A/N: I am editing this soon, so please do not complain on bad spelling, grammar, etc. Check out my profile for a picture of Rue's dress. I hope you like my story and please review. If you are interested in beta reading this story please let me know. I have lots of little twists for this story in upcoming chapters. I can't believe it, 6 reviews, hope I can get more, recommend, The second chapter will be up by tomorrow or today, hopefully. I normally don't take this long in posting another chapter, but I have been busy. Please let me know what you think and recommend. Hope you enjoy and love the hunger games as much as I do. Please, please tell me if you want to Beta this story. Please R&R too.

Disclaimer: I do not own the hunger games, as I am not as talented as Suzanne Collins.

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My eyes flutter open. A small, dirty blanket; frayed at the edges, is cocooned around my body. The sheets underneath me are rough and lumpy. I flex out my fingers, seeking my mothers body, seeking the shield of protection that she provides. But my hand slashes the thin air, I guess Mother is preparing our outfits for the reaping.I roll over trying not to worry about today. My first reaping day. I look up, pure sunlight is forcing It's way through the blinds, and onto me. I squint my eyes, and sigh. I hear footsteps from the doorway. I prop myself up on one elbow, and see a silhouette of my mother; frizzy hair, pointed nose, and a poncho wrapped tightly around her body. She walks up to my bed, without making a sound. She knows I'm awake, but yet she tiptoes like a fairy. She seats herself by my feet. She gracefully leans forward and runs her fingers through my long, dark hair, Her routine is therapeutic for me.

"I remember my first time," she whispers softly, her voice is calm and soothing, It's like it was made for a lullaby.

"What happens if I get picked?" I ask, sobbing into her floral, baby blue dress,

"Don't think like that," she whispers into my ear, her fingers have stopped playing with my hair, and are now lifting up my chin,

"What if?"

"What if? Do you know how many times your name is in?"

"Two?"

"One," my mother says smiling,

"But what about? I thought," I say puzzled,

"Trisha is taking it," My mother explains. Trisha is my older sister and I feel bad, she is only fourteen,

"Really?"

"Really," my mother beams. She gets up, pulling the cord of the blinds. Bright light floods in quickly, "It's a nice day,"

"Shame," I say, "I might not be here to see it,"

"Stop that," My mother snaps, "Come on, we'll have a nice breakfast," My mother says leaving the room. I climb out of bed, cold air attacking every possible inch on my body. I groan before pulling a jumper over my head-Mother made me the jumper for winter-I have always loved the bright colours, and the feeling inside. It's not itchy like all my other clothes Mother makes me, but It's kitten soft. I walk out my door and into the the kitchen. In the kitchen, Haze, my six year old sister, is sat by the fire, her head resting on her knees. Liz and Sarah, my ten year old twin sisters, are having there hair braided by our mother. And finally Trisha, she is hunched over a bowl of cereal, which downing in the remainder of milk we have left.

"Rue," Trisha says, turning around. Her arms are open, asking me for a hug. I dive into her arms and cling to her tightly, like a lifeline.

"I love you," I say, she does not reply, all she does is tighten her grip on the embrace she holds me in. I eventually climb out of her arms and walk up to my Mother,

"Are you hungry?" My mother asks, her eyes smiling at me,

"Not really," I say, my eyes pinned to the floor,

"Nonsense," she laughs, handing me a piece of crusty bread,

"I can't," I resist, passing it back to her, my eyes still pinned to the floor,

"Rue, please have it, If not, have it for me,"

"Okay," I agree, all I want to do is make my family happy, and proud of me.

My mother brushes my thick, black hair then ties it in two long, low bunches.

"Do you like your hair like that, or do you want it in a braid?" my mother asks, trying to make It perfect for me.

"No It's fine," I insist, staring at my reflection in the frosted mirror. Dark skin, innocent brown eyes, long thick hair, I just look so young, "What am I wearing?"

"This," my Mother says, walking up the the wardrobe and pulling out a new, long, dark green dress, with black delicate lace.

"Mother, where did you get this, you can't, I mean, we can't afford it," I say narrowing my eyes, I don't want my Mother spending money we have not got,

"Rue, your twelve years old, you don't need to worry about money, plus Liz, Sarah and Haze will wear this," I guess she has got a point. I dress quickly, I didn't realise quite how long it is, it finishes just above my ankles, but keeps the same trendy pattern all the way down. The sleeves are short, black and puffy. I has a circular neck and base. I do look pretty, but still small. I would say I look about thirteen, if that. I am so worried about how I look, I will be so small up against those, tall, strong, ox-built men. Trisha is walking down the hallway and stops to look at me,

"Rue,"

"What?"

"Your, your really pretty," I don't know if she is trying to make me feel good or telling the truth, but it is not encouraging me,

"Thanks," I mutter.

We all gather in the kitchen when we are ready, everyone looks amazing, delicately braided hair, and amazing clothes.

"What time is it?" Trisha asks casually,

"One, we don't need to be there till half past though," my Mother replies from the sink,

"Mother, why do the washing up now?" Sarah asks,

"Sweetie, people might be coming round after," Mother explains. I don't like people coming round. I don't like attention. People will be talking about me, of course they will. I don't complain though, Mother is stressed out as it is. Instead I decide to slip away from the conversation and into the bedroom. I gaze out the window, at the crusty red wall, the hole point of the games. District eleven is horrible, the Capitol is horrible. Mother has always said I am open minded, to think about these things at the age of twelve. I don't care. I look at the sky, the sun is cradled in a blanket of warm mist. It's blue and clear. I can see birds swooping, darting too and fro. I open the window slightly to hear them, to hear the tune. I like listening to birds, I like music. I listen to the tune for a while, trying to make out words that fit, I come up with;

"Somewhere safe, there's a world of joy,

Away from the chaos, and the tears,

Tears of hope, hope and joy,

Just to keep you strong, for a while," I sing with them, the lyrics lightly ahead of the tune, but It still sounds wonderful. The song sounds so much like real life, somewhere away from the districts, somewhere safe, the only place I can think of is my dreams. But recently my dreams have been nightmares. Nightmares of the hunger games.

"Rue, come on love, It's time," Trisha calls.

"Good bye," I whisper to the birds, before closing the window. I'm sure they replied, but before I can think about it I am already out the door.

I kiss my mother goodbye as she waits anxiously in the waiting area with Sarah, Liz and Haze. Me and Trisha walk into the girls area. One of her friends calls her over, but she does not leave me.

"I won't get picked, will I?" I ask, tightening my grip on her hand,

"Of course not,"

"Well someone has got to,"

"Ladies and gentlemen," A voice begins interrupting our conversation, "Boys and girls," A woman says looking at each side of the stage. Boys are on the right side of the stage, and girls on the left. "Welcome to the seventy fourth hunger games reaping," I gulp hard, seventy four games, I want to work our how many people have died in the name of the hunger games, but then I remember one year there was double contestants. "Shall we start with the girls,?" The anonymous voice asks, "May the odds be in your favour," My stomach goes funny, I feel as if I want to curl up into a hole and disappear. My hart pounds. My eyes scan the room quickly. The reaping glass spins. My fingernails are digging into Trisha but she doesn't moan, I'm sure she feels the same way. A tear drips down my face, 'Don't cry Rue, you have not even been picked,' I tell myself dabbing away my tears. Suddenly they show it on a big screen in front of us, I can see her pink-finger nails skimming the pieces of paper. Suddenly It stops. She pulls out the first card that makes contact with her hand. "And the girl contestant is,' She begins. My legs turn to jelly, and Trisha holds me firmly up. "Rue Clingstone," I don't know what has happened, all I hear is a petrified shriek from Trisha. Suddenly, all eyes are on me,

"Go on then, bird girl," Chloe, a girl from my year, hisses behind her teeth. She has always hated me, my love for music, and birds.

"Volunteer," I cry to Trisha not letting go of her sleeve. She shakes her head, tears flooding out off her eyes,

"I can't," She whispers. I stare at the ground, knowing I am going to die at twelve years old. That I'm making my final performance in life. I let go of her wrist as someone pushes me forward. I walk towards the mayor, he is standing next to the steps to the stage. He gives me sympathetic look as I pass. I stare back at Trisha, but she pretends not to see me.

"Trisha volunteer," Someone shouts, I think It's my Mother but my mind is to jumbled to tell. I climb onto the stage were I am met by shining lights. I squint hard, but I know I have to act old. I have to grow up right here right now. If they don't want to volunteer that's fine, just they will have to watch me die on live TV. The thought makes me cringe.

"Rue," the announcer says, holding out her hand. The woman has short blonde hair, blue eyes and white liner, she has tanned skin and a long pink top. I smile lightly. "And the boy tribute is," She continues. The glass ball spins again, I can see thin pieces of paper, floating around like butterflies. "Thresh Line," She says. People cry and laugh, as a young man, perhaps seventeen, makes his way out of the crowed. He is well built and strong. Perhaps district eleven do have a chance this year.

"District eleven, I give you your tributes," Every one cheers, but the cheers are out powered by the tears of my family.


A/N : Thanks for reading my story, please, please R&R