Author's Note: Anything you recgonize (i.e. direct quotes) are not mine. They belong to Suzanne Collins and are from The Hunger Games. I hope you enjoy. Please read and review.

Part I: The Volunteer

1

I wake to the sounds of my mother screaming. That's not what's different about today. No, I'm use to that. Screaming in my house is about the same as silence. What's different is the cold sweat across my neck and shoulders. Like I had a fitful sleep and not my mother. My heart still races so I take a few deep breaths to calm myself.

The floorboards creek down the hall letting me know that my father has gone to check on mother. He does it every morning without fail. I've never known him not to even if she doesn't know he does it. Mother doesn't recognize me half the time nonetheless her diligent husband.

It's no use for me to go back to sleep. At least not today. Today I have to be ready for everything. I tiptoe into the bathroom and take a cold shower to wake myself up. I could take a hot one since today is the Reaping. District Twelve is generally without electricity except for special occasions like the Hunger Games. But I don't want to be reminded of their generosity. I live with that everyday.

Instead of getting breakfast, I get dressed. I wouldn't be able to hold anything down anyway. At least not right now. I pull out the nice white dress that belonged to my mother once upon a time. It was her wedding dress. Her parents were rich enough not to have to borrow the one from the Justice Building when she married. It's mine now. Not that I'll ever marry in it.

If it were up to me, I would wear pants and a shirt. But I can't. Last week Dad came into my room with this dress and said I was to wear it today. So, I nodded and fixed the sleeves and the length so it wouldn't look like a wedding dress. It's supposed to make a statement. Not that it is the original one. Dad doesn't know I changed the dress. Not that he can do anything about it. I am still wearing a dress for this wonderful occasion.

I sit in front of my vanity mirror and fix my hair. My blonde curls actually hold and I grab a pale pink ribbon to add. I almost laugh. Pink. Pale pink at that is the only thing-anytime-that makes me believe that I'm a girl. Normally I just feel like a robot and am told what to do and what to say. My opinions are too loud to be expressed. I almost got Dad into trouble when I was nine. I learned my lesson. Silence is the best option for me.

I pull open a drawer and take out the little teak box. This is it. I sigh as I open the lid. Nestled in black velvet is something that could start a war. The gold pin glints in the sunlight. I've never worn the Mockingjay pin. It was my Aunt Maysilee's pin and her mother's before her. She died wearing this pin.

Despite how light the circular pin is, it weighs heavy over my breast. The implications of it are enormous. And today my life will change. Forever.

I decide to go flex my fingers over the piano. So, I make my way to the music room and start with scales. My mother taught me the piano. That's when she still left the house. She told me music was one of the only beautiful things in this world. And today, I have to agree with her. I play songs that everyone knows. I pound the black and whites with rhythms that only I know. I want to play the forbiddens songs. The ones I've only ever read about. The sheet music to those are hidden within the room only Dad and I venture to. Even the Mayor of District Twelve is a rebel at times.

At last, I play my mother's favorite. It's a lullaby with no name. There must have been a name for it at one point but was lost. There was no music for this one song. I learned it from watching my mother's fingers press the keys. She played it only once in front of me. And now, I play from memory with my eyes closed. It soothes me and probably calms my mother too if she's still awake.

"I'm always surprised you remember that," Dad says as I finish.

I open my eyes and see him leaning in the doorway. He's dressed in a suit. The one he reserves for when Capitol officials come to meet him. His tie is crooked. I bet he did that on purpose. Today I see the gray more prominent in his hair and the wrinkles on his eyes. His eyes are a bright blue but there's no spark in them. I study him some more for memory's sake.

"Me too," I say because mother played it for me the year before my first reaping five years ago. I shut the lid over the keys and face Dad hoping he'll give me some last minute advice. Hoping he'll tell me we have to wait. But he doesn't.

"I'm going to the Justice Building in a few minutes to meet Miss Trinket," he tells me as he rolls his eyes. "There's money on the kitchen table for the strawberries." My eyes light up and meet his.

"They haven't come yet?"

"No Duchess. They haven't." And I can't help but think this might be the last time he'll call me that.

I stand up and go to him. I squeeze his middle so hard I think think I'm squeezing the breath from my own body.

"You'll be fine," he says. "Trust me." I nod. That's the thing though. I do trust him. Maybe too much.

I kiss his cheek then say, "I'm going to say good-bye to Mom." His shoulders relax. Funny, I didn't know he was tense until then. I head into my mother's room and hear the front door shut. I'm alone.

My mother's frail body scares me. There is no life in her blonde hair or in her mind. And in this moment, I pity myself. No one knows about her. Not really. When someone asks, Dad or myself tells the person she suffers from severe headaches. The truth is, Mom is depressed. She wasn't always like this. She was happy when I was young. Then the day that she played the lullaby for me, she collapsed in sobs and became as distant as the sun is to earth. No prodding from myself can reach her. She only has contact with Dad. I don't know what he tells her, but it always calms her down.

I wish I loved someone like my Dad loves her.

I brush her hair from her face and count the amount of empty morphling bottles in the trash. Three. It's always three. Sometimes I think she'll overdose on the stuff but she never does. The television clicks on. It's old fashioned. Dad figured one of the holograms would upset her.

At first, there's only static then a low hum. You have to sit right next to it to actually hear it. The sound bothers her ears but it has to be on. Otherwise she could be executed for not going to the Reaping today.

As I bend over to kiss my mother's cheek, there's a knock on the door. I take in a deep breath. You can do it. You're Madge Undersee. Daughter of the Mayor of District Twelve. The Seam boy can't hurt you.

But he can, I think.

"I love you," I say as I close her door and take the stairs two at a time. I rush into the kitchen and almost forget the money and double back to the table. I grab it up and open the door.

Katniss Everdeen, my only friend, stands next to Gale Hawthorne. They look surprised to see me. Normally Dad handles these transactions. And I let him, I don't want to see Gale Hawthorne anymore than he wants to see me. Him for different reasons I suppose. He's Katniss's friend more so than I am. I envy that. I also envy the flush in her cheeks and the dirt on his nose. They came from the woods recently. Somewhere most have never been considering it's against the law and all.

I wish I was brave enough to go there.

"Pretty dress," Gale tells me. He says it with no inflection that I can't tell if he's sarcastic or not. His gray eyes meet mine directly. I almost want to laugh. He's taller than me and I'm on the top step. I never noticed.

I bite my lip. This would be the first nice thing he's ever said to me. And I don't know if he's sincere. So I smile and say, "Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" They don't know how much truth there is in that statement. Katniss's eyes widen and Gale looks puzzled. He always tries to find the hidden meaning in my words. He never does.

"You won't be going to the Capitol," he says coldly. And I can tell his compliment was genuine. He wouldn't be barking at me if he wasn't. Gale's eyes leave mine and land on my chest. I know he's not looking at me at me. He's noticed the golden mockingjay. He glares at it. "What can you have?" he continues. "Five entries? I had six when I was twelve years old." I know that. I also know that his name is in forty-two times today. And if he's not picked today, those same forty-two slips will leave the bowl and be replaced by his brothers Vick and Rory if he can't make enough in the mines.

"That's not her fault," Katniss is quick to defend me. I want to smile but I don't. We barely speak to each other and that is my fault. All the things I want to talk to her about are forbidden.

"No, it's no one's fault," he says harshly. "Just the way it is." But it shouldn't be that way. I almost let them see that, but I school my face into a mask.

If we continue this way, I'll want to argue. So I hand Katniss the money and take the strawberries from her. They have to get home to the Seam to get dressed for the reaping.

"Good luck, Katniss," I tell her because that's what friends do. Gale gives me a glare that she doesn't see and I avoid his eyes.

"You, too," she replies. I close the door before I can tell her I won't need luck. After all, I am volunteering.