Hello! This is my first fan fiction so save shooting me till atleast the second chapter ^-^

Disclaimer- I do not own the Hunger Games, it belongs to the amazing Suzanne Collins!
However any character that is unfamiliar to the story is an OC that belongs to me.

Enjoy!

"Annie Cresta!"

Oh God, please tell me I heard that wrong. Say you made a mistake, someone volunteer, just please. Don't say she just pulled my name from that bowl.

But she hasn't made a mistake, and I know it. Helga Aurum has pulled my name from the big, glass reaping bowl. Read my name into the microphone and it is now time for me to step forward and walk to the stage.

My legs feel like lead. Hands shaking by my side. It's like I have just been slapped in the face, worse in fact; like I have been punched in the stomach and winded. Because I don't seem to be getting enough oxygen into my lungs. I can hear mutters from around me, a sob or two, but it all seems so far away from me. It's like I have left my body and am looking down on myself.

My knee length, snow white dress swaying slightly in the wind. My battered leathered sandals. Hair in a bun holding up my wavy brown hair.

That's when her voice rings out again and a nudge from the girl next to me brings me back to life.

"Annie Cresta? Chop chop, haven't got all day!"

I stare at the girl who just nudged me, Dellsy Blu, a girl in my year at school. My friend. Her eyes are filled with remorse, their blue glow glossy with tears, regret and sorrow.

"It's okay Dellsy..." I force from within me in a croaky voice, trying to hold back tears. I need to look strong, I need to not cry.

Unwillingly I step out of line and into sight of Helga, bringing her ridiculously gold wig and soft brown skin into view.

"Ahh! There you are, come on up!"

Peacekeepers are suddenly swarming all around me, four of them in their white uniforms. They are here to escort me up to the stage. Afraid I'll run away, fight maybe?

Since most of the peacekeepers are from the Capitol they don't know what it's like, the reapings. All they know is it's sport. One big game that they play a part in by delivering it's players to the Capitol and cart them around until finally they end up in the arena's and are all slaughtered. All but one.

I can feel myself shaking but merely clench my fists and raise my head up high, slowly dying inside.

Reaching the stage takes what feels like a hundred years, slow and daunting. With every step a cold chill runs through me till I have turned to ice. I look around as I reach the stage to see my guards leave me so I can clime the steps to the stage alone, up to the annoyingly cheerful Helga with her stupid gold hair and bright neon clothes. Up to the camera's that will show me across Panem and towards my first steps on the winding road to my death.

Slowly I feel my feet rising as I climb the first step, then another and another until finally I am on the stage. Helga, who is our district escort, has a large enthusiastic smile on her face.

Stop smiling you stupid women, your sending innocent children to their deaths.

"Aren't you so proud?" She's brimming with joy, why is she so joyful? I simply stare at her blankly. Eyes unblinking and fists clenched.

I think she gets the message I am far from happy being on this stage in front of millions for she continues talking. Or she feels I'm so dumbstruck and over joyed I have no words. That's probably the more likely option.'And now for the boys names!"

I watch as Helga crosses the stage, her heels clipping as they do. Finally, she reaches the big glass ball containing all the names of the boys between the ages of 12 and 18 which reside in 4. I stare out on all of them. The small children with big glassy eyes afraid of their name being drawn, to the tall and most muscular men who have mastered hiding all emotion from their faces.

I watch as her slender hand dips into the dish and probes the paper with her fingertips. Finally I see her hand raise and a small piece of paper is held firmly in her thumb and index finger. Clipping back to the microphone she opens the paper and, in her annoying Capitol accent, reads the name scribed on it.

"Phinley Waning!"

A tall boy, after a second or two, steps out from an older group of boys. His in my school, the year above. 18 in a few months, this was his last year. He walks towards the stage, his untucked shirt blowing in the sea breeze along with his bleach blond hair. Skin darker than mine and eyes bright in the midday sun. He climbs the stairs and takes the position on the stage parallel to me.

"And our two tributes!" Helga claps her hands together frantically. A few claps arise from the crowd before quietly dying down. A thousand eyes are staring at me and I can feel my ears burning, this only ever happens when I am embarrassed. But it's not embarrassment, or the fact the whole of Panem are staring into me. It's fear, that these people are ready to watch me die a horribly, bloody death.

"Well, shake hands!" I turn and stare at Phinley, his gaze is sharp. I out stretch my hand and meet his, his finger nails dig in for a moment and a cold, hateful look consumes his face. Pain is flowing through my hand as he tightens his grip.

He releases my hand as quickly as he had taken it. I stare at him, as he does me.

"Happy Hunger Games!' Helga's voice arises, but I don't break my eyes contact with Phinley. 'And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Before I know what is happening peacekeepers have converged on my position and are directing me into the justice building which stands behind me. I barely have time to catch a quick glance of my parents, red faced and holding back their tears before large oak doors take them away.

Hoped you enjoyed it, i'll be updating every Tuesday around 7pm (British time)! And don't forget, review! :3