DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Hunger Games, or many of the original characters that are or will be mentioned in this story.

Avery Willowcress is my OC.

Please leave comments/reviews! Would love to know how you guys are feeling about the storyline and character. Avery is very atypical compared to the female protagonists I usually create. I want to make sure I'm doing her justice. And I will say, she has many, MANY flaws that I plan to reveal a bit more as she's pushed to her limits throughout the story. They are also better observed from perspectives other than her own. Her POV typically does not reveal those flaws because of her general persona and mindset.

He tossed and turned, sweat beading on his forehead. Screaming echoed in his ears, not only his own but the screams of his victims. He heard his father's proud screams when he returned a victor, and also his mother's sobs when she realized she couldn't look at him the same anymore. The cries created an unbearable symphony of regret and shame. What he saw was almost worse- a forest covered in blood. He tried to run from the crawling, slow-moving corpses making their way to him but his feet were stuck to the ground by the blood as if it were tar. He bent to try to pull himself forward by the ground, by the trees, by anything. His fingernails began to warp and peel off from the failed efforts. The array of dead, blood-soaked children were going to be upon him soon enough. As he turned to face his fate, the screaming still very present in his ears, he thought he could make out a large tuft of curls on the head of the closest corpse to him, but the thought fled his mind as he realized the eyes of the smaller child were glowing a horrifying red and his hands were raw, rotten claws of bone. He let out one final scream before he was able to shake himself fully awake.

Cato sat straight up in bed, still screaming. Fuck. He slumped back down on his large, luxurious plush mattress, feeling frustrated and defeated. While he had mostly taken control of his nightmares, their consistency and severity tended to increase when it came that time of the year again. Reaping time. Time to meet another hopeful couple of young killing machines who may or may not die a horrific death in the upcoming weeks. He was once one of those machines… he almost still was. The worst part of the whole ordeal was the constant re-watching of previous games. Every time he was interviewed or mentioned as a mentor, his killings were put on display again and again. "Top Killings", "Top Victors", "Hottest Victors", all of them were littered with his own personal maleficence, and with the corpses that haunted him at night. In his insomnia, he could not even defer to the television this time of the year. It was madness. But it was what he had wanted, right?

He shook it off. I'm a motherfucking champion, he reminded himself. I owned that arena. I did everything I was taught to do. I won. I win every day. Money, luxury, women… Those kids wouldn't have appreciated it. They didn't win for a reason. I did. Fuck them.

He gave this speech to himself regularly. Still, he knew that an attempt at sleep now would only result in more hauntings, which are stupid and make NO sense, he thought, shivering to himself regardless. He rolled out of bed, pulling on a pair of shorts and a tight training shirt. He put on his socks, and his running shoes, and headed outside. He would see how many miles it would take tonight to temporarily forget about the games. The last couple of nights it was somewhere between 5-6, but the first reaping was tomorrow. Tonight, he would surely have to go for at least 10.

...

Avery signed and shivered as she slowly moved the stack of wet bedspread off of her. The girls at the Academy found it fitting to wake her with a bucket of ice water this morning, to celebrate her last day. This afternoon was the last possible time that her name could be drawn at the reaping, not that this was ever something she was afraid of. She lived in District 2. Every year, the two most impressive candidates volunteered themselves to compete in the Hunger Games.
Unfortunately for her, her reluctance to participate in the hype of the Games was not a popular opinion in her District. The other girls noticed a few years ago that her apathy towards the annual event was odd, and they brought this fact to attention every day.

"What's up with this bitch?" Clove had asked, gesturing at her and looking at the now forming crowd of snickering teens. There had been a debate ongoing regarding whether, if given the choice, one should slaughter a young tribute from 11 with a sword or a harvesting crop. The latter choice would be more ironic, being that this victor is from a farming district, and isn't that what the public would want to see while hungrily observing the slaughtering of somebody's child? Irony? Hmm.

"I feel like they should suffer", Ruby had smirked. "That shitty district needs to be reminded why they never win, and why they're so poor." Avery had tried to lay low and shake off the conversation, but after so much forced listening, and an older girl pushing her and asking what she thought, it felt she had no choice but to sarcastically answer, "If it were up to me, I suppose I would attack with my squirrel army." After a moment of awkward silence, she continued. "Yes, I have a master plan which involves large-scale nut collection, training of large pods of squirrels. It's a whole thing… Anyways, I reckon I would sick my highly trained, lethal squirrel army on the youngling."

Enter Clove's comment. And enter the next few years of torment, beatings, bullying, pranks, wet bed spreads… etc. She was the weirdo that didn't want to compete. She was the one that didn't understand the importance of the inevitable fame and fortune to come with "victory", otherwise known as mass murdering children. She realized the atrocity that these Games were long ago, and only attended the Academy because it had been mandated. She reminded herself daily that she would not be like these other teenagers, thirsting for blood. She would make it through these years without altering her kind heart, her intelligent and curious nature, or her naturally protective tendencies. Her eyes were abruptly opened to the heart ache that came with loss, all thanks to these Games, when she was very young. In that time, she also understood her own personal capacity for darkness. She carried that memory deep within her, though she hardly truly acknowledged it, yet she used it to fuel her moral conduct and unwillingness to mimic the attitudes of the rest of her peers.

This resistance obviously did not make her the most popular girl at the Academy. She was too easy to pick on, being that she consistently refused to fight back. Even after having been beaten by the other girls, ganged up on, having had her clothing destroyed, food taken or spit on, she was always easily able to walk away from the argument with her head held high, and usually a soft smirk on her face. She had an unwavering, mastered sense of humor in times of conflict. She knew she would be better off than her peers in the long run; they would only ever chase after a dream that would rarely be fulfilled. She was obviously better than them. And after all, she would only be here for a short while. With so many fools volunteering themselves to most likely die, on camera, at the hands of other young adults, and the government, she would just have to make it through the Academy. And she did. She was a survivor.

So here she was, able to see the light at the end of the tunnel after having been forced to join the Academy when she was only 8 years old. Her instructors regularly voiced their frustration and cluelessness as to why she would never compete, or take their culture seriously. She was an athletic girl, and genetically inclined in every way to be an absolute weapon. She excelled at many skills within the Academy, and was a force to be reckoned with during one-on-one combat. She was nimble and strong to the degree of deadly perfection. But she decided a long time ago that she wouldn't let her district ruin her. She wouldn't stoop to the level of the killers. She would take the heat, because she could. She would practice sport and physical fitness on her own time, convincing herself it was for the sake of her health. Somewhere deep down, she knew there was a different reason. One that she would not address, like all negative feelings and memories.

This particular morning, Avery heaved the cold wet sheets into the dorm's bin for dirty laundry. She grabbed a few towels, and started to sop some of the water from the mattress. It was then that she realized that this was her last day. She smiled and dropped the towels immediately; she would not be returning to this damp, smelly stack of plush. She stripped herself of her wet clothing, wrapped herself in a robe and walked to the showers to wash the coldness off of her body before breakfast. Naturally, the girls were waiting for her in the shower, as well, with more ice water. Today was going to be super. She dropped her robe upon seeing them, feeling proud at the surprised reaction she elicited, and claimed, "Bring it on." She was doused, pushed to the ground, beaten, kicked in the ribs, all while butt ass naked. These Capitol drones HATED her. And they really hated that they could never get her to break.

The rest of the day went on similarly. Food was thrown, spilled and sneezed in. Small, subtle beatings were somewhat regular. She ended up smoothing out her casual but elegant beige dress that afternoon, preparing for the reaping, glancing at her reflection having garnished a cut lip, bruised cheek and black eye. She fixed her face somewhat with make-up. Her long, full hair was put up into a wavy, messy pony tail with small loose strands of baby hair falling around her face. She smirked, thinking that she would still look lovelier than many of her classmates, regardless of her lightly bludgeoned face. Her dress was classic and form-fitting. It rose to a few inches above her knees, which was typical. She had an athletic build, standing taller than most girls, even in the career districts. Her shoulders were somewhat broad, her chest was on the flatter side admittedly, but her muscles were toned and intimidating. In spite of this, she was feminine and beautiful. She moved smoothly and gracefully, and stuck her feet in her simple brown heels. She was almost ready.

It was then that she heard familiar sniggering and whispering coming up the hallway to the dorms. Surely, they wouldn't pour anything over her before the ceremony or ruin her dress- if they did, they would be punished. Trickery prior to a reaping was not tolerated, unlike the bullying that happened in the open on every other day of the year.

"Hey, Avery!" One of the older girls said in a sickening, fake sweet voice. "So, we have some news for you, sort of a present for it being your last day in the Academy."

"Oh, wonderful." Avery leaned on her mirror, looking unamused yet moderately suspicious. "Lay it on me."

"If you get chosen in the reaping, nobody else is going to volunteer." Another girl blurted excitedly. Avery froze, stunned. What the actual hell?

Why? There are plenty of girls in their last year here who I'm sure would love to volunteer. Be the victor. Earn eternal glory. Why would they give that up?" She stammered, glancing around nervously. This could not be true.

"You would think there were a ton of girls ready to volunteer this year. But we've all been talking, and there's really only one stand-out in the last-year students this go around. And she agreed that if you get chosen, she won't volunteer. Wanna know whyyy?" The original older drawled. Avery was frozen, actually affected by their words for the first time. "We all want to see you murdered and destroyed in the arena. We know the guy who's going to volunteer this year- he's going to tear you apart. He promised." Avery relaxed from her previously evident shock as smoothly as she could.

"You can't even be sure that I'm going to be chosen. There are tons of names in that bowl."

"Yes, that is true. But if you do get chosen, you have to compete. And you will be targeted. And you will be tortured, on screen, for HOURS, and you will die."

...

This is an odd reaping, Cato thought to himself as he watched from the train. The female District 2 tribute's name was actually drawn and called. Nobody volunteered. Typically, before the name was even drawn somebody was stepping forward. Not this time. "Avery Willowcress." A tall, good-looking older brunette stepped forward, head held high. Many of the other girls smiled, he noted, as she passed by them. But this girl did not even glance at them. She strode to the stage and took her place. She did not emote. She stood proudly, and stayed quiet. She's different.

The male tribute was a stark contrast. He strode forward and immediately volunteered. He was large- perhaps even more muscular than Cato was at that age. Maybe a bit shorter. Certainly not bigger than Cato was now- he was in better shape now than he had ever been. His masculinity caused him to impulsively flex, look down at his own chiseled chest and arms, and nod in self-approval. He continued watching the reaping.

The male tribute really put on a show for the cameras. He flexed and pointed at his friends. He excitedly hurried to the stage. What he did next puzzled Cato. The tribute, Helbor, looked at the female tribute, and snarled at her, showing his teeth. The gesture was animalistic and outwardly aggressive. The commentator of the television program noticed this as well, dramatically laughing to the viewers that "You don't see that often, folks! Looks like we're in for some interesting Games this year! I know we all can't wait!" Annoying as he may be, this commentator was correct. It was like Helbor was immediately in competition with his District-mate. Usually the careers stuck together, or at the very least usually tributes from the same District were allies. What was it about this girl that was provoking him? Avery glanced at Helbor as he made his disdain for her apparent, then looked blankly forward towards the crowd and cameras as if unaffected.

Cato let himself be somewhat impressed. She's either very brave, or very stupid.

End notes: Again, please leave a short note! I would really love some feedback. Thanks, all. (: