Hey guys, this is my first Hunger Games fanfic! I hope you enjoy it.

Worthless.

I've been taunted by this word my entire life. At first I shrugged it off, thought it was just people mocking me because of their own insecurity. But then, as I grew older – and wiser, I suppose – I began to realize that I really am worthless, or at least by District 4 standards.

I can't weave nets. The simplest knot makes my brain go numb.

I can't cook or bake bread. Everything I touch becomes either tasteless, or burns until it's reduced to ashes.

I can't fish. I tend to dose of after just five minutes of waiting for a fish to swallow the bait.

Worst of all… I can't swim. Maybe it's due to my extreme hydrophobia. Every time I feel water on my skin, it petrifies me. My mind slips into a state of frenzy, where I can't gather my thoughts and attempt to scream for help. Maybe it's because of my bony body shape, with not an ounce of muscle intact. Yet my excuses don't matter – I can't swim, and that's that.

My life is monotonous.

Or, was monotonous. It was monotonous, yes – but that was all before I met him.


It had been two weeks since my parents had died in a boating accident. I roamed the outskirts of District 4 aimlessly, keeping close to the fence, staying as far away from the heart of the district as I possibly could. Occasionally I'd shoot a glance at the scenery beyond the fence. Rich woods, the hoot of wild birds, vast hills that seemed to stretch on forever.

As I spotted a bush of blackberries, my father's last words to me rang through my ears. "You're a worthless thing, you. A coward. Have you ever taken a risk? No, you just sit on your ass and stare out the window. Why don't you try and do something courageous? Worthless bitch." Momentarily, I was in my house again, looking up to my father's face, his lips curled into a loathing sneer. The door slammed shut… and then an eerie silence followed.

The flashback dispersed, and I was back at the fence again. The fragile silence told me that the wire's electricity was off. Even with that obstacle in the way, it was barbed and knit tightly together. I looked up at the clouds, tinted a light shade of pink, and whispered menacingly, "I hope you're watching me."

What happened next, I can't explain. Adrenaline surged down my spine, and I found myself inspecting the fence for a way to escape. Eventually, I found a loose spot at the far east of the Justice Building. I glanced around for potential dangers, a Peacekeeper maybe, then lay my body on the soil and crawled through the opening. I managed to wriggle out of its grasp on my leg, but not before I got a long, painful across my calf. Averting my eyes, I propped myself up on my elbow and swallowed. The sight of blood revolted me.

Unsure of where to go, I decided on the path toward the hills. I was terrified, almost numb with terror, and my stomach was still somersaulting with unease.

I did not feel welcome. The woods were repelling me, telling me I don't belong. Their gnarled limbs waved me away. The wind whispered threats at me. I simply overlooked them and continued straight.

I walked and walked, tripping over branches, my knees buckling under me. The sun was rolling down the horizon gradually. A cool evening breeze slid down my bare arms mercilessly.

Then something caught my eye. A fence. But this was no District 4 fence….

I had no time to make further conclusions. "What are you doing here?" a voice boomed behind me.

Gritting my teeth, I turned around slowly. This was it. The Peacekeeper was going to arrest me, and I was never going to be able to taste liberty.

Except, when I turned around, I found that it was a boy. My age, probably, with icy blue eyes and scruffy hair that had the odd twig amongst it.

Swallowing hard, I stammered, "I… I was walking… I was walking…"

"Where are you from?" he cut me off sternly. "You don't have a District 5 look to you."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "District 5? You… you're from District 5?"

"Of course I'm from Five." He paused. "You're not?"

"No."

He was obviously irritated by my vagueness. "So where ARE you from?"

"Four. District 4." His eyes widened and his pupils dilated.

"Four? You walked all the way from Four?" he exclaimed.

For the first time, I took notice of the snares and knives in his hand. "Yes. So why are you here?"

Hesitantly, he answered, "To get food." Bitterly, he added, "Not that you would know, coming from a Career district."

I didn't know what he meant. Food was meant to come from the market. What was he doing here in the woods, looking for it?

It dawned over me. As I scanned his body, I could see, under the thick muscles of his, years of starvation and malnutrition. I remembered what my mother had said before I fell asleep, one stormy May night. "We are lucky to have food on the table. Many districts can't feed themselves."

He slashed his knife into a tree. "What are you doing here?"

"Walking around," I answered weakly. "Proving… to my parents, that I'm not worthless. I know they're watching me from above."

His features softened and so did his voice. "Are you any good at hunting?" I shook my head feebly. "Can you set up snares?" My cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. He smirked playfully. "Let's start from the simple things. What's your name?"

A spark glimmered in my eye and I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching. "Amabel. Yours?"

"Tate." He stretched his hand out, and reluctantly, so did I. And as his large fingers wrapped around mine, I knew this was the start of a friendship so strong, only death could break it.

From then on, I met up with him almost every day. I was no longer careless when crossing the fence, taking extra measures to avoid Peacekeepers. After all, if they found out, Tate would be electrocuted and I'd be fed to the hungry muttation sharks.

He taught me a few basic snares, which berries to collect, and eventually showed me how to throw a knife.

Of course, I wasn't any good at it, but that didn't stop me from trying. Occasionally I'd be able to pin down a wounded mouse – with Tate's help, naturally.

He told me about his life in 5, his family, his friends… but mostly he talked about the hunger. Guilt gnawed through me whenever he did. Why did he, who was so strong willed and brave, barely get anything to eat, while I, who couldn't do anything for myself, have a meal laid out in front of me every day?


Reaping Day was the day most people dreaded. Except me. Reaping Day wasn't a big deal – even if my name was called, another girl, who's noticeably stronger and fitter than me, would replace me.

I worried of course, but not for myself. I worried for Tate. What if he was chosen? I'd have to watch him be bled of life, watch him die a horrible, gory death….

I brushed the thought away and wiped my damp cheeks dry. He won't be picked, I reassured myself.

I had never been more wrong in my life.

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