I do not own the Hunger Games!

Athena's POV:

I scream, rushing for my baby sister, pleading for them to let me take her place. And see the hate reflected clearly in the eyes of President Coin, she knows our name. I know she knows because everyone knows the man I despise to call my father, the man who is the cause of these cruel games.

"I believe I called a Miss Pompeia Snow. Now get back in line you little swine," Coin hisses coldly. But I refuse to bend to her will and let my innocent 6-year-old sister pay for the things my father did.

"No, do what you want with me, but Pompeia is just a child. She knows nothing of this war, please, have mercy. I will do anything. Take me, take me, she is just an innocent child." I feel the tears forming in my eyes and force them back as I see the woman's face harden and become a darkness of hate. And then she smiles, and it is a cruel smile.

"You are her sister, another Snow, are you not?" Her words drip with venom and I shiver, nodding in reaction for I cannot seem to will my tongue to form words.

"Answer me! Out loud, you stupid creature!" Immediately my eyes widen in fear and as I mumble an apology and say yes, I hear a familiar chuckle from in the crowd. My father. Crudely laughing at his children's expense. How lovely.

"Good, I tell you what, for disrespecting my way of planning you will be whipped until I say so. And if you do not cry out, or fall unconscious, I will allow you to take your sister's place. A Snow is a filthy Snow after all and I do not care which I take."

My body trembles but I confirm her request and push my mind far away as I am demanded to kneel before the District officials, as a respect to them and to turn my back on the Capitol. I hear the first strike before I feel it, and as pain lashes at me from within I clench my teeth in determination. I will not cry out. I know I won't because this is not the first time I have been beaten senseless. If they would look under my shirt they would see the truth, they would see the scars from past whippings.

My father is an angry man, especially after my mother killed herself to get away from him, and after he lost her as a punching bag he turned to me. Mostly because I provoked him, but also because I would not allow for him to control me or lay a finger on Pompeia. I love her more than anything in this world. And I'll be damned before I let this monster take her from me, my innocent baby sister who is suppose to turn seven in less than a week, I feel myself shake with anger as I think about her being slashed to shreds of blood and flesh by someone three-times her size.

I have lost count of the lashes that strike my back-lost in my own anger, hate, and worries-and I look up to see everyone in the crowd and see them holding each other in fear and misery. But it is the eyes of my father I find in the sea of familiar faces, those cold dead eyes that fill that paper-colored skull of his. He is smiling, proud and pompous, for reasons only I can understand. He thinks he has won because he knows I will not cry out, or fall unconscious because I never did no matter how hard he punished me. The bastard even has the audacity to wink at me. All I want to do is smack that expression off his face, does he not realize this is not a game? Of course not.

The President, Coin, must have realized the whipping was not going as planned because she took the whip out of the man's hands and, as I waited for her to tell me to rise, I did not expect the next crack of the whip. I nearly lost my nerve and almost cried out in surprise. Almost had my sister's death on my hands. Almost.

Coin was vicious with the whip, she struck me with the same force my father did so many times when furious. I felt the flesh of my back peel, and figured it would never heal properly. Not the first time such a thing has happened but there was usually the Capitol's medicines to heal me, not that I enjoyed using those.

In fact I was probably the worst example of the Capitol, I do not eat our food. Well I sort of do but I am a vegetarian and stick to plain foods that are not strangely colored. It drives my father nuts because my mother was the same way.

A crack hits, and I am shocked to find it lick my cheek; my father never hit my face or anywhere visible to the public for obvious reasons. My face throbs and a tear welds up in my eye, but I forced myself to not give in. I will not let my sister die, not if I can help it. I bite my lip wondering when someone will tell this crazed woman to stop. Another strike slams into me with such a force that has me fall forward but I get back up to kneel before the district, to stand for something more than the Capitol slime that is my father.

I hear the shattering of glass and think "Great, now she is going to throw things at me." But a silence covers the room like a thick blanket and I wait for the violence to take place. Another crack of the whip slams into my side, slicing open a bit of my arm in the process.

"That is enough! Can you not see you are killing her when she is just trying to protect that child? What the hell is wrong with you?" A masculine voice is clouded with outrage, and for someone like me. Now that is interesting. "I give you permission to rise, girl. Snow or not."

I rise, a little wobbly but can you really blame me? And as I turn to face Coin I see a murderous expression on her face, and her eyes are pinned on me. Uh-oh. Coin stampedes up to me and hits me with the whip blindly, I jump back in surprise but get hit in the cheek and arm again.

Suddenly a familiar figure stands in front of me, he is tall and has a muscular build with a head of blonde hair. When he turns to gesture to me I notice why he is so familiar, it is Peeta Mellark. But why would he protect me when my father murdered his whole family, along with most of his friends? He was a victor from the second to last Games, along with his "lover" Katniss Everdeen, and was a participant in the last Games with all the tributes. It just does not make sense.