Note from the author: So I read the Hunger Games books before leaving for military basic training and while I was there, I kept day dreaming up ideas for my own spin off. I'm not a HG expert so sorry if all the facts don't add up to the actual books, but hey, that's why it's fanfiction. Oh and this story takes place before the HG series.

I am warning everyone that this story will get dark and even morbid at times to really emphasize the emotions of the character and their struggles. I do not own the Hunger Games or any of Suzanne Collin's characters. Any original characters and ideas however, are my own. Comments/reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy!

Blood Patronage

Chapter 1:

Sober

Death isn't what I expected. It isn't brief, humbling, or the rush of freedom I had planned and longed for. It's cold… stiff, and full of nightmares… hundreds of thousands of screaming voices, stinging fingers peeling away my skin and tissue like cold wax paper. There were moments when I thought I could hear voices, and times when I thought I could command myself to get up and run from my frozen frame, but my body no longer belonged to me. I felt every fiber of my flesh crying out in a chorus of terror and pain as I felt my cells contorting and tearing as ever pore stung like pins and needles.

Then all at once there was silence. A freezing… heavy… silence, as my burning skin could only tremor uncontrollably.

I used to hope that when you die, things would just "end". I never really believed in heaven or hell, but an abyss of peace or even the feeling of falling forever would have been an welcomed escape. There was one thing I was certain of, life is hell, and death is no different. The only thing I didn't expect was the intense cold and the heaviness the seemed to keep stacking itself on top of me, pinning me to what felt like a block of ice.

Then it happens… my eyes open. They burn at first as if my pupils are on fire while my eyeballs scatter around in my skull. All I can register is white, surrounding me on all sides. It then occurs to me that I'm not dead, I'm in a room. A cage... So much worse than death. I'm locked in a prison cell of white walls, white ceiling, shiny white floor, and a chilled white liquid dripping into my wrist from an IV bag.

A disturbing scream feebly escapes my dry lungs as I fumble to rip the needle from my body, but a harsh beeping sound erupts from the walls and a surge of chemicals flood my veins. My flesh goes numb and heavy as I once again lose control of my body, knocking me back into darkness.

I twist and turn through dreams and memories that brought me to the white room, and for a moment, I'm back in my district. It all begins to come back to me as I remember why I ran away, and why I decided to end my life. But little did I know how hard a task it would be to do just that.