Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, did not have the wonderful idea of inventing the Hunger Games; therefore, I cannot take credit for the story. HOWEVER, I can take credit for most of the characters. Which is a good thing :)

This chapter takes place before the Reaping. I'm not completely happy with the chapter, because some parts sound a bit weird, but I didn't really know how to change it – that or I didn't feel like changing it… Anyways, for a pretty uneventful chapter, it's pretty long, even if it's not that long. Hope you like!!

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Chapter 2:::Reflections

I open my eyes, and, as I do so, my body reacts instinctively, becoming tense, as I search the cold dusty room for the source of the noise. I'm careful not to move a muscle as I lay in the bed. Then I see it. Through the small amount of light spilling inside, I spot a distorted figure, just in time to watch it lunge through the air, attacking me…

But it doesn't attack me. Just before it reaches me, I relax, and the next thing I know, it's licking me, all over my face. I smile as I feel the warm fur rubbing against my skin. Hugging the creature, I feel contented for a moment, which is more than what I usually feel. But I've always had a gift with animals – I've always cared about them so much more than I even feel capable of caring for anybody else. I guess I'm just weird. Which doesn't really bother me, because at least animals don't try to judge me like humans do.

The door opens fully and the brilliant light flickers on, revealing the golden mass of fur that I'm still hugging. Soleid whines softly at the sudden change of light, and I quickly stroke the silky golden fur to quiet her down. The dog's whimpers quickly quiet down, and she rests her beautiful head on my legs, which are under the covers. At the doorway stands a tall, handsome man. Tousled brown hair, strong muscles, high cheekbones, and brilliant blue eyes, watching the scene scornfully…

I quickly sit up. Respect for your superiors. An old motto here in District 1, where the old and rich are honored and respected, almost as much as the Capitol. But I don't see any reason to honor the old or the rich or the Capitol. The old yell at us "youngsters" because we're "forgetting the ways of true spirit", the rich treat you with disdain and ignore even an apology, and the Capitol, well, the Capitol treats us like slaves. They are the worst out of all of them. They shouldn't have the ability to control every aspect of our lives. We should be free to do as we wish without any Capitol interference.

Of course, if I don't want to be brutally and publicly killed, I'm not going to say that.

"Good morning, Father," I say, stiffly, formally. I sometimes wish I could've been part of the poorer community in District 1. I've seen those families, and, though they are poor, they are amazingly loving and caring. I realized a long time ago something my father will never believe: Money doesn't make happiness, but it does make your personality. And most of the time, the personality can be more than a little overbearing.

My father nods, almost imperceptibly. "Get up Kameron," he says by way of morning greeting. "You need to get ready. Or have you already forgotten what day it is?"

"No Father, I remember." And the second I say those words, a jolt goes through my body as I realize I do remember what day it is.

My father leaves, and I know he is expecting me to do some last minute training. But I can only stare at the door. He acts so natural all the time, even now when his only daughter is about to volunteer to die.

Slowly, I begin to move again. I gently push Soleid, urging her to leave, and, after looking at me reproachfully, she leaps off the bed and exits the room. I begin to get changed into simple black pants, combined with a light green blouse. I can always change into reaping clothes later. But for now, I need to fill every expectation I am given.

Upon my entrance into the kitchen, my mother looks up, excitement plain in her green eyes.

"Good morning, Kams. Today is the big day, you know. Your father just went outside. He wanted me to tell you that he thinks you should go swimming at the lake. I must say that I agree with him – you haven't gone swimming in nearly three days now! We don't want you to forget anything, now do we? Especially since today is your last day here and I don't believe there's any place in the Training Center for you to continue to practice swimming – to think, a whole week without swimming at all! We must hope that you won't forget anything. It could prove absolutely disastrous to your—"

I finally tune my mother out as she sets before me a large platter of scrambled eggs and steaming, buttery biscuits. My mother is a bit clueless sometimes, though I suppose it is possible that she has kind intentions. Perhaps she could've been a generous person, except that she has always thrived on the ideas of others. So now, what could've been the nicest person in the country, is, instead, a rambling mother whose greatest wish is for her only child to kill 23 other teenagers and be scarred for life.

Awesome parents, huh?

I try hard to concentrate on my meal – to concentrate on anything – to block out my mother's constant babbling that keeps reminding me what today is. As I finish my breakfast, I quickly excuse myself, eager to escape my mother's unbearable presence and her extremely talkative, cheery style.

"Don't forget you're to go swimming at the lake!" she calls after me. "You're father would be most displeased if you were to neglect—"

Luckily, the kitchen door swings closed, efficiently cutting off my mother's voice before she can continue any further.

Once in the privacy of my room, I pause and look at myself in the mirror. I barely have any resemblance to my father. Maybe my ears are like his, since my mother's ears are small and rounded. But you can't see mine right now because of the blonde hair that falls halfway down my back. Through the mirror, I can see the reflection of my room. Blue. Everything seems to be one shade of blue or another. It's a stunning color, and, as my view focuses back on myself rather than the room, I can't help but wish, not for the first time, that I had blue eyes rather than the green eyes I inherited from my mother. Blue. It's such a beautiful color. Maybe I love it so much, because I always feel as if my mood is blue…

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Under the bright sun, the lake throws off blinding flashes of light. This lake is almost unknown to everybody. My family is the one exception. Behind our large house is a modest, wooden fence that separates our home from a decent sized piece of woods. The first time that my father had me run through the woods (it's apparently important that I'm able to run across all types of terrain), I came across a beautiful, clear lake. Shallow and medium-sized, my father immediately discerned it as an extremely convenient place where I could learn to swim. For years, he had instructed me in becoming a proficient swimmer, and, once satisfied that I was, he soon began to expect me to come here of my own will.

And I did.

This lake is the most private place I can come to. My parents never come here, and nobody else knows about it. It is the one place where I can find peace and solitude. Coming to the lake means I can swim, I can relax, I can climb a tree – I can do anything I want. When my father tells me to come here, I readily do so, merely so that I can have hours of alone time. Hours of complete bliss.

I would be feeling complete bliss right now, if it wasn't the day of the reaping. This is the year my parents have long anticipated—the year they expect me to volunteer. As I climb higher into the highest tree I can find, the sun begins to rise a little higher in the sky, as well. I stop a moment to sit on a branch as I stare out at the sunrise, all the while wondering and asking myself the same question over and over again: Shouldn't I have a choice?

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Author's Note: Thanks to everybody who actually took the time to read this and thanks to everybody who previously reviewed the last chapter!

A quick heads up: I lent my only copy of THG to a friend who, on Saturday, left for a week's time to her grandparents' home. So I'm probably not going to have my book to refer to as I write the next chapter about the reaping. If you see any mistakes in the timing of events, please tell me. I'll do my best with memory.