I decided I wouldn't post a new story unless it was completely finished, but I've gone back on my decision... I'm so excited about the movie coming out I really wanted to get what I've written of this story so far out there!

The Brightest Thing They've Ever Seen

Ch 1

We call ourselves the Mynas. This is a play on words, and it stands as testament to the disdain we feel for our rivals. The work of our menfolk is mining, and we of the night, of the dark, of the shadows, take pride in the knowing that the despised and detested others don't even understand our name. Mynas - the birds - are excellent mimics, and are intelligent and aggressive. We have named ourselves for strength and cleverness, but those stupid others think we title ourselves for the occupation of our fathers.

The others are the Merchants, shortened to Mercs. They're the offspring of the wealthy in this town - shop owners, business owners, entrepreneurs. They don't have to spend the daylight hours slaving a mile underground in a pit that could kill them. They don't wake every morning of their lives with the dread of knowing they have to go down again, into the poisonous hell below us. They don't have coal dust pitted into their very pores.

The nights are ours. Boys don't receive their overalls and their punch-cards and their glow-black helmets until they're eighteen, and we girls never get them. It's not a blessing to be a girl though - once you've had a brother or a father or an uncle or a boyfriend perish down there, you know the horror of loss, and it's not as though the loss can be planned for. When my father was blown to pieces it hit my mother, my sister and me really, really hard. The community offers what support it can - but the landowners, the employers, the Capitol - they offer nothing. Women aren't much use to them in this grimy town, and they'd probably rather that there were fewer girl babies born, and more male. They're probably working on a way to engineer that, right now.

But I'm busy right now, too. I have a family to feed, and other concerns besides.

Every year that my name isn't picked out of the draw for the Reaping could be my last year, and so I have to make that twelve months count. I set up networks, I negotiate. I do favors, I build up credits. No-one here amongst the mining community has quite enough in terms of the material, but we try to look out for one another as best we can. In what little spare time I have I help kids with their reading, I babysit, whatever. I've got goodwill by the barrowload - and we all do, here. It's currency.

The Mynas membership consists of pretty much everyone whose name could be called at the Reaping, so we're all the kids in town aged twelve to eighteen from mining families. Our older siblings are members too, and the leadership is drawn from amongst their ranks. It's no point having anyone younger in important roles because they could be called to the Games and that will be the end of them. Most of us congregate around town at night and hang out, much to the disapproval of our parents. Having said that, our parents annually face the possibility of losing us. They're always having to choose between either letting us have some freedom while we can enjoy it, or keeping us close while we're still alive.

I'm fifteen, and quiet. Sometimes I go to the bonfire nights, or the parties in warehouses or whatever, but I keep to myself a lot as well. The explosion that killed off my father deadened something in me at the same time. I'm not much of a party-goer.

There's a guy whose father died in the same accident mine did, and I see him everywhere. A few years ago I figured out a way through the fence surrounding our town out into the woods, and I found him out there hunting for game just like I was. From that day we embarked on a cautious friendship. I was only eleven. Once I got into the Mynas I discovered he was in the higher ranks, and he was responsible for ensuring that whatever resources were held amongst the collective were distributed amongst the collective. He's fierce and adamant about all of us sharing whatever we can.

His name is Gale Hawthorne.

So various Mynas meet pretty much every night - not all of us, just whoever can get away, and we talk and roam, and we go to the Hob or wherever. Most days I see Gale because he and I hunt together, and we have this partnership that's co-operative and almost silent, as if we share instincts. Out in the woods it's just him and me with no delineation between boy-girl, or older-younger. Each of us does what we're most skilled at, and we divide the spoils evenly. But back in town, by the light of the fires from the barrels on the street corners, or from the smelly, oil-lanterns in the market, we act like we barely know each other. I don't know why - well, perhaps I do.

Gale is very handsome. On any night of any week there are girls looking longingly at him, and girls looking frustratedly. His and my association is a tight little capsule, existing as friendship in the woods while we're shooting arrows and setting traps, skinning and gutting our catches. It lasts while we're gathering edible leaves and wild tubers, along with poisonous seeds and berries that lose their toxicity when cooked. Back in the market when we've gone to sell the day's spoils, he's different. Not the Gale in the woods anymore. He wears a lazy smile when he looks at girls, and he's never looked at me like that. I wouldn't know what to do, anyway, besides punching him in the face.

I've never mentioned any of this to him, because that's not the way we are. On the one hand, I can tell him anything. On the other, I can't. An invisible barrier stretches taut and impenetrable between us, though I'd trust him with my life.

But anyway, there's another thing. It's why I keep to myself. It's why I've had to work so hard to make connections with other people. It's why things have been difficult for our family particularly, even though most households around here have lost someone due to the lethal nature of mining work.

I'm not a pureblood. You wouldn't know it to look at me, because I have my father's coloring. I have dark hair and a permanent tan, and eyes one of the countless shades of grey that all the miner families have in common. But my mother - she's from the merchant class. She has silken, flaxen, sunlight hair and her complexion is like fresh cream. My mother is different, and most days I consider her beautiful. She's beautiful because she bequeathed her hair and skin to my sister Primrose, and to me Prim is the most precious thing in this world. Sometimes I wish that my mother's genes hadn't marked my sister out the way they have, because people have always stared at her in awe, and once she is a little older, they will stare at her with something else. Although, if she's anything like me as a teenager, she won't fill out at all. I'm the same shape as a skinny boy - underfed and straight up and down.

Things have been better in terms of our food supply since I started hunting with Gale - we have protein regularly, and all sorts of greens that I collect in the woods, so maybe Prim has a better chance of gaining height and developing than I did. Years of malnutrition have stunted me, I'm sure of it. It can't be genetics, because my mother is tall and curved, and my father was tall and well-built. I'm so self-conscious about my appearance that I rarely smile, not wanting to appear friendly and have people pay me any attention. This is what I'm like at school, anyway. In the woods with Gale, it's different. Everything's different. I even have moments when I forget about the poverty and the hunger and the injustice and the arbitrary cruelty of the cards some of us have been dealt. I step outside of all of it, and just feel the wind, smell the greenery and life all around, hearing birdsong, and leaves whispering in trees. Gale is always a part of these moments. When I ever picture freedom, if I ever picture freedom, Gale is with me.

On my sixteenth birthday I'm at school, and freedom is an impossibility until four o'clock in the afternoon. The day stretches out far too long, and I'm really embarrassed at the constant greetings and well-wishes from everyone. Yes, it's my birthday - so what?

There's a bit of sniggering from some of the boys, as there always is when someone turns sixteen. It's the legal age you can have sex, although nobody takes any notice. Some of the kids have already been at it for years, and as for me, I can't see that I'll ever bother. More people that you could ever keep track of have been forced into marriages they didn't want because their urges got the better of them, and the girl ended up pregnant. Of course, the ones under sixteen didn't end up married - they ended up gone. One sniff of an underage pregnancy and the Peacekeepers are knocking on doors, guns at the ready, looking for a boy to arrest. Neither the boys, nor the girls, nor the babies ever come back. That will never happen to me.

I'm surprised though, in fact staggered, when one of the boys unexpectedly hands me a package. He's Peeta Mellark, the baker's son, and a Merc. Years ago, when I was wandering in the night like a wild thing, starving and desperate, he literally saved my life. He'd been sent out to his backyard to feed the pigs and he saw me there, skulking in the shadows. He went back inside and returned with bread, which he threw to me. Since then, I've seen him around, but he's a Merc. It's not as though I can speak to him. I indicated my thanks to him with a nod after the incident and he acknowledged with one that he understood, and that's been it, until now. Five years later he's giving me something! I don't know why he would, and there'll be hell to pay if anyone finds out. The package goes straight into the bottom of my satchel, and that's where it stays, unopened.

Later, I escape with relief and Gale and I have had a good afternoon. I shoot a brace of groundbirds, fat and tasty, to trade at the Hob. There were eggs in their nest for us to take home, and we've found wild sweet potato and plenty of cress and sorrel. Gale's snared several chipmunks, which break my heart to catch, and he's picked handfuls of greens as well. We were lucky enough to find a dewberry vine, but I've told him to take all the berries himself since the last time we discovered any he insisted that I have them.

We're sitting at one of our favorite spots - some high ground that overlooks the lake, although there are are so many trees that you can only just glimpse the warmth and glitter of its blue through their foliage. He's trying to insist with the fruit again today.

"It's your birthday, isn't it? You should have a treat," he says.

"Oh, I've been getting told all day what sort of a treat I should get," I reply drily.

"What?" he asks, sounding almost angry.

"I don't have to say it, do I? I'm sure you can guess."

"If anyone's been disrespecting you..." he starts, and he's suddenly a little tense. We were relaxed and calm and almost happy, and I regret mentioning it.

"No, it was nothing. Really," I assure him.

"Who said things? Were they Mynas?"

Gale has such authority that if I name names, there will definitely be repercussions. The boys were being jerkish, sure, but none of them were actually offensive, just ridiculous. I don't want any of them in trouble on my account.

"It was all fine," I insist. "Well, one thing was a bit weird. Someone gave me a parcel. A Merc boy."

I was trying to throw him off the idea of using the chain of command to mete out consequences to any of the Mynas, and it certainly worked, although not quite the way I expected.

"What did he give you? Hand it back," he says immediately.

"I didn't open it, I don't know," I admit.

"Well, return it tomorrow. You can't take anything from him. Who was he?"

Gale can't do anything to any of the Mercs, so it can't hurt to tell him. Can it?

"Peeta Mellark," I answer.

Gale's eyes narrow. "I'll pay him a visit, Katniss, and he won't bother you again."

"Gale, he hasn't bothered me. He didn't even say anything. He just handed me this paper bag, and I'm not worried about it, and you don't need to be either."

With a heavy sigh, and a furrowed brow, Gale turns to me.

"Don't you understand, Katniss? He's given you something. He expects an exchange. He knows your family's situation - he knows you have nothing to give in return. Except - "

Bewildered, I stare at him. "Except what?"

Gale looks away now, gritting his teeth. "God, you're young!" he says. "Sixteen, and you don't know a thing."

The realization of what he means sinks in, and I think back to Peeta Mellark, and what I've known of him. Quiet, sturdy, hardworking. Always surrounded by a group, he's popular, although what he's done to earn his popularity, I don't know. Am I getting the bill for what happened all those years ago? Is he charging me for two loaves of bread now that I'm sixteen? Surely not.

"You're wrong, Gale. It isn't like that. He's not like that. He's never even looked at me, and he's not looking now. And anyway - they were all joking today, no-one was serious. No guy wants me. I look like a boy."

Still facing away, Gale draws another deep breath. "You've heard that saying, Katniss, about guys only being interested in one thing? It's true. You've got no idea. And don't underestimate yourself. And don't overestimate them."

"But you're not like that!" I protest.

Gale surges to his feet, snatching his bag up and glaring into the distance like he's looking for a fight to have.

"Time we went, Catnip," he mutters, setting off leaving me with no option but to follow.

For years now, Gale has been endlessly patient with me. He was far more skilled a hunter than I was when we met, and he didn't have to pair up with me at all. He could have just gone on his merry way, getting the best of the game and leaving me to pick dandelion leaves and nasturtium, but he let me slow his pace, he let me set traps that didn't snare anything, and he never criticized. It probably helped that I was an accurate shot, able to bring down a hare quickly and neatly, which meant that I wasn't entirely useless, but Gale taught me a lot. We've never exchanged cross words, so I'm at a loss as to why he's speeding away from me so determinedly, while I struggle to catch up as his long legs stride so much more quickly than my shorter ones.

On the other side of the fence though, he's waiting for me. We always cross in separate places, just in case. If one of us is ever caught, we can maintain that we're on our own. We meet well away from the perimeter, amongst the shadows and dark of an industrial complex that has no external lighting at night. The Peacekeepers don't patrol there, since the place is avoided by locals.

Gale and I communicate in the dark by a series of insect noises we imitate, so that we can find another. I turn to the chirruping sound of a cricket, and he's there, in the absolute black.

I'm annoyed that he leapt to a stupid conclusion about Peeta. I'm annoyed that he ran out on me. I'm annoyed, period. He has never been this way before - at first we were uneasy with each other, sure, but once the trust grew, there has been a camaraderie between us. I rely on it, I need it. Knowing he's around gets me through the day, and the night.

"Gale," I hiss quietly, knowing by his scent in this place that smells of nothing but concrete and dust that he's near, "You're wrong about Peeta Mellark."

"Katniss," his whisper comes back, "I'm not. But you're wrong about me."

He's close enough that I can feel the tiny heat of his breath on my cheek.

"What do you mean?" I ask him.

"Come on. Let's go. I don't want to talk about it now. Let's get rid of this stuff, and get you home."

Without waiting for my reply he's gone again, with me stomping angrily behind, until we get to the Hob.

I'm in no mood to barter, or to banter for that matter, though here talk comes more easily to me than it does at school. I'm not the surly Half-blood here, because here everyone has a story and secrets, and darkness. I'm the youngest person who ever comes through the door, and other regulars here have lived lifetimes and nightmares. They're walking ghosts. People are missing teeth, they're missing fingers and even limbs, but what they've got in common is that they're all outcast, to one degree or another, and they're all survivors. So am I, at my tender age. They've got scars, they've got memories, and they know me for one of their own. This is the one place I smile, apart from at home when I'm with Prim.

Tonight I trade the groundbirds quickly, for oil and soap and flour. Gale is far off at the other side of the room, busy, and I wander idly, waiting for him.

"Hey, Katniss Everdeen," a voice says, as a hand cups my shoulder.

"Congratulations are in order. I hear you had a birthday today," he continues, and it's one of the Mynas - one who's an actual miner, being over twenty. I know him. His name is Simeon Deakin and he's in the leadership. He and I have been around one another quite often, but never really spoken. Apparently we're speaking now - now that I'm sixteen.

"Are you celebrating?" he asks. "Let me get you a drink. There's no need for you to be alone on your birthday."

Before he can say anything else, Gale has arrived out of nowhere and has him by the arm.

"She's not alone, Deakin," he says in a low tone.

"She looks alone to me, Hawthorne," Simeon answers. "By the way, Angelica is looking for you. And so is Ava. Why don't I look after Katniss, and you look after your girlfriends?"

Gale swears, though he lets Simeon go.

"Katniss was just leaving," he states, "and so was I. Why don't you offer that drink to Angelica and Ava?"

I just don't have anything to say as Gale ushers me out of there. Simeon has never given me the time of day before, he's never even noticed me. That's one thing. And I know Angelica and Ava. Oh - do I know them. They're two of the girls I've seen Gale smiling at and talking with. They're both big and buxom, with flaring hips, and generous thighs you can see outlined beneath the thin floral cotton of the dresses they wear. They're not skinny waifs who stubbornly refuse to appear in anything but trousers. They both laugh heartily and loudly and let their long hair drape over their shoulders and flow down over their bosoms, they don't scrape it back so that it doesn't get in the way of their hand-to-eye co-ordination.

Well, Gale can walk me home as he always does, and then he can do whatever he wants, which is none of my business.

I've had enough of today anyway. Birthdays are nothing but an ordeal, and this has been the worst so far. The one good thing about them is that I only have two more before I'm out of the running for the Games.

Peeta's gift sits at home in the bedroom I share with Prim, and I'll return it to him tomorrow without knowing what it is, and I won't care. I'll avoid Simeon Deakin, and I won't care. As for Gale - I don't know why he's been the way he has today, but if it's the beginning of the end with him I'll just have to face it, like I've faced everything else. Prim is the one who's important to me. Everyone but her can fall by the wayside, and I'll carry on, for Prim.

And what Gale has said - about guys only being interested in sex? Well, fine. Rumor has it that's what Angelica and Ava are interested in, too. Good for the lot of them.

"See you tomorrow?" I say distantly, at my front door.

"Catnip - " he begins, and he sounds hesitant. It's uncharacteristic.

I open the door, not giving him a chance to start. I want to see my sister, and have a nice dinner, and then sleep until it is this day no more.

"Wait. I have something for you," Gale says. In his hand is a ribbon, though the streetlights are very poor and I can't see the color.

"I though you might like it. I thought it would suit you."

I take his offering.

"Thank you."

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Can we talk tomorrow?"

What a strange evening. He has never asked to talk to me before. He and I have unspoken, unconditional permission to talk.

"Yes," I answer slowly, and he's gone. Back to the Hob? How would I know?

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I haven't even gone through this and checked it. I will over the next few days, though. If you see any glaring mistakes, let me know. Thanks.