A/N: These first few chapters have been re-written! So read, and let me know what you think of the changes ;)

I draw back on the arrow in my fingers until the bowstring is pulled taunt. The rabbit in front of me freezes, muscles tensed and ready to run. But I beat it to the punch, letting the arrow fly. The rabbit crumples to the ground and I smile in victory.

I look up at the sun. It's almost sunset. I have just enough time to trade in my stash before I have to bring dinner home. The rabbit is placed in the burlap bag with the others as I grab my bag of strawberries and head through the woods and towards the fence.

The butcher is only a few yards away from the electric fence surrounding the woods I'm currently standing in illegally. Venturing into the woods is illegal because of the snakes, bears and cougars. But if you know what you're doing, there are tons of food sources in here. Of course, since weapons are also illegal- the Peacekeepers can't condone you owning something that could potentially be used against them-there isn't much you can do. Unless your father was a secretly skilled craftsman and knew how to make bows and arrows, like mine.

I stop by the wire fence. The fence might have posed a problem, except it's never actually turned on. In District Twelve, a person is lucky if they get one hour of electricity in the evenings, after the natural light is gone. And most of that hour is used for the required evening broadcast.

The only exception is during the Gallathorne Games. When the Games are happening, everyone is required to watch the carnage, watch their friends or family members die. It's a kind gesture from the president herself, reminding us daily of how much of a generous woman she is.

I shake off any thoughts of the Games, wanting to have at least one more day of freedom before the Reaping happens. The section in front of me is stretched out and misshapen: perfect for crawling under.

The butcher takes the rabbits from me and gives me a stack of coins in return. I head to the Hob (read: black market), and spend the coins on some cheese for dinner.

I have one last stop to make: the baker's house, to sell the strawberries. I make it there in minutes, and walk up to the back door. Muffled shouting echoes through the thick wooden door as I hesitantly raise my hand to knock. The door opens and the baker is standing in front of me. He smiles as best he can, a tired expression on his face. We exchange hellos and he asks me to wait while he grabs two loaves of bread to trade.

I wait patiently for a moment.

"You STUPID boy!"

The shout startles me. I lean forward and catch a glimpse of a red-faced woman in an apron. She stands in front of a boy around my age. He has dark hair and deep emerald green eyes. I recognize him from school. Zach Goode. He stands silently as the woman I assume to be his mother berates him.

"We are not a charity, and you are not to be giving away food!"

Zach stands straighter at the comment and glares at his mother. "She's just a little girl! She was hurt, and hungry, and parting with a piece of bread and a bandage didn't hurt us!" His head whips to the side sharply as the woman slaps him, but he doesn't react.

"I don't care how hungry or injured they are! Any of them! They can all-"

I scramble back into place as the baker's footsteps echo in my direction. He frowns at the argument going on behind him, and then hands me two loaves of bread, still warm from the oven. The door is shut, quickly and firmly.

I take a few steps away from the door, glancing back a few times. Most people from the merchant section couldn't care less about the poor kids from the Seam, the section I live in. Zach is the first person to help a Seam resident out that I've heard of. I resign myself to the fact that I can't help him and then head home.

-:-:-:-

"Cammie!" My sister Liz runs towards me, arms outstretched for a hug. I finish putting cutting the bread into slices and hug her back. Lizzie sits on a chair next to me and helps get dinner ready.

"Lizzie-" I frown and let my voice trail off. "What happened?"

There is a bandage tied around her leg. Liz looks down at it and frowns.

"I fell and landed on a rock in the square today on the way home." Her face suddenly brightens. "But I went into the bakery to see the pretty cakes, and this boy helped me! He gave me a piece of bread and wrapped my leg so it didn't hurt!"

My mouth slowly drops open. I stare through her at nothing, remembering the baker's wife hitting her son. For Lizzie?

Lizzie carries on, telling me about the rest of her day, but I don't hear her. For the rest of the night, all I can see is that woman slapping Zach, over and over again.

-:-:-:-

I open my eyes and get out of bed. Today is Reaping day, the day we all meet in the square and watch somebody's child get sent to the Hunger Games.

I put on my hunting clothes and boots and walk out the door. Every Reaping day I meet Grant in the woods. It's the only bright spot in the day. Grant is my best friend and hunting partner.

I walk through the Seam, past the Meadow, and head towards the loose section of the gate. I crawl under it and head towards the marked tree, the first clue on the way to our meeting place. I reach a clearing in the trees, turn and continue on once I find the marked tree. I walk up the steep hill and come to our spot. Grant is already there, sitting on a large rock ledge. The ledge is resting on the crest of the hill and overlooking a small valley that winds through the trees. The area around the hill is a dense thicket of bushes and large oaks, camouflaging it from sight.

I stand stock-still for a moment in the middle of the trees, a branch full of leaves in front of me. I watch him look around for me. A frustrated look comes over his face as he looks around, his eyes passing right over me. He knows I'm there, but can't find me.

I've been able to blend in for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, my mother would take me out to the square with her. She would start worrying and searching the people around us trying to find me. I never understood why she couldn't see me. I was standing by a group of people right in front of her.

It began to happen more and more as I grew older. Most people's eyes would skip right over me. My father was one of the only ones who could find me, but only occasionally.

"Chameleon?" Grant calls softly.

My real name is Cameron, Cammie for short. The nickname Chameleon goes back to when we met. He was in the woods gathering berries, unaware that I was standing right behind him, watching. Grant finally turned around, finished, and studied the area around him, hearing me breathe, but unable to see me. "You're like a chameleon," he'd said, smiling at me.

"Cam, we both know that I won't be able to find you." Grant finally calls out, tiring of my game. I smile victoriously and go sit beside him. We sit in silence for a moment.

"How many times is your name in this year?"

Grant glares at me halfheartedly. We don't talk about the Gallathorne Games on Reaping day. It's an unspoken rule we have. A rule I don't see much point in. Why delay it?

He finally answers. "Forty-two." His name has been added extra times in return for extra food for his family. I do the same, but I only have Liz and my mother. Grant has five siblings and a mother.

I nod solemnly. "Twenty."

The Gallathorne Games are a torturous sport, designed to punish the Districts for the rebellion that happened over seventy-four years ago. The Districts had rebelled against the Capitol, all thirteen of them. District 13 was obliterated in the ensuing war, while the of us were defeated. The president at that time had invented the Gallathorne Games as a reminder that we were powerless. We couldn't even keep them from killing our children.

We make small talk for a while, nothing important. But it keeps us from having to face the Reaping, at least for a bit longer.

I finally stand up from our rock. "It's noon. Time to head back."

Grant looks up at me. "You go. I'm going to stay here for a minute." He looks around, a grim expression on his face. He needs time alone.

I leave him and thread my way back through the woods. It's beautiful out. The birds are singing, the trees and plants are a bright green. They seem almost to be taller, standing at attention in respect for this awful day. I frown. A day like this shouldn't be beautiful. It should be grey and dark and dreary. A storm. It should be storming on a day like this. That would be fitting.

A gallagher flies from the tree in front of me and lands a few feet away. I smile. Gallaghers are these beautiful silvery blue birds with long beaks. They have a unique ability in that they can mimic sounds and noises. District 13 used them during the rebellion to send messages using whistling noises and codes. That's one of the reasons I like them so much. They are a symbol of the rebellion. After District 13 was bombed, the birds scattered into the wild. Actually getting to see one is a rare thing.

My father loved them. That was the other reason I loved the rebellious birds. He would take me into the woods and whistle a short tune. Everything went silent in reverence as he did. And moments later, any gallaghers in the area would respond, sending the code back, like they were trained to.

I smiled at the bird now and whistled my father's favorite melody. The bird echoed immediately and then flew off, soaring further into the trees.

I crawl under the gate and stand up. Suddenly, I hear a buzzing sound. I walk a little bit closer to the fence. I gasp. It's been turned on. Grant! I hurry back to the stretched out section of the fence. If the gallagher is still there….

I quickly whistle a shrill three note song. A high note then a low note, and then another high one. S.O.S. I pause and send the code again. S.O.S.

My father had told us the emergency signal. It was also used during the rebellion, a short signal meaning 'help.' When we began to hunt by ourselves, we changed the meaning slightly. The loose interpretation was 'danger.' We use it for times like this, when it isn't safe to leave the woods.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the gallagher relay my message. Grant would be careful.

But I let my guard down too soon.

I feel thick fingers wrap around my arm and turn me around. A Peacekeeper. He is dressed in his uniform, an all white armored coverall. He peers down at me.

"What are you doing?" the man demands, gripping my arm tighter.

I stand still and look at him, my indifferent poker face sliding into place. It is a look I have perfected over time. My emotions only show when I want them to. You never know who could be listening or watching you, especially on Reaping day. I open my mouth to respond, but I am too slow.

"This area is off limits. No one is allowed to pass through the woods, or go near the fence."

I search my brain quickly for an excuse, a reasonable explanation. I sense movement out of the corner of my eye. A small animal. There's a little kitten sitting under the bush in front of me and behind the Peacekeeper. There it is. My way out.

"I'm looking for my sister's cat" I say. "It's gone missing."

He looks at me suspiciously. "A cat?" Yes. A cat. My nonexistent cat named… Suzie.

"Yes, a kitten. Um... Suzie. I need to find her."

I turn to "look" for the cat, stealing the opportunity to send another whistle into the woods. Three high notes. Code for: There is a Peacekeeper out here, keep your butt out of sight and don't do anything stupid. Okay, well that's a loose interpretation, but it works.

I whistle for the third time, and hear a faint response from the gallagher. The bird is father away. Good. I glance at the Peacekeeper. The tall, imposing man is watching my every move, but he doesn't look suspicious anymore. No, now he is just bored, ready to head back to his job.

The kitten slinks out from under the bush at the third whistle and begins to claw at a dangling leaf. I kneel down next to it and try not to scare my ticket to escape.

"There you are, Suzie." I pick the animal up and show the guard. He nods impatiently and gestures for me to continue on my way. I don't argue. Instead, I quickly head back to my home with the small quaking kitten in my hands.