Hey! I'm back! I know it's been a while since the first chapter, but sadly I got stuck with a load of homework :-( But I've managed to use the extra time to get two more chapters under my belt, so that whenever I release a chapter the next one's already waiting and should be put up quicker! If that makes sense :-S

I'd like to say thanks to my reviewers, favouriters, and subscribers! Here you are: DizzyPotter! Katniss Everdeen 74! Ellii101! Ember A. Keelty! Hipsterhana! AceAuthor! And DreamingDementor, who is the only favouriter who hasn't reviewed...

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, however I wrote this specific work myself, except for a small quote taken from Suzanne Collins' 'The Hunger Games'. (can you spot it?)

Enough of my ramblings, here's what you came here for!


Chapter Two - Everything's Covered

It could be made of silk, it could be made of velvet, I think as my fingers slowly caress over the soft couch material. We only have a manky cotton one back home, and it smells of sweat and rats' droppings. You can tell that that one is, oooo, nearly as old as my escort? It at least goes back to my great-grandfather, and has been patched over so many times I doubt there's actually any of the original material left.

Not like this one, this one feels just like brand-new.

And so it should, I think, it's only been sat on by seventy-three other teenagers for around... maybe three hours each? And now me. That means... it's been sat on for just over nine days in total. Maths. I'm doing maths. I hate maths. Anything to distract me from the Games, I guess.

Suddenly, the door opens. A gruff voice from outside yells 'You have three minutes!', before Myra and dad swiftly enter, sincere looks on their faces. Myra's is red and tear-stained with half of her blonde ruffled hair dried hard onto it, like it had been stuck down with glue, while dad's is a ghostly white, and instead it's his eyes that are red, swelling up the same way they did when mum was dying.

I know we must have looked at each other for some time, but the next thing I'm aware of is all three of us huddling in a warm embrace that I just never want to leave. For a moment, it feels like I never will have to leave, that I, we, can stay in our own little bubble forever, with no power plant, no Peacekeepers, and most of all, no Hunger Games. But somewhere deep down inside of me, I know that that is never going to happen, that in just over two minutes, they will be dragged away by Peacekeepers, and I will be left screaming out their names, making a certain couch become drenched in fluids from my eyes. I hold out on ending the hug for another thirty seconds, before I break off of it, knowing if I had waited any longer to do so, I just wouldn't have been able to.

"Okay," I say, trying to keep the tears out of my eyes, the shakiness out of my voice, and the fear out of my head. "This'll be hard, but we'll-" I take a quick gulp of air, before rephrasing, "-you'll be just fine. Everything's covered."

"Everything except you!" trills Myra in a sympathetic sort of voice, high-pitched and almost whiny. Then she hugs me tight, forcing my legs together, since she barely reaches my hips. She really is small, even for an 8-year-old, but then I'm small, too, so if I were regular-sized, she might not even reach my thighs.

I'm about to reassure her that I'll be fine too, when I wonder why I didn't just stick with saying that we'd all be fine earlier in the first place, and instead changed to saying that they'd be fine instead. I'd barely noticed that I had done it at all; it was just an automatic rephrase, like when you say 'I runned' by mistake and quickly change it to 'I ran'. But I know why really. It's because I can't lie to her. Not when it's the last time I'll see her. I wish it were the last time she'd see me too, but the Capitol cannot let that be. It's their way to keep us under control by turning our district's children into monsters, whilst we watch helpless; it's like they're saying, "Look how we take your children and sacrifice them and there's nothing you can do. If you lift a finger, we will destroy every last one of you. Just as we did District Thirteen." Though really, I reckon they couldn't survive much more than a week without the districts.

"Everything means everything," I eventually say to my younger sister, bending down to her level, which isn't hard, "and I'm top of the class, so I must be right, right?" Technically this isn't a lie, as I do always get top marks on most things, not P.E. so much, but I'm not the worst at it, so I suppose that's alright.

"I guess so..." mumbles Myra through gritted teeth, staring down at her feet as she shuffles away backwards.

So now I guess it's dad's turn to go all mushy on me; he hasn't said anything since he came in here. And he still hasn't. Now he's just stood there, right in front of me, staring point-blank, just like at the reaping. He's not even staring at me, just a bit of wall... unless if... I turn my head around, as if I'll see something where he's looking, but... nope. Just a wall. A big blue wall. Oh...

A big blue wall, just like the doctor's big blue walls. The big blue walls that mum never managed to escape from. The big blue walls that father almost sold his soul for to get mother into them. And then she died. I was there, we all were, and the doctor just let the lights in her eyes switch off, like they were nothing more than the dim, worthless bulbs that are forever dying out during our power cuts, which shouldn't even happen, seeing as we run the power plants for Panem. And her power cut was just as ill-deserved.

He lost mother in those big blue walls, and now he's losing me in these ones. Oh, how fate taunts him. I wish, yes, I do wish I could say something to comfort him, but nothing comes. I've never been good at comforting people, maybe that's why I don't have any friends, but surely, surely, the 'smart' girl can come up with something to make him laugh. To make him smile. To make him even blink.

"Don't stare too hard, you'll make my hair catch fire," I say.

"It already has!" dad smiles, recognition in his voice. It's a little thing we used to do when I was little, since my hair is red as fire, or so dad would say. Maybe it just seems so because nobody else in the district has red hair, not since my grandmother died at least. Though there might be, for all I know, but I haven't seen anyone else. Some districts have red hair running through them as the common variable, so maybe somebody on gran's side originally came from one of them. I don't know. But for now, I am the girl with the fiery hair.

"Come here, little miss fire-head," says dad, holding out his arms, "come here and let me blow you out." I sniffle, as I rest my back against his front, feeling his heartbeat on my ear. I sob, feeling so secure with his arms around my neck, as he gently shushes me and rocks us both from side to side, the same way as after my first day of school.

It's not long before Myra is joining us, and we all cry together. This embrace is not like the first, it is still as warm as the previous, but has something more in it, something I cannot yet describe, something I don't know. Many might just say the difference now is in the presence of salt-water, but I know better.

It feels like mere moments before my two lifelines are wrenched away from my grasp, but just as they are dragged away I can tell they are trying to speak to me, and so I resist the temptation to scream at the Peacekeepers to bring them back, just to make sure every word is clear.

"You're- you're smart!" cries Myra as her shoulder is surely pushed hard enough to enforce a bruise, "You can win! You can! You can win! You can! You ca-" One more push and she is lost from sight forever, though in my mind I can still hear her chant. But dad can fight harder, even with two Peacekeepers going at him.

"You can win!" he yells, at a much higher volume than what is needed, "The girl with the fiery hair! You can bet on it! Smarts are all you need! Smarts and fire!" Then even he is swallowed up by the door. All gone. Done, finished, va-mooshed.

I smile. At least I know dad'll still be alright for looking after Myra. Or at least until the Games begin. Who knows what it'll be like then? But it's fine, even if dad gets in a right fit and can't work or something, they've got all that extra tessera grain I've been getting 'for a rainy day'. We don't really need three portions, but I get it anyway. Not many need it in District Five, power is important, so we likely get paid more by the Capitol for work than other districts. And if the tessera grain runs out... well, there still is the community home. At least she'd be alive there. Unlike me.

The smile wipes clean off my face, with no trace it had ever been there. I walk over to by the door and slump down with my back against the slap of cold metal stood by it.

I don't stand a chance. Smart? What use is smart if you can't hold a sword, aim a bow, do anything practical except running? Myra's wrong. I can't do it. I can't win. And I shall never see my family again. I have nothing to remind me of them, I don't even have a token.

I deliberately smack the back of my head on the grey metal (steel?), making it all violently vibrate, so that when I hear the door open, I'm sure I must be delirious. I point my head at an upwards angle and shut my eyes tight. There's nobody else to see me, I think. Nobody else who cares.

Death would be a welcome visitor right now.


Dun dun dun duuuuuunnnnnnn! A little bit of a cliffhanger there, but hopefully chapter 3 shall be up soon!

Don't forget to review, and if you have any ideas about something that should happen during this story, say that too! If I use or partly use your idea I'll make sure to credit you X-D

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