The Pitied One

by chlorinated freak

The Hunger Games. We've all read the story from Katniss' POV, but what about Rue's. The girl who loved the birds and the music they made. The girl who saved Katniss from the Tracker Jacks. The girl that was to innocent to be killed. This is her story from reaping to the end. Rated T for violence, it is the Hunger Games after all.

1. Chapter 1

Warning Rue may be slightly OCC.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games; they were written by the amazing Suzanne Collins. Hope you enjoy my story!

Rue's POV:

The air is still; the tension hangs in the air. "Ladies First!" is cried out in a sadistic glee that could've only come from the escort, Lunica. She reaches her impossibly long nails into the orb holding the names of the girls from district 11. Nine of which have my name written on them.

After what seem like hours the colorful, long nails of Lunica's grasp a single slip. She pauses and calls out "Rue."

I walk through the crowd as calmly as I can. My legs shake so much I barely manage to mount the stage. To keep myself from collapsing into a heap of despair, I stare at a point in the distance. I stare past the fields where I will never again work, past the district I will no longer call my home, past this cruel world where mere children of twelve are sent off to die. I stand on the stage listening to the silence that returns Lunica's call for volunteers. As she walks over to the boys bowl, I hear the gentle song of a mockingbird in the distance. I envy its life, its music, its food, its safety, its freedom. It has it all while I stand on an old stage, in a starving district, marked for slaughter.

Though I did not here her, Lunica must have drawn a boy's name since a large hulking boy walked up to us. As we shake hands his hand crushes mine and I realize I get hurt shaking hands with my competitors; how long can I possibly last in a fight to the death. With this in mind I follow the Peacekeepers to the building where I will say my final goodbyes. My family. I hadn't even considered them. When I die they will mourn me, and they may be depressed for some time, but they will survive. And with one less mouth to feed my siblings might not need to take as much tessera. As the first of my visitors come in I am determined not to cry, but as my family enters the room I can't help it. We fill the time together with many hugs, tears, and promises for me to try my best. We all know in our hearts I'm a goner. I'm a sixty-three pound, twelve year old girl who has never had enough to eat. I probably won't even make it through the bloodbath let alone the first day. Everyone will be larger than me; instead of being sponsored I'll be pitied.

Oh the irony of my name. It once described just my weak, flowerlike stature, but now it describes the way others see me. Pity*.

A/N *the word rue can be either a small yellow flower or to pity or regret something.