A/N: I am co-writing a Hunger Games fanfic with one of my good friends, Sammy, and this is the first chapter written by me! (Mandee!) I'm sure both of us will gladly take any criticism, feedback, and things of the like! So please enjoy the first chapter, feel free to drop by and share your ideas/thoughts, and make sure to keep updated!


From the window in the dining room overlooking my backyard, our house surroundings looked practically normal. The grass was a deep green, the forest in the background provided the tune of mockingjays, and the sun was a golden crisp on the weeping willow gathering dust in the corner. One look, and we were the average, poor, starving citizens of District 12 suffering from unfair rights. Forced to live in poverty while our 'superiors' refused to share their wealth.

But that was just one look. Upon closer inspection, the naked eye could realize that four days a week the daughter of the household escapes through the back door of the shack, bolts into the woods, and doesn't reappear until the sunset three hours later. Dead rabbits, foxes, weasels, birds, and occasional deer strung across her shoulders, and a look of satisfaction smug on her features.

"Adelaide Lovise!"

I snapped around, one foot out of the house, and came to face my father. "Dad?"

"Don't go forgetting your weapon, now!" He thrust at me a silver, brown streaked boomerang that rang beautiful in the palm of my hand, sparkling brightly with a new shining.

Thanking my dad with a sheepish grin, I excused myself from our shack at a fast running pace towards the forest. If you traveled far enough in the forest, you would come across a fence falsely rumored to electrocute anyone daring enough to climb over or under it. I was one of the few foolish people who took the risk anyway, and used the woods the fence was shielding to access meat for my father and me.

My feet pounded through the forest, and the sound of nature filled my ears. I could smell the trees, ground, and everything in between. Greens and oranges swam past my eyes, until finally they rested on a tall, metal fence with a warning sign hanging loosely from above.

I stopped abruptly and, swinging my boomerang over my shoulder, ducked underneath a hole in the bottom of the fence. I could feel the sharp graze of the broken wire against my back, but I was used to it by now. The leather jacket that belonged to my mother before she left was protecting my upper body, and soon I was positioned twenty feet in; quiet as possible.

A bird hooting in the distance. A gentle wind whistling. A leaf being crunched.

In the flick of a moment, my shining boomerang was flying through the air, slicing through the eye of a fox, and then landing back in my hand. Smirking slightly at the familiar reassurance of this situation, I stepped lightly over to the fallen animal and slung it over a low tree branch. I would collect it later, once I was finished hunting.

Blood sprinkled the silver on my boomerang, but I didn't clean it. There would be time do that later. I walked about ten more feet into the forest, and waited silently for the sound of prey.

A running stream. Crickets.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Spotting the deer in the distance, I turned slightly so he wouldn't spot me, and took aim. This could add a great piece to a special dinner, or sell for some baked, fresh bread. How long had it been since I'd eaten a fresh, warm roll? Two weeks? Three? Dad would be so ecstatic.

I let the weapon fly out of my fingers, and watched with a tug of triumph as it sliced through the animals neck. Not a spot-on throw, but still plenty of meat would be left. Plenty.

The deer, I decided, I would hide in the open back of a large tree-trunk—it was far too important to throw over a branch.

Two rabbits and another fox later, I was sitting by the stream that flowed through the woods. I washed my bloodied hands, weapon, and face in the cool water. My reflection swam into view, and I tried hard to ignore it. I hated observing myself, because it made me think too much of something I meant to forget.

But this time, I caught myself staring too far in to turn away. The soft, wavy fall of my mid-back brown hair and two honey-colored irises filled with warmth—they came together in a way that accented my heart-shaped face. I looked naïve. I wasn't naïve.

I sent my fingers running through the water, obscuring the portrait of a time I wanted to forget. I couldn't afford to self-indulge right now. I was not the most worse-off.

Picking up my boomerang, I slung it over my shoulder and walked back through the woods. The branch holding my catches remained untouched, and a small part of me was relieved. I'd never been caught before, sneaking into the restricted area of District 12, but I always dreaded that one day I would be found and then severely punished.

Sliding a rough sack out of my leather jacket, I filled it with the four dead animals and tied it around my underarm. The deer eyed me from its hiding spot, and I hesitated about how to go about this. A deer was heavy, but I was not weak. I could carry it. The matter was how to carry it.

A few seconds later, I gently settled the deer over both of my shoulders and held onto its legs. By the time I got to the electric fence, I was sweating and panting. I was strong—definitely—but that didn't make me immune to exhaustion or the sun's beating rays. Sliding underneath the fence hole with ease, I hurried through the back door of our shack. The swinging door slammed shut behind me, and I laid out my findings on the table.

Dad walked in a few minutes later, and to say he was impressed with my work today was an understatement. "Well done, Addie." He gave my shoulder a squeeze, and kissed my temple lightly.

"What do you say we feast after tomorrow is over?" I asked him.

Tomorrow was Reaping Day. One boy and girl from each of the 13 districts would be chosen to participate in the 100th Hunger Games, where they would enter an arena and fight to the death until one lone victor remained. District 12 was one of the well-known districts because of Katniss Everdeen, the girl titled as the face of the rebellion after the 74th games—the Mockingjay—who was killed in the middle of the war between the districts and the Capitol. District 13 was demolished in the Dark Days, but after they were exposed as being alive, they were thrown back into the Hunger Games.

The rebellion ended, a failed attempt, and the Capitol remained in control. I was sixteen-years-old, and only three Reapings away from being free of it all.

"I say a feast tomorrow night sounds lovely," said Dad, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, "To celebrate one year closer to a happy life."