This is my third Hunger Games FanFiction story! In this one, I'm trying to write longer chapters with more details. I'll try to develop the characters more than in my last two stories. That means I'll also be very slow in updating, also because I have school.

My story is set in District 2, which Suzanne Collins doesn't actually describe all that much in the series, so I took that as a chance to create my own idea of it. I tried to make the "Victor's Academy" like a typical, preppy, boarding school (with added combat training). I got inspiration from many different sources: The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins (of course), but also 1984, by George Orwell and Princess Academy, by Shannon Hale.

Disclaimer: I do not own ANY of the books I mentioned above-they belong to their authors. I do, however, own the characters (except for Clove, Enobaria, Brutus, Lyme, Atala, President Snow, and Caesar Flickerman) and the plot of my story.

The image is from MsLissome on DeviantArt.

The Forgotten

My eyes open before dawn on this cold morning in early spring. It's already April, but there's always still frost on the ground at this time of year in District 2. We're so high in the mountains that it sometimes snows in midsummer, much to everyone's dismay. Judging by the weak sunlight coming through the window, it is almost six thirty in the morning—just in time for Ada's daily breakfast announcement. And sure enough, I hear a shuffling noise coming closer from across the room and feel a soft prod of my shoulder.

"Wake up, wake up. Breakfast, Aster!" whispers Ada's breathy voice. I give a grunt to show that I'd heard her, but don't move an inch. Ada then circulates the small room and greets our bunkmates Regina and Vikki in the same manner.

She has done this every morning for the ten years we have all roomed together at the Victor's Academy.

The first time Ada woke me up I was surprised and kind of flattered. We were eight years old, and it was the first morning at the Academy. I never had many childhood friends—I guess because I keep to myself a lot—and I felt accepted when Ada talked to me like I was already her best friend. Then she did it again the next morning. And the next. After about a week of this I was ready to throw off my blanket and sheets, look her square in the eyes, and yell, "Enough, Ada! I know it's breakfast time!" But obviously, I never did. Now I barely notice her morning ritual.

It is time for breakfast, though. I shove my bedcovers to the side and slide my feet into my slippers. Regina and Vikki are also waking up. It's funny—I would never really call any of my bunkmates my friends—but they are the closest people that come to it. When we entered the Academy—which is technically named the District 2 Academy for the Training and Education of Future Victors of the Annual Hunger Games, but usually just called "Victor's Academy," or "the Academy"—as eight-year-olds, everyone was randomly assigned three other children to room with. Regina and Vikki were coincidently already best friends, and Ada was, well, she was herself, a friend to everybody. We've all been living together for ten years now, and the three of them are probably the only people I'm completely comfortable around.

But again, I'm hesitant to call them real friends, because outside of our shared room, or any of the classes we share at school, I don't really hang out with them. Regina and Vikki are inseparable from each other, as well as a large clique of other girls. Ada has a twin sister who sleeps in another bunk. I don't go out of my way to talk to any of them, and they basically leave me alone. But I'm happy with that arrangement—it comes so naturally.

Regina sits up in her bed and rubs the sleep out of her eyes. "Wow," she says, "this will be our last breakfast together in the dining hall."

"Uh huh," I agree. It's true—today is our last normal day at Victor's Academy. The system concerning Career training in District 2 is pretty simple. There are two basic social classes—the lower class, the Quarryworkers, who work in stone quarries and provide District 2's main export, and the upper class, the Victors, who are winners or family members of winners of the Hunger Games. At the age of eight, all Victor children get sent off to the Academy for training. We stay for ten years until we're eighteen. Then, the day before the reapings, we take an exam to determine the most skilled out of all of us. Whoever scores highest on the test must volunteer as tribute for the Hunger Games. Tomorrow is the day of the Exam, so today is the final regular day any of the eighteens will ever have.

My bunkmates and I file into the hallway towards the bathroom to get ready for the day. Other girls from rooms across the hall are already up, so we get in line. It inches forwards slowly, as the bathroom only accommodates one girl at a time.

"I just realized," laughs Regina, "this will be the last time I will ever have to yell at Vikki to hurry up in there so I can get a turn. So, hurry up!" I chuckle at this remark—Vikki does take a long time in the bathroom, but Regina often takes even longer.

"Hey," calls Vikki from the other side of the door, "I can hear you in here!"

I do hope Vikki hurries up, though; I'm freezing standing here in the stone-floored hallway in nothing but a nightgown and slippers. The amazing thing about the Academy is its architecture. It was built entirely inside of a mountain. I'm serious—the mountain was literally hollowed out into rooms, corridors, and gyms until a whole building was made. It's completely invisible from the outside except for the large, wooden main doors, and lots of tiny windows that dot the mountain face.

Finally, Regina, who was in line directly ahead of me, steps out of the bathroom. "Your turn, Aster," she says. I wash up and dress in a simple tunic, thick leggings, work boots, and a sweater—Academy uniform. At breakfast, Professor Saxum announces that the Final Exam will be held tomorrow. As if we don't know already—they've been drilling it into our heads for ten years straight. I grew up listening to stuff like, "Why are you sitting down? Any free time means points lost on the Exam," (this was my trainer, Basia) and, "If you don't do well on the Exam, I might have to disown you," (this was Ari, my older brother).

Professor Saxum tells us to look at a large sheet posted on the opposite wall. Obviously, not everyone can take the Exam at the same time, so we've all been assigned times to be tested. All the students jump up at once and rush over trying to see if they got a good time, or a bad one like five o'clock in the morning. I sit tight in my seat, though, not wanting to be caught in the commotion. Also, I figure they're organizing us by last name, so having the last name Stein, I'm probably scheduled for the late afternoon, early evening. Once the disorder has calmed down a bit, I quickly scoot over to the schedule and find that I was right—my time is six thirty in the evening.

After breakfast, it is time for the morning workout. I find myself thinking like Regina—this will be my last morning workout in the weight room ever. This is probably my favorite time of the day; I don't have to talk with anyone except to say something like, "Can I borrow that 20-pound dumbbell for a few minutes?" I just get to relax for two hours lifting weights or doing other exercises. The weight room is a large, cavernous space near the bottom of the Academy. The legend was that the floor was actually built a couple feet higher, but the sheer weight of all the weights stored there dragged it down, which is why the ceiling is so high now. I highly doubt there's any truth in it, though. It was probably something one of the eighteens from decades ago made up to trick the younger students.

I settle into the leg-press contraption. It's basically a reclining seat with a heavy weight that slides perpendicularly, which you put your feet on and bend and straighten your knees, lifting the weight with your legs. After a while, it gets so rhythmic that I can zone out for hours. Right now, I'm thinking about my family.

I have a mother working for the district government, a father who is the headmaster of the Victor's Academy, a brother named Aristus who won the Hunger Games six years ago, and I do not—according to the laws and record books of my district—have a sister named Victoria.

There is no such person named Victoria Stein who lives, or ever lived, in District 2. Well, there probably is, it's a common name, but not my Victoria. I'm not ever sure how to talk about her due to the fact that there is no verb tense to describe her state of being, I mean, non-being. Usually, I use past tense, the tense that is used for dead people. But she's not dead, according to any records. She's not dead because she was never alive.

It's probably dangerous to be thinking this right now, but if I don't actually say any of it aloud, no one can know that I'm thinking it. The truth is, my older sister, Victoria, volunteered for the Hunger Games ten years ago and lost. She died in the Games, and it's District 2's policy to regard any loser of the Games as never having existed. Anyone who dies is a disgrace to the rest of the District. A scratch on our perfect record. If every real person who volunteers ends up winning, District 2 has a one hundred percent winning history.

Another thing I shouldn't be thinking about is the Census. Every year, the District 2 Census is taken to count the population and take demographic data. Every year, it says basically the same thing, give or take a few digits or tenths of a percent: Population—8,078, Number of Victors—33, Victor per Citizen Percentage—0.004%, Tribute to Victor Ratio—1/1, and other lies like that. Well actually, the number of Victors is true; District 2 has won approximately half the Hunger Games since they were created. This year's Games are the 71st. Anyway, most of the statistics the Census collects are complete and utter lies—broadcasted to the upper class to promote patriotism and support or something. But most of know what goes on behind the scenes because our relatives work in the district government.

First of all, "population—8,078" is a severely low number in comparison with the actual number of inhabitants of the district. 8,078 is the number of people in the Victor class, the only legal citizens of District 2. But there is a multitude of other people the Census doesn't count—the Quarryworkers. According to District 2 law, they are not real people, just like Victoria and all the other tributes who don't win the Games. They don't exist, have never existed, and will never exist—yet they supply the entire country of Panem with stone products. Victoria had told me, a long time ago, that she believes their population to be about eight times ours, judging by the amount of stone they bring in every year and the number of children that show up for the reapings. "Enough to overthrow us by number easily," she had said, "but I don't think they even want to."

That's because we basically leave them alone. They are not citizens, therefore the government doesn't pay attention to them as long as they are meeting their quotas for stone production. Also, they never have to fight in the Hunger Games. Every year, since the Quarryworker children make up so much more of the population, one of their names is selected. But every year, both tributes are members of the Victor class, because we have to volunteer. We treat them like slaves, like animals, yet they've never tried to rebel because they get to live their own lives without the stress of having to train for the Hunger Games. Sometimes I almost wish I was a Quarryworker….

Hope you like it so far! Review please, and check out my other stories, It Could Have Been Me and The Weapon Against Us.