Whatever is in parentheses in the story that is not in bold print is NOT an author's note, it is little (slightly off-topic) things that my character adds in as side notes and stuff. Sorry for possible confusion.

Chapter 1: Bad Luck

You would think that with District Twelve gone there would simply be two less tributes to fight. But no. The Capitol has decided to further punish the remaining districts for trying to rebel by forcing us to give twice the number of tributes, like in the Second Quarter Quell, to fight in each Hunger Games.

The rule change started in the 77th Games because the 76th ended too quickly with two less tributes and several less valuable mentors, a result of the 75th Hunger Games—the third Quell, where victors returned to the arena. I never saw any of the Quells. The Capitol hasn't shown reruns of those for some reason. And I hadn't been born when the third came and, according to many of the people that were alive to see it, the "star-crossed lovers of District Twelve" died. But my father thinks that at least one of them may have survived, despite what the Capitol tells us.

Today is the reaping for the 93rd Hunger Games. Only luck has kept me from being chosen from the reaping ball. From the hundreds of girls in District Ten. Because our district raises livestock, our tributes don't usually look horrible in the opening ceremonies or interviews, but it could be worse. At least we don't end up as trees every single year like the District Seven tributes.

In my family, we raise sheep, cattle (that's cows, if you didn't know), and a few pigs. My chores revolve around the sheep. I make sure they are fed, sheered, uninjured, and then, if I can't make them better (or if the injury is irreparable) I have to take them to the butcher when they are dead. We usually get a decent price for them.

I had just come home from letting the sheep graze (yep, sheep eat grass! That makes part of my job really easy!) when my mother made me take a bath. We all have to look nice today; it's required, even if we aren't eligible for the reaping. My mother is singing in Japanese, a language one of my ancestors knew and passed along to their children, who passed it along the line until it reached my mother and finally, my brother, sister, and me.

"Yura yura to yuganda sora e
Kimi no motto e tonde yuke
Konna ni mo chikazu ni kanjiteru
Futatsu no omoi

Zutto soba ni itta kara
Aita sukima ooki sugite
Namaiki na kimi no sunao na henji
Matte dare ga sabishii
Mirarenai machi de naiteru Nara
Soba ni inakutemo egao wa todoketai

Yura yura to yuganda sora e
Kimi no moto e tonde yuke
Konna ni mo chikaku ni kanjiteru
Futatsu no omoi

Hitori dake no sofa
Maneka wo tori atta ne
Itsumademo yuki atte iru tame ni
Hoo dari wa ganbareru

Miageta yozora wa kumoga harete
Yume ni mukateru hitomi wakawaranai

Kira kira to kagayaku hoshi wa
Ima mo kimi wo terashiteru
Deata hito kawaranu sora no shita
Hitotsu no chikai

Hanatsuto kini tami wo
Sawaru kuru segao tsuteiru
Hitori kiri de nemuru mune no
Itamisae kito kizunai

Yura yura to yuganda sora e
Kimi no motto e tonde yuke
Konna ni mo chikazu ni kanjiteru
Futatsu no omoi

Kira kira to kagayaku hoshi ga
Itsumo hutari utsushiteru
Deata hito kawaranu sora no shita
Hitotsu no chikai"

The song, my mother says, is called "Yura Yura".

The water is cold, but I'll get used to it quickly. I always do. I scrub the light coating of dirt and grime away and untangle my hair. I'm done in just a few minutes and get dressed. My reaping outfit is a cream blouse, a turquoise skirt that barely covers my knees, and a pair of white shoes saved for "special" occasions like this. It was my mother's reaping outfit (except for the shoes) when she was seventeen, the age I am now. This outfit is from a sad time in her life, when her brother was chosen for the 70th Hunger Games. There wasn't anything she could do. He was chosen. She could not volunteer to take his place. He did not come home... Alive...

I'm thankful that my brother is ten, still too young to be entered into the reaping ball for boys. My sister turned nineteen three years ago, then got married the next year and moved out. I only have two years to go. I hope I can escape like she did, although I probably won't marry a baker's son.

In a few minutes we head over to the square, where the reapings are held. At around noon, we all prepare to start; children already standing among others their age; the lucky ones that don't have their name entered this year scattered around, not allowed near us potential tributes.

The mayor steps up to the microphone and starts to read the history of Panem. I never listen. I'm too preoccupied with shouting "Not me!" in my head, again and again. Then he introduces this year's mentors: Michael Valdin and Fiona Cathers; then our district's Capitol escort, Natilie Engali. Natilie says her lines, but I still don't pay attention until she ends her short, probably scripted, speech as she does every year: "...and may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her Capitol accent is strong.

"Now, ladies first!" Natilie walks over to a large reaping ball. She digs around for five seconds, but it felt more like an hour, and pulls out two slips of paper. She reads one of the names aloud. "Marie Evans!" she announces to the crowd. I sigh in relief, but I'm still not safe.

A small girl walks to the stage from the section of thirteen year olds. She has shoulder-length curly, brown hair. I recognize her from school. She sang in the school's musical two years ago. It was something from before Panem; I think it was called Oklahoma! or something. When she turns after climbing to the stage, I see tears streaming down her face.

Then Natiliereads the second name: "Kara Jenkins!" I am cheering on the inside. I made it through onemore year! Someone pushes me towards the stage from behind. Oh... Right... My name is Kara Jenkins...

I climb the three steps to the stage. I refuse to cry. Refuse to show any reaction. Refuse to let them know the real me. The onewho is already dying... At least on the inside.

"Are there any volunteers?" Natilie asks the crowd. My last chance to escape...

Ruined when no one comes forward...

For either of us...

So much for the luck that kept me safe. Where is it now? Someone else has it, I guess... Or else it's hidden inside me and refused to emerge when I needed it most... I just hope it reappears in the Games.

Then Natilie walks just two steps to her right and pulls two slips of paper from the other reaping ball. She reads the first: "William Doneli!" A large boy walks up from the section of sixteen year olds. He has dark blond hair and quite a bit of muscle, or at least a lot more than the next tribute called.

"Jacob Finch!" Natiliereads. This boy is a thin twelve year old with brown hair so dark, it looks black from afar, but I know the difference. Mine is true black.

He looks scared.

No.

Terrified.

"Any volunteers?" None step forward... Again...

The mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. After this, we say good bye to our friends and families.

"Yura Yura" by Hearts Grow (English lyrics) (I DID NOT translate these lyrics and do not know if they are correct, so if you do understand Japanese and find that something is not right, please tell me and I will attempt to fix it...) :

Let them fly to you
Through the wavering, distorted sky
These two loves
That feel so close together

You were always by my side
So the gap you made is so huge
Your cheeky response, "See ya..."
Makes me sad

If you're crying in an unfamiliar town
Even if I'm not by your side, I want to send you a smile

Let them fly to you
Through the wavering, distorted sky
These two loves
That feel so close together

We each sat in the middle
Of one sofa
We can keep trying
To keep looking at each other forever

When I look up at the night sky, the clouds disappear
My eyes will keep looking towards my dream

Even now, the shining, sparkling stars
Are shining on you
Under the sky that hadn't changed since the day we met
We made a single vow

I can see your habit of touching your hair when you talk
As I sleep alone
Even the pain in our hearts is surely a bond

Let them fly to you
Through the wavering, distorted sky
These two loves
That feel so close together

The shining, sparkling stars
Always reflect the two of us
Under the sky that hadn't changed since the day we met
We made a single vow

Natilie is a misspelled version of Natalie, in case you didn't notice...

Constructive criticism is appreciated. If you notice a typo or spelling/grammar error, please tell me!

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own the Hunger Games or the song "Yura Yura". If I did, I would be an awesome singer/song writer/whatever and author.

I'll try to update at least once a week! I hope...