Please bear with me for this first chapter- it's pretty much just angst. Very necessary, though, to set up the rest of the story.

Chapter 1

I'm sitting at the bottom of this crazy big hill, and I'm looking up and forward into an expanse of trees.

Imagine that, huh? Trees in District 7. I should probably be tired of trees by this point, what with the lumber milling tedium I'm exposed to daily. But I'm not. Not yet anyway– I'm still in school, though. I haven't started working with the millers yet. (Once a boy finishes school around here, working in the mills is pretty much inevitable, unless you're a shop keeper or something.) Anyway, trees are still almost my favorite thing to look at.

Almost. My absolute favorite thing to look at, well, she'll be meeting me here shortly. That sounds sappy as hell, I know, but it's the pure truth. Her name's Miria. Miria Fruitsdale.

I think I'm kind of in love with her.

While I wait, I roll a cigarette. I'm one of the only people I know who rolls their own cigarettes; there are pre-rolled, pre-packaged smokes available, that they import straight from the Capitol. Pretty cheap, too. I just like rolling my own; it's nice to have little things to do with your hands, to take your mind off of things. I worry about a lot of irrational stuff, so it's nice to pull out my little tobacco tin, sit down, and distract myself for a bit.

Miria's taking a while. She probably just got caught up chatting with someone on the way here. No big deal.

But now I've smoked my cigarette nigh down to its end, and she's still not here. The sun's not yet setting, but it's getting there. Dusk is fast approaching. Where could she be?

Well, wherever she is, her absence is giving me ample time to worry about things. Wonderful. My mind can scarce decide what to be anxious about first. It settles on worrying about Miria. Or rather, how Miria feels about me.

I mean, we're "together". It's as official as this sort of thing gets around here, shy of marriage; everyone associates us together. One doesn't hear the name Thatcher Mitchell without thoughts of Miria Fruitsdale coming to mind. And vice-versa.

We trust each other. I trust her, leastways. And she seems to trust me. We've shared plenty of "intimate moments". A sight more than I shared with any girl previously. The fact that she trusts me that much, that makes me happy. Exceedingly so. More so than the moments themselves, to tell you the truth. I'm actually her first "suitor"(as folks around here call it), and that actually surprised the hell out of me, let me tell you . She's not my first; but I'm beginning to hope she's my last, honestly.

That nagging, irrational part of me though, it's beginning to sway me to believe that something's changing between Miria and I. It has a point. I think it does. Used to, Miria indeed seemed just as ecstatic as I was about us being together. Sappy-ass love letters all the time. Using every single available second to steal a visit with each other. Talking about our future together. The whole deal.

None of that anymore, though. Which is probably normal. It's probably completely normal. Yeah. You see, that's why I call it the irrational part of me. No worries. I can move on with my thoughts.

So I move on. What else can I think about?

The Reaping.

Tomorrow.

You know, I think I'd prefer to go back to my previous line of thought. That word, Reaping, it makes me physically sick. I really think I may puke right now.

I look up, and Miria's approaching. Oh thank goodness. I smile at her. She smiles back, but it seems half-hearted. It's probably an absolutely normal smile, though. I told you I worry about stupid things.

"Hey ", I say, standing up. I walk toward her as she's walking toward me, and we embrace.

"Hey", she says back. I lean down to kiss her, but, to my surprise, she averts her head.

"Sorry, I'm kinda sick right now. My sinuses and stuff, you know? I dunno exactly what it is, but I'd hate for you to catch it too." As she says this, I start blushing for whatever reason. I guess it embarrasses me, at some level, to do something she didn't want me to do. She smiles at me reassuringly, though, and I just give her a peck on the forehead. We sit down in our usual spot at the foot of that colossal hill.

We go through all the normal stuff. You know. I ask her how her day was. I listen. She does the same for me. Then we just sort of sit there for a while, not saying much of anything. Usually, that's great– just being there with her. Loving each other. It's different today though. There's something else here.

Tension, I guess that's how I'd describe it.

She's lying against my chest. One of my hands is laced with hers, and my other is playing around with her golden hair.

"So you're afraid I'd get sick if I kissed you?"

"Yeah. I don't know if it's contagious, but I'd hate to find out it was."

"Hm", I say. I smile. "I think that's a risk I'm willing to take." I lean my head towards her again.

"Thatch, stop." She sits up, and release her hand from mine. "Look, I've got all kinds of, you know, phlegmy stuff in my throat. It'd make kissing pretty unpleasant. Okay? Just stop."

Fine. That's fine. Really. I don't care too much about the kissing- I can go one goddam day without kissing Miria. That's not what's bothering me though. There's plenty else bothering me. This tension has reached it's breaking point, and I'm afraid I might act on it, irrational or not.

"Miria, do you feel the same way about me? As you did at first I mean?"

I surprised myself with that one. It just sort of spilled out of me. Oh well. Now the irrational thoughts are out in the open, and Miria can dismiss them, and we can go on being the happy, perfect couple we've been. I'm glad I asked. Glad.

Miria looks me straight in the eye. She looks alarmed at first, but then she sighs, and turns her eyes to the hill above us.

"I'm just going to be honest and tell you no."

That's what she said. What exactly does that mean, though? My mind's not processing it for some reason. No? Is that what she just said?

Neither of us say anything. She looks rather alarmed again.

Things are beginning to dawn on me. Truly, they are. For better or worse. "Miria, I was afraid of that. I really was."

"I'm sorry."

"I mean... do you feel nothing? Nothing at all?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry."

"But I am, Thatcher. I'm sorry. I knew this was going to hurt you."

I just sit there. I sit there and drink in her words for a minutes or two. Then I chuckle a little, and say, "No. If you were sorry, you wouldn't be telling me this in the first place."

"Thatcher–"

"Well when the hell were you planning on telling me, huh? If I hadn't have asked, when would I have found out?"

"I planned on telling you today. But Thatcher, just listen-"

"No, you listen." I stand up now. Admittedly, my anger is flaring up. Just a bit. "Just tell me how in the hell you can... how the hell you can do that! How can you start feeling nothing all the sudden?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Thatcher! Don't be a baby about it."

Yeah, my anger begins to flare up just a bit more. More than a bit, maybe. I'm pretty much yelling at maximum by this point. "Don't be a baby? Don't be a goddam baby about it? Did that really just come out of your mouth?"

Miria just stares at me, clenching her teeth. Her attempts at looking indignant usually turn out rather adorably, but I'm having trouble appreciating it at the moment. Wonder why?

"You know, you're just showing your true colors now Thatcher. You really are. I'm glad I ended it no later than this. It was a long time coming."

I look at her, and my mouth is hanging open. This has all happened so unbelievably quickly. I'm rather dumbstruck, to tell you the truth. I can feel tears trying to form themselves in my eyes, but I do my best not to give them the opportunity.

I wipe my hand across my eyes and close my mouth. Close it so hard I can scarce believe my teeth didn't shatter. Angry doesn't even begin to describe how I feel. I don't even really feel angry– I have become anger. A simple, childlike, tantrum inducing rage has become me. "Fine! Get the fuck out of here, then!" I regret it as soon as I say it; I don't really think any woman should be spoken to like that, under any circumstances, honestly. But I can't exactly apologize for saying it.

She huffs a little, and then storms off. As soon as she's safely out of sight, I flop back down to where I was sitting.

I fumble around in my shirt pocket, for my tobacco tin. I try rolling a cigarette, but my hands are shaking like no tomorrow. I spill the damn thing all in my lap, and throw the empty tin against a tree. And I remember the Reaping.

Now I just cry.