bed, the tiniest wisp of a smile dancing across her lips. She has long black hair that falls like curtains over her shoulders, and sharp grey eyes that could cut into your mind and see whatever secrets you're hiding. In one hand, she holds my blanket, her nimble fingers playing with the seam on the edge.

"Wake up, little duck," she said, breaking into a slightly bigger smile. "It's going to be a big day."

"Where are we going?" I ask, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. I shuffle my feet into my fluffy slippers and stretch out the stiffness in my neck, yawning as I go.

My mum drops the blanket on my bed. For a split second I think of dashing back into my covers and staying there until lunch. "Aunt Annie's place."

Instantly, my ears prick up. I love it when we go to visit Aunt Annie. She isn't my aunt by blood, but according to what I hear when my mum and dad talk at night, she knew them during the rebellion. I imagine the tang of salty sea breeze and immediately get even more excited.

"Get dressed and come down for breakfast," my mum says. "We're leaving in half an hour. You don't wanna miss the train, do you?" she says, ruffling my hair. It's long, curly and dark, just like hers.

I giggle and shake my head. Mum laughs a little and goes to the door opposite mine.

I close the door and rummage for my most comfortable clothes. The first time I went, I'd been wearing my best clothes, and I'd spent the afternoon watching sulkily from the porch as my brother and Dylan swam in the water with all the colourful fishes. I throw on a short-sleeved cotton shirt and a pair of navy blue shorts and run downstairs amid my mum coaxing, "Wake up, Rye, don't you want breakfast?"

My dad sits at the dining table, dipping cookies into hot chocolate. He sees me coming and pulls out a stool for me to sit.

"Good morning," I say, as my dad pushes the plate of cookies towards me. They're covered in orange icing and they look like flowers.

"Did you bake them?" I ask, sipping my hot chocolate.

He makes a face of exaggerated hurt. "I thought you liked my cookies!"

"I do like your cookies, Daddy," I say, taking a bite. The cookie crumbles in my mouth and I make a small sound of satisfaction. "Yum."

His blue eyes dance with light as he smiles. My mum says I have the most beautiful eyes – "like your dad," she told me once. Dad finishes his hot chocolate in one gulp, and his stool drags loudly across the floor as he walks over to the sink.

I watch his legs as he scrubs the mug in the sink, humming a tune I don't recognise. One real and one metal, glinting in the morning sun. Another one of the mysteries in my life.

Once, I asked Dad how he lost his leg and he told me not to worry about it. That meant he wasn't going to answer my question, so I asked Mum.

"Someone hurt it very badly," she'd said, as we folded the towels she'd just taken off the clothesline and stacked them on my bed.

"Who?" I'd asked.

She'd continued folding the towels quietly. So I'd kept quiet too.

My little brother, Rye, stumbles to the table. His golden blond hair sticks up on one side, and he climbs up onto the stool with some difficulty. It's a little too high for him, and his legs dangle off the floor as he swings them absently. I give him the plate of cookies and he starts eating without a second word.

"Is Dylan coming?" asks Rye eagerly. Dylan is Aunt Annie's son, and something of a big brother to us. He's turning fourteen this year, but he's been quite busy apprenticing with the fishermen, which is the main occupation in District 4 where they live.

"Yep, he's coming," replies my dad, coming over to sit at the table. "Wouldn't pass up the chance to see you guys. You're just too cute."

Everyone bursts out laughing, even Mum, who's just arrived in the kitchen. She puts down her laundry basket to put an arm around Dad's shoulders.

"Well, you better hurry," she says. "Train is coming!"

At that, Rye starts shoving cookies into his mouth, two at a time, and I can't help but double over, I'm laughing so much it hurts. But for some strange reason, I discover that I don't mind.