Hi, and thanks for giving my story a chance! So, this is my own take on The Hunger Games, with my own characters and my own story, but the same world Suzanne Collins so masterfully created. If you have any troubles with pronunciation, don't be afraid to ask me, because I did make up most of the names in this story. And don't be afraid to remind me to update, because I just might forget occasionally. And I'd like to know what you think of the length of each chapter: too long and boring, too short and leaving you wanting more, just so I have an idea of what you guys want. Now I don't want to bore you with too much introduction here, so go ahead and start reading! And don't hesitate to review!

Enjoy :D

Chapter One

After a week of preparation, the moment we have all been dreading has finally come. Though I had been hoping and praying that something, anything, would stop, or at least postpone this, the show is still on. I knew the biggest event in Panem was inevitable.

Up until this point, the only thing I could feel was fear. The Capitol and its grandness, the thought of leaving my family and never going back, the barbarity of the Games; it all terrified me. And I thought that terror would stick until my very last minutes. I had expected to be trembling with the thought of dying, of witnessing someone's death, of causing it. I pictured myself frozen with terror, unable to function, and being killed before I even had the chance to step off my metal circle. Or, if I actually managed to escape the bloodbath, that I would immediately fall prey to another tribute's trap or a poisonous plant or wild animal.

The point is that I didn't expect to be chosen, didn't plan on it, but since the moment my name was drawn from that reaping ball, I knew I didn't stand a chance. As Insilvia Rhoad stood before the entire town, smiling in her silly Capitol way, I never for an instant thought that my name would be picked.

With hair that reminds me of honey the way it falls so smoothly over her shoulder, she picked a slip of paper from the ball and perkily recited the name of the girl tribute. I started looking around to find the unlucky winner, but no one moved a muscle. I soon noticed that every single face was turned towards me, each wearing a different emotion: pity, sorrow, worry, relief, surprise. I replayed the last few seconds in my head and found that yes, my name had been called, and I was the one expected to walk up the steps to the stage. But I was frozen. I felt dizzy and confused but, after a few prods and shoves from the kids around me, somehow made my way out of the crowd to take my place beside the District's most recent winners: Ina Pascell, who won her Hunger Games purely by chance, and Zed Horrow, who gathered as much food from the bloodbath as he could, then hid out in a remote cave until there was only one person left to kill.

The whole thing felt like a dream to me. The world around me was a blur as the boy tribute was named and he took the stage next to me. In fact, I didn't even see who it was until we arrived in the Capitol. It felt like in no time we were taken to the Justice Building to say our final goodbyes to our loved ones.

My parents came first. They hugged me and told me they loved me. That I had a good chance at coming back if I tried my hardest and remembered to have faith in myself. I didn't believe them, I still don't, but I just nodded and kissed them and told them I'd really try. My best friend Ella visited next, and I could tell she'd been crying. We hugged and sobbed and talked for a while, but altogether avoided the word 'goodbye'. It's too painful a thing to say, so we just comforted each other until our time ran out and she was ushered away. That was it for visitors for me; I don't know many people.

After that, we were taken to the train that would bring us to the Capitol. Once in the bright-colored, shining city, we went through the initial chariot ride, which is more or less to give the audience a preview of the tributes, and the days of training for the Games. During that time, I discovered that I have no coordination and am not handy with a knife, spear, sword, or bow and arrow. As for my interview, Zed and Ina told me to aim for charming, but I turned out to be boring and unenthusiastic, which did nothing to win the crowd's favor. Then we were transported to the site of the arena in a train with darkened windows, dressed in our preset outfits, and lifted through clear tubes to where I am now. Where I have sixty seconds to think of all the reasons why I probably won't win.

I have never considered myself a contender in these Games. Coming from the middle class section of District 8, which is still relatively well off, I am not used to being hungry, which poses a major problem in the arena. I may not know what's going to happen in there, but I can be sure I won't be handed a steaming plate of food every night.

Also, even though I'm not eighteen yet and don't work in the District business, it wouldn't help me anyway. Textiles. Learning about how to press the right buttons and pull the right levers that make the machines do the work for you doesn't exactly prepare a person for a life-threatening experience. And, because it is what District 8 is known for, textiles are our main focus in school, so I have no valuable knowledge to show for.

As well as being bereft of useful skills, I am also an easily disregarded person. I am quiet and diffident and find it hard to make new friends, or even approach people. I haven't said a word to anyone but Insilvia, District 8's escort, Viati, my stylist, and Zed and Ina, my mentors and the district's latest victors, since I arrived in the Capitol, and even that was no more than what was necessary: a simple 'hello', 'please', or 'thank you'.

I'm not remarkably beautiful or menacing and dangerous. My stylist didn't create for me a stunning outfit that would make me remembered. My interview failed to leave the audience on the edges of their seats or make them well up with emotions. My training score was mediocre, if that, and far from memorable.

To state it simply I am forgettable. And when you're in the Hunger Games, that could mean the difference between life and death. If you don't stand out, or at least make some kind of impression, you won't get sponsors. And that little silver parachute could be the reason for your survival in these Games.

Basically, just by being who I am and living where I live my chances of survival decrease by about seventy five percent. I can use all the help I can get. But, seeing as I can't change any of those factors, especially now that I've reached the point of no return, I'm a sure goner.

I look around at faces of the tributes around me. Arranged in a wide diamond surrounding the Cornucopia, twenty-four boys and girls anxiously await the sound of the gong that will free us from these plates. Across from me at the tip of the diamond is Ross, the boy from my district, while I stand one person away from the opposing point. I catch his eye for a moment and he gives me a small smile and wink. To anyone else it would be undetectable, look like no more than a slight twitch, but the sight of it brings tears to my eyes. I desperately hope that it doesn't come down to the two of us, that someone else will kill him before I have to. Unless I'm dead before I have to face him.

We didn't know each other before the reaping, but it didn't seem to matter. From the very start, Ross has been more kind and caring than anyone else since I left home. He was immediately open and comfortable with me, and we became instant friends. It seems like he never stops smiling; even here, in the arena of all places, he managed to fit one in. For me. And, I'm not sure, because I've never had a boyfriend or been in love before, but it seems like…he likes me. Not just as a friend, but more; I think he likes me especially. It's a strange feeling for me, particularly because I'm not sure how I feel about him, and I only met him a week ago. I know that I already feel at ease when I'm with him, and he makes me feel good. But the whole thing, the idea of love, is confusing to me. And the fact that both of us can't live anyway, even if we had real feelings for each other, complicates things more, so I've chosen to forget about it. So far, that plan isn't working too well, but I'm trying.

Time seems to stop as the sixty seconds drag on and I really take a look at my surroundings. This year will not work towards the favor of many. An empty, rocky tundra stretches before me, reaching all the way to the horizon, and I see a tall mountain looming in the mist behind it. Spots of dark greenish-grey grass and the occasional shrub or bush litter the ground, ruffled by the steady breeze blowing through. My spirits drop at the landscape and I realize that I'm already starting to feel chilled. The deep pine-colored jumpsuits they chose for us will do little to keep us warm, though they reflect some body heat, and these sturdy, ankle-high sneakers won't be of much assistance in navigating this rocky terrain. Though these outfits do seem to be waterproof, which makes me wonder.

I notice the girl to my left, the large one from District 7, Ace I think, is counting to herself. I vaguely remember her from her interview. She was huge and strong and determined, and she seems to be just so now. I glance over to see that she's just reached forty-seven, and I brace myself for the inevitable moment when she will say sixty, and I'll have to leave the safety of my metal circle.

Across the way, I see a few tributes, probably Careers by the looks of them, poised to run straight for the Cornucopia, right into the bloodbath. I shudder at the thought of even attempting such a thing. How could they bear to risk their lives for a few supplies and weapons? They have no way of knowing if they'll get out alive or not. Though I suppose, if they were to make it out, it would surely be with a heap of food and artillery, and they would have a much better chance of surviving than if they avoided the bloodbath altogether. Maybe the Careers minds aren't as twisted as I thought.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I am not going into the bloodbath. I would not last more than two minutes. It would be more of a suicide attempt than an act of bravery for someone of my aptitude and stature. It would be pointless and useless and would only help all the others by eliminating just one more opponent. I am not going to the Cornucopia. Zed and Ina strictly forbade it.

I listen again for the girl counting and hear her mutter the number fifty-five. I turn to face away from the Cornucopia and position myself in a running stance. Then I focus only on the numbers. Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine…

The gong rings out and I take off running down the open tundra. Adrenaline courses through my veins and the wind whisks my hair across my face, nearly blinding me, but I keep going at full speed. Then I realize that I didn't even think to grab something to help me. I skid to a stop and turn around, running back to my metal circle. I grab the first thing I see: the bottle of water that was lying near where I was standing. It doesn't feel like enough, so I dare to quickly run forward and take a small knife that's a few yards away. Everyone's running around like madmen, rushing to get what supplies they can and get away unscathed. Closer to the Cornucopia, the fighting has begun, and already two people lie dead on the ground. The enormous meal I inhaled this morning threatens to resurface as weapons are drawn and blood spilled before me. I quickly look away; heaving all over an enemy is probably not the most efficient way to defeat them, and definitely not a way to get sponsors. I try hard to swallow the absolute horror I've already witnessed, as well as my breakfast and take a deep breath.

As I'm about to turn away I see that the boy from District 5 is barreling away from Ross and towards me at a frightening speed, a long, sharp spear in one hand and two, long knives in the other. The first thing that comes to mind is, I am going to die. I take off running, surprised I can even move with how terrified I am, but almost immediately stumble on the uneven stones of the tundra, falling to my knees and scraping my hands. I turn to see the boy has just about reached me and scramble to my feet in panic. Just as I take my first step, I feel a sharp pain in my side as his spear slices through my jumpsuit before I watch it fly past me and clatter on the ground. I hesitate for only a moment, then quickly snatch up the weapon, along with the water bottle and knife that I dropped when I fell, and sprint away. I can hear his enraged screaming as he chases after me, two knives still in his possession. After a few seconds though, his footsteps slow and then fade until I'm sure he is no longer pursuing me. It's not worth it to chase me so far when he probably wants to get some supplies from the bloodbath.

I don't stop though. Pure terror drives me as I go, madly running across the wide tundra, legs pumping and heart pounding, tears stinging my cheeks as the wind burns them into my face. I only allow myself to stop about an hour later, when the horror has finally worn away some and the wound the boy from District 5 inflicted on me has begun to damper my speed. The initial pain of the cut has turned to a burning sensation that throbs in time with my heartbeat and I can feel the blood that was running down the side of my body earlier has dried.

I slow to a walk and stop to rest by a large rock, using it as a chair to sit on. I'm breathing hard, taking in quick painful gasps of air, and know it will take a long time to catch my breath. A time passes where my only thoughts are of trying to regain my energy.

Then it finally gets to me. The whole situation. And I can't stop the heavy flow of tears that starts pouring from my eyes. I slide to the ground, burying my face in my lap and drawing my knees to me. I sob for a while, soaking my suit, only afterward realizing that I was being exceptionally loud and could have given away my position to other tributes.

When my body is drained of fluid and I cannot possibly cry another tear, I wipe my face and try to calm myself with deep breathing. Inhale…exhale. Inhale…exhale. In…out. Slowly…

Soon enough, I'm breathing normally and calmed down enough that the stabbing pain in my right side has become severely prominent again, and it now causes me to wince at the slightest movements. Little by little, I edge the jumpsuit down over my wound, until I'm only in my undershirt and the bottom of the suit, while the top of it hangs down from my hips. I have to force myself to look down because I'm afraid I'll faint from the blood, but when I do, I know it would have been worse if I hadn't looked.

There's a long, slanted gash about six inches long right at the curve of my waist, but thankfully it's not too deep. I can tell a few buckets worth of blood came from it and about half of it is dried all along the side of my body. My hand trembles as I carefully remove my undershirt from the sticky, red mess and try to figure out how I'm going to patch this up without any first aid. Then I remember the water bottle I picked up before the boy from District 5 charged me. It's lying on its side a few feet away; I must have dropped when I collapsed in tears.

I retrieve it and am about to pour it over my wound when my good judgment stops me. If this is the only water I have I shouldn't be wasting it on an injury. It would be of much better use if I drank it. As I've noticed in past Games, water is a necessity. In arenas like this, where there's no obvious water source, many of the deaths in the first few days are caused by dehydration. Most people are so preoccupied with staying hidden and making sure they have plenty of food and weapons that they easily forget about the fact that they are going to need water. But it's usually too late by the time they realize that.

My highest priority now is finding a source of water. Before it's too late for me too.

I uproot a handful of the thick clump of grass at my feet and carefully use it to wipe away some of the blood. It is so excruciatingly painful that I can only stand it for a few seconds, though. The slight pressure of the greens on my wound sends ripples of pain through my body, and it's all I can do not to burst into tears again. Shaking and sore, I toss the red-stained grass to the side, not even thinking to conceal the evidence of my whereabouts.

I decide it's best to leave my cut alone now; anything else will only cause me more pain, and I don't know of anything that would help me anyway. I'll deal with it later, when I have more water to clean it with. Though my undershirt and jumpsuit have gashes nearly identical to the one in my skin, I slip them back on anyway and try to ignore the slight breeze. I'm thankful that the boy's spear didn't tear up my whole suit, then I would surely freeze to death.

I take a small sip of water to last me, take my knife, spear and bottle in hand and begin my journey, trying my best to ignore the pain. My first thought is, I'm amazed that no one followed me. I'd have thought I'd be long dead by now, especially considering how loud my sobbing must have been. But, I suppose everyone went their separate ways and are doing the same as me: trying to get as far away from the Cornucopia and their opponents as possible. So I guess I'm safe. For now anyway. I still try my best to keep a sharp eye out for any signs of life, though, just in case.