Joey Richter woke up with a start, gasping for breath, doused in freezing sweat. He stumbled out of his creaky old bed, not wanting to wake up his mother, and managed to make it to the bathroom before vomiting into the rusty toilet. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he flushed, then glared at himself in the dusty, cracked mirror before announcing aloud to himself:

"What a lovely day."

"Joey?" a frail, raw voice called from the other room. "Joey, are you awake?"

Rolling his eyes slightly, Joey made his way back to the bedroom. His mother, a thin woman with choppy, uneven, greying brown hair and lifeless brown eyes was sitting up in her bed, a worried look on her delicately wrinkled face.

"Are you all right?" she asked her one and only son.

"I'm fine," Joey lied smoothly. "Just had a nightmare, y'know?"

"What could you possibly have had a nightmare about?"

Joey closed his eyes momentarily, and fought to keep himself from screaming out. When he opened his eyes, his mother was still staring at him with the same concerned look, so he walked over to sit on the edge of her bed, trying his best to look calm and collected.

"Don't you remember what today is, Mom?"

Ms. Richter shook her head slowly, eyes wide.

Joey sighed and ran his fingers through his longish, greasy brown hair before speaking in a slow voice, begging his mother to remember, to understand, to get better, "It's the seventy-sixth Hunger Games."

Ms. Richter let out a short laugh. "Oh, no it's not, Joey!"

"Yeah, it is, Mom."

Her smile faltered a bit. "It can't be."

"It is."

She was downright frowning now … as she should be. "How?"

Joey shrugged. "They brought it back."

"They can't!" Ms. Richter threw up her arms in frustration. "That damn thing ended when I was young, Joey! The only reason Gavin and I had you and Grace was because there were no Hunger Games! We knew our children would never have to compete in such a retched, terrible thing! Stop kidding around, Joey, it's not funny – hey, where is Gavin?"

Joey bit his lip. "Mom," he said quietly, willing his voice not to shake, "have you been taking your pills?"

"Pills? What pills, Joey? Where's your father?"

Sighing, Joey stood up and walked out of the room, into the small, broken-windowed kitchen. It smelt like burnt bread, which was exactly what was placed lazily on the kitchen counter. Joey grabbed the loaf, cut it into slices and began spreading jam on two of them – raspberry on one, strawberry-blueberry on the other. Once he was done that, he reached into the high cupboard and pulled out the small bottle of yellowish-coloured pills. He extracted one little pill and squished it carefully into one of the pieces of bread. He sniffled, sighed again, then turned and began rummaging through the small chest that was seated in the corner near the front door. He found the worn and torn journal, tucked it under his arm, then grabbed the two slices of bread and re-entered the bedroom, where his mother was still seated on the bed, looking around like a frightened yet beautiful doe.

"Hi, Mom," Joey said, approaching her. "You hungry?"

"Oh, thank you, Joey," Ms. Richter accepted the strawberry-blueberry jammed bread and took a large bite.

"I brought something else for you," Joey added, a little quieter, showing her the cover of the journal. "Want to read it while I get ready?"

Ms. Richter eyed the journal suspiciously. "What is it?"

"A book."

"Written by who?"

"You."

"I wrote a book?"

"Yes," Joey forced a smile. "A good one, too, I might add."

Ms. Richter blushed. "Oh, Joey …" She took the journal, glanced at the cover, then looked back at her son. "Joey?"

"Hmm?"

"Where's your father … and your sister?"

Joey forced another smile, though this one was even harder than the first. "Just read the book, Mom."

She nodded, taking another bite of her bread. Joey got up quietly, grabbed the nicest clothes he owned, then hurried to the bathroom to bathtub. He didn't want to be around while she was reading the journal … he didn't want to deal with her sobbing, her questions, her confusion, her anger. Not today. Not on Reaping Day.

Joey spent longer than necessary in the bath, washing his hair twice, scrubbing his skin until it was red, pretending he couldn't hear his mother crying from the other room. Eventually he had to get out, dry off and put on his nicest clothes – a pale blue button-up that used to belong to his father, and jeans without rips in the knees. He tiptoed out of the bathroom and started hesitantly toward the bedroom, which was silent now. He stopped on the way and glanced out the window; it was light outside now, the dull sun shining down on the tall trees and the dusty red dirt.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the bedroom. It was empty.

"Mom?" he called out. "Mom, where are you?"

No answer. He stepped inside, looking all around, under the beds, even in the clothing drawers. Mrs. Richter was no where, and there was no evidence whatsoever to prove that she had ever been there. The journal was gone, along with her slice of bread, and the ratty, frayed blanket that had been on her bed. There was still clothing in the drawers, but that meant nothing.

"MOM!" Joey shouted now, his heart beginning to speed up. He rushed toward the window, pushing back the blinds to find it wide open. He sighed, leaning through the cracked glass, looking for any sign of his mother, but saw nothing. Defeated, he walked slowly back into the bathroom, combed his hair and got himself looking the absolute best he could, then put on his shoes and ventured outside.

Without giving it much thought, he made his way to his mother's childhood best friend's house. Her name was Freya. She was a kind woman with thin fingers and a pointed nose. She was the same age as Ms. Richter, though she looked much younger and was certainly less insane. As soon as she opened her front door to see Joey she embraced him tightly, knowing very well what happened before he had the chance to say one word.

"Is she here?" Joey asked patiently, as Freya tightened her grip round Joey's waist. Freya had always loved Joey like a son (she was unable to have children), and only got more protective after Joey's sister and father died, and Joey's mother lost it. When Joey was younger he used to wish that Freya would adopt him so he'd never have to deal with Ms. Richter again, but he never told anyone that. Of course he loved his mother, but sometimes she was just a little too much to deal with, especially to a seventeen-year-old boy.

"No," said Freya, now cupping the back of Joey's head with one of her hands. "But I'll find her, all right? I don't want you to worry about her."

"But –"

"When's the Reaping?" Freya talked over him. "You should probably get going, shouldn't you? I'll find her, I'll find Jane. Don't worry, Joey, okay?"

Joey paused, then said, "No, Freya, you have to come with me."

"What?"

"You have to come to the Reaping, too. You can't skip it, remember? You'll get the death penalty."

"But Jane –"

"She'll be fine, Freya."

A painful look of disappointment flashed in the woman's pale grey eyes. "Joey, if Jane doesn't come, she'll get the death penalty."

Joey gulped, and said, his voice barely more than a whisper, "D-doesn't matter."

Freya pursed her lips. "Joey, you know you don't mean that."

"Maybe I do."

"Just go, Joey," Freya said, a little shakily. "Go to the Reaping, don't worry, I'll find your mother … Go."

He hesitated, before turning and leaving rather quickly. Walking along the gravel road, he was met with many familiar faces, all headed toward the same place – the Town Square. Everyone between the ages of twelve and eighteen lined up to get their fingers pricked, then went off to their designated roped-off areas. In his section, Joey stared at everyone, noticing many were reacting in different ways – some looked downright terrified (their parents had probably told them all about the Games); others looked just confused (had no idea what was going on).

You see, many years ago a girl called Katniss Everdeen-Mellark had caused a rebellion and managed to stop the Hunger Games … that is, until she died. With her dead, it didn't matter anymore. They killed off the whole of the Everdeen-Mellark family, and most of their close friends, and have just re-started the Hunger Games again. Joey knew all this solely because when he was really young his father had told him the story of Katniss Everdeen-Mellark, and after Mr. Richter had passed, Joey stole a book on Katniss and just the Hunger Games in general from a local store. The Hunger Games disgusted him, and he felt oddly betrayed that the Capitol had started them again, after Katniss had worked so hard to put a stop to them.

"Hello!" said an odd-looking lady with curly, pale pink hair, blue eyes and a strange accent, walking onto the stage. She made Joey a little uncomfortable. "Hello, I am Aurora Alcove, District 7's escort! I have a little video for you all, and then we'll do the Reaping, yes?"

There was complete silence. A giant TV screen which Joey hadn't noticed before lit up behind Aurora and began playing a video, explaining vaguely why the Hunger Games was a good thing. Joey rolled his eyes and fixed his hair, not paying much attention. The video ended and Aurora stepped back onto the stage, laughing slightly, followed by three peacekeepers. One peacekeeper set down a small table, and the other two set two glass bowls onto the table. They walked off stage, and Aurora moved the microphone so it was directly behind the table.

"Okay," she said, beaming at the crowd, showing off her pointed, bleach-white teeth, "ladies first."

She lowered her hand slowly into the bowl on the left. Joey glanced over at the group of girls on the other side, all of whom looked extremely nervous now. Aurora pulled out the name, read it, and then smiled mysteriously.

"Arielle Goldman."

Joey whipped around and scanned the crowd of parents and people older than eighteen for anyone freaking out. He caught sight of a woman sobbing hysterically before turning back around and watching the short, thin girl with curly brown hair walk onto the stage. She looked about thirteen or fourteen.

Arielle stood next to Aurora, her brown eyes glazed and unfocused. She wasn't crying. She didn't even look sad.

"Very good," said Aurora, patting Arielle's shoulder gently before turning and dipping her hand into the bowl on the right. She extracted a random paper, read it, then tapped the microphone before announcing:

"Joey Richter."

A/N: Hi! This is the first story I've written on here! So, just a quick disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Team StarKid or The Hunger Games in any way. Team StarKid are real people, and the people whom I am writing about are just fictionalised versions, loosely based off of the members. All relationships implied are solely for the purpose of the story. The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. None of the stuff in this story really happened, of course.

Anyway, tell me what you think so far! Bye!