Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. The lovely Suzanne Collins does. For if i owned it Peeta would be my bitch.

Peeta: What? !

The mid morning sun casts shadows across the tree trunks and the flame-colored floor in a splatter of shapes and shades. The wind ruffles the trees' hair, sending fiery strands to the forest floor. Birds whistle a melodic tune, warning squirrels hunting acorns of danger in their midst.

The forest on the edge of District 1 is the only evidence that greenery once grew beneath its stones. When August turns to September, the forest begins to lose its green and to shed its coat in colors of red, gold, and orange. Those who don't know better would likely believe the forest to be on fire and rush to save the precious material from burning to ashes. Its good people know better.

This small secluded forest has been under demolition for years. At least that's what the district says it has been doing. In actuality, many of its citizens train out there for the annual Hunger Games. The rules of the Games do not allow it, but what the Capitol doesn't know won't hurt them. Most eligible kids were there cramming in any last bit of training before the Reaping began that same afternoon.

Training is what 15 year old Shasta Rage should be doing. Instead, he is searching for his beagle, Max, who thinks it is wonderful fun to run off every other week just for Shasta to track him down and drag him home. Despite this, Shasta loves his dog. He found the bundle of demonic joy the day of his first reaping. Shasta, then a measly 12 year old boy, was with his father celebrating another year of life to in town when they came across the lame pup. Even then he was a demon, nipping at the ankles of those that dared cross its path. Many simply kicked the dog out of the way which hit a soft spot in the 12-year-old's heart. It was a miracle Shasta's father allowed him to keep the pup. Shasta attributed it to his father's pleasant mood.

Now here Shasta is, attempting to once again locate the escaped animal. Shasta takes this as a training exercise. Over the past three years Shasta has gotten rather skilled at tracking Max down. Reading tracks left by the flamboyant animal comes as second nature to him now, as does identifying their direction and age. The tracks he's found this morning lead him to the edge of the forest. He knows the pain in the ass is here; this is his usual hiding spot. The leaves that now cover the ground limit his ability to track down the stupid animal within the forest, but it's not anything he can't handle.

Shasta kneels to the ground and examines the partial puppy prints among the scattered leaves. The prints aren't complete enough to determine a direction, but the dirt around the edge hasn't yet settled. The tracks can't be more than a half hour old. Shasta closes his eyes and listens. He doesn't know how long he has knelt there before he hears the tinkle of metal and it doesn't matter. He hears it now. The sound of Max's dog tags.

Without a moment's hesitation Shasta runs in the direction of the sound. It is times like these that he's grateful he keeps his hair short and out of his eyes. He can do without giving himself a concussion from running into a tree just because his hair decides to play games with him. The tinkling of Max's dog tags stops for periods of time, leaving Shasta to run blindly in one direction hoping Max doesn't change course. Eventually, Shasta finds the beagle wagging his tail in pure delight, nose plastered to the ground sniffing out the critters that inhabit the forest.

"Max!" Shasta barks. The dog perks up at the sound of Shasta's voice, tail wagging 100 miles an hour in pure happiness.

"C'mere boy!" Max bounds across the space separating pet from owner only to thrust his front paws up to Shasta's chest and enthusiastically lick his face of all salt.

"Okay, okay boy. That's enough." He pushes the dog off him.

"You can't keep doing this Max. One of these days I'm not going to come out and look for you." Max looks up at him, tongue hanging out his mouth, dark eyes glowing, his tail a metronome of joy. Shasta gives a small sigh.

"Let's go home Max. I don't have any more time to train, thanks to you." Max gives a bark and takes off in the direction of home. At least Shasta thinks that way is towards home. He isn't exactly sure where he is. Everything looks the same to him. The year he had started going into the woods was tough. Shasta would get so lost that his father would have to eventually find him. Max was smart enough to learn the way home.

The walk home from the forest isn't long. Thankfully, Shasta lives in a house on the edge of town, not far from the secluded greenery. The house isn't much and has nothing extravagant to make it particularly stand out.

"Dad, I'm home." Shasta calls from the front door when he arrived.

"So where was he this time?" Shasta's dad emerges from the kitchen; a damp dishrag flung over one shoulder.

"Forest again. Not too far this time." His father nods and ducks back into the kitchen. Shasta follows.

"You hungry? I was just making breakfast." Shasta shakes his head.

"No, I already ate." It's a complete lie. He's supposed to be with Dennisla right now, though, and late is something he can't be. His father gives a knowing look and turns back to his food.

"Alright then. Say hi to Dennisla for me."

"I will."

Every year is the same, so he knows what to expect as he leaves his house. Reaping day is one of the most dreaded days of the year, yet the whole nation is meant to treat it as a holiday. Everyone gets the day off from work and school and has the "privilege" of watching children getting sentenced to death. For some, it's an honor to be reaped or even volunteer. For most it's just sick and revolting. Then there's the few that are content and have just learned to deal with the Capitol's Games.

For safety's sake, Shasta and Dennisla meet at the same spot on the edge of the district every year and spend what could be their last moments together. And then they break up. If either was to be chosen, they wouldn't want the guilt about the other fighting to come back to them. It has always been the deal and they have stuck to it for the 2 years they've dated. This is to be the third. Shasta has gotten used to it and no longer feels pain in his heart when she says those five god awful words. He only pretends now.

He reaches the edge of the district and the field where he and Dennisla meet. She's already there. He's late.

"Dammit." He says under his breath as he narrows the distance between them. He sits down on the grass next to her without saying a word. They sit like that for a minute before Dennisla responds to his presence.

"You're late."

And she's pissed, Shasta thinks to himself.
"Sorry." Shasta hears her sigh.

"It's alright. Just thought that maybe you forgot." A hint of sadness plays on her tongue. This strikes Shasta in the heart. He turns to her and grips her shoulders.

Shasta cannot believe she would think that, of all days, he would forget that he would forget the day that he would break up with her for maybe only hours. He had never even forgotten a date he had with her. He needs to make sure she knows that he could never forget her.

"I would never forget. I want you to remember that."

She nods at his words and closes the distance between them. Her lips are soft and warm against his and he can't help but make a moan of pleasure in the back of his throat. Dennisla smiles against his lips.

"I'm breaking up with you." She whispers to him. Shasta clutches his heart animatedly in pretend hurt.

"Oh Dennisla, you break my heart with your vile tongue." She laughs and pulls him to her.

"Just shut up and kiss me."

Shasta leaves Dennisla at noon and heads home. He still needs to bathe and dress for the 2 o'clock Reapings. As he walks through the square, workers are making the final adjustments to banners and other "festive" decorations to the stage where the children of the district will receive their sentence. Shasta doesn't particularly care; it is another event that he will shove in the back of his mind when it's over.

His father isn't in the living room or in the kitchen as he usually would be when Shasta he gets home. Shasta shrugs it off and drags himself to his room to shower. Being residents of one of the more privileged districts, running hot water is given to them. They don't get it all the time but it is nice knowing that a nice hot shower awaits him when he gets home on Reaping day at the very least.

His blonde hair seems brighter after the shower did its job. Shasta yanks on the dark grey suit that hangs in the back of his closet. Surprisingly the suit fits him perfectly. His shoulders had broadened a bit from his training and fill the jacket quite nicely. Shasta is very pleased.

The clock strikes one and Shasta decides to head to the square to check in. His father still isn't home and he figures he'll see him after the reaping. Many other kids of different age groups walk the streets in their best attire. Many go to see family, others to see friends. Peacekeepers are stationed at the stage, herding children into the appropriate roped areas. Shasta gives them his name and stands in the area for the 15 year old boys. He's early and stands in his section, quietly waiting for the other children in his district to file in. Around a quarter to two, most of the district is settled in their appropriate areas. Shasta stands among some kids from his class but no one really says anything. Most are scared shitless.

The clock upon the justice building strikes two and the Reaping begins. Shasta zones out as the mayor stands up and tells the History of Panem. Shasta probably would have cared if he was a 12 year old again, concentrating just so he wouldn't piss himself from fear. He only pays any attention when the freak of an escort comes up to the stage. Shasta can never remember his name. It's something like Sparkle Fairydinkle, or some shit like that.

"Welcome District One to the 20th Annual Hunger Games!" the escort booms into the microphone. "Let's change things up a little and start with the boys today. May the odds be ever in your favor." Way to keep it short, Fairydinkle. The escort sticks his hand into the glass ball full of slips of paper.

Four slips. Both of us have four slips. The odds are definitely in our favor.Shasta catches himself praying. He doesn't know how nervous he was until the escort walks back to the podium, a slip in hand.

"And our male tribute is Shasta Rage." Boom. One sentence Shasta can't believe that he's hearing. This year is his year. He makes his way through the crowd and mounts the steps to the stage. Surprisingly, he's no longer frightened. He's actually confident. He smirks and crosses his arms; showing confidence in his body language.

He doesn't know the girl that was reaped with him nor does he care. He has every intent to ignore her. The girl takes the stage with a happy smile on her face. Her smile falls at the call of a volunteer. She moves down the stairs, up to the volunteer, and punches her square in the jaw.

"Bitch, don't fuckingvolunteer for me!" She plants herself on the stage again, angry eyes glaring at the crowd. Fairydinkle hesitantly ushers the two to shake hands while the anthem played in the background. They're shoved off the stage and into the Justice Building and into separate rooms as they wait for their family and friends to send them off. Shasta stands in the middle of the room, waiting for his father or Dennisla to come in. The door opened after a few minutes and his father stepped into the room. He was misty eyed and Shasta feels himself holding back tears. His father wraps him in a hug that nearly crushes Shasta's ribcage.

"You have to win son, you have to." Shasta nods into his dad's shoulder.

"I will." And they're silent for the rest of the time; the father holding his son for what could be the last time.

"Mom would be proud of you." His father whispers finally. Shasta is taken aback. It's a silent rule that the mention of the mother who died giving birth to him was never to be mentioned. It always brings his father to tears. Now that she's been mentioned, Shasta has no idea what to say.

"I think she'd be more proud of you, dad." His father stifles a sob and stands back. He takes a deep breath and smiles.

"Go get 'em. Come home and make me rich." Shasta laughs.

"Don't worry, I will." The peacekeepers come in then and take his father away, only to replace him with Dennisla.

Shasta's face lights up. He rushes over to her and sweeps her of her feet. She laughs and kisses him, tears running down her cheeks in rivers. Shasta sets her down and wipes the tears from her face.

"I'll fight for you." He says after a moment. "I'll win and come back to you." Dennisla shakes her head fiercely.

"We had a deal. If we get picked-" Shasta interrupts her with a kiss.

"Thatdeal I'm going to break. I'll fight for you and when I come back, you don't have to worry anymore." Dennisla begins to cry harder. She lets her head fall, knowing she was defeated; there's no changing his mind.

"You come back. Promise me you'll come back." Shasta doesn't know if he wants to make that promise. He knows there's a slight chance he won't come back. Instead he gives her one last kiss before the Peacekeepers take her away.

A/N: Here is the revised version of District One, edited by Ella Not Lotte. Thank you so much girl :D Be sure to check out the other revised chapters

Always,
Amara Kingley