A/N: Thanks to richards25 and Violagirl23 for reviewing the last chapter, and everyone else for their continued support for the story! We're twenty Games in and still going strong!

I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the previous ones :)

"Beautiful dawn - lights up the shore for me

There is nothing else in the world

I'd rather wake up and see

With you."

- James Blunt, 2004.

The 20th Annual Hunger Games

Michelle Lopez (17), District 9 Female

James Blunt - High (2004)

It's such a beautiful dawn. Across the seemingly endless lake, the sun faintly shimmers down onto the water. I stand at the edge of the water, where the sand would be if this location was coastal. Instead, there is only smooth silt underfoot.

It's not yet late enough in the day for the searing heat of the arena to take effect. Fifteen or twenty degrees celsius; no more, no less. The slight breeze that comes from across the water is warming, and at this moment, I feel as though nothing could be more perfect.

"Come on, we need to be moving."

I sigh as my bubble of perfection is easily broken by the sound of Esteban's voice. I don't move; I'd rather not leave this sight behind me. Few opportunities come to indulge in beauty within Panem, and especially not in the arena. I wanted to savour the moment; I may never see sunrise again. But even if I tried to, I would be unable to enjoy the view now. Not now that I know that Mr. Impatient behind me wants to get a move on.

I try to look out at the banks of the lake around us, to see if we can have any indication as to where the other three remaining tributes may be. We know that the boy from One and the girl from Six are still alive, but we have no idea who the third remaining opponent is. Sadly, I see nothing but a muddy beach and banks of trees on all sides.

Esteban reaches me and rests his head on my shoulder before whispering to me in his mocking tone that I have grown so accustomed to over the years.

"You know, the longer we stay out here, the longer it willl be until we get home," he taunts.

Well done, smart-arse, I think, feeling for a moment disappointed by the luck of the reaping balls when it came to giving me a district partner.

Sometimes I really could punch him.

"You really want to leave this behind?" I ask him, gesturing out to the open water with my right hand.

I know that Esteban hadn't fully noticed this view as when I mention it, he lifts his head from my shoulde and walks past me down towards the lake, staring out in wonder. I give him a minute to gaze in awe at the view before seeking revenge.

"You know, the longer we stay out here, the longer it will be until we get home," I taunt my brother, mimicking his mocking tone.

"But the view..."

"Hypocrite."

If looks could kill, I'd be a goner. He's always the first to contradict himself in an argument, as though he's arguing for the sake of arguing. It's so easy to torment him by picking out all the flaws in his arguments back at home, where regular debates strike up across the dining room table. I'm a much quicker thinker than him, and I definintely the smartest of the family. He never takes it well when I prove his points invalid, and often sulks for hours after a crushing verbal defeat. Father often becomes stern on me as a result of tormenting young Esteban, but I can take a lecture if it means an hour of fun watching my fifteen-year-old brother slowly grow to be more and more frustrated.

And so, having yet again proven Esteban to be contradicting himself, I find myself on the end of a death-stare.

"Love you really, Esteban," I say sarcastically, adding fuel to the fire.

I don't get an answer, but I wasn't expecting one. Esteban isn't the type to scream profanities and throw large pieces of furniture around a room when he's angry (I do far too much of that myself), but often draws back into his own world, uncommunicative and sullen. And so after a pause of ten seconds, all my brother gives me is a small humph and he turns back to the view.

Watching him from further up the bank I can't deny that my brother looks rather striking in the early morning light. There's something picturesque about the way the light falls past him, as he is half-silhouetted against the gorgeous backdrop of the rising sun over the arena. It's odd to see such a beautiful scene in a place known for dark connotations of death, sacrifice and injustice. His dirty blonde hair glows orange in the light, and the contours of his face stand out due to the long shadows that drop across the right side of his face, so that only his jet-black eyes can be seen to glint due to suppressed fury from beneath the veil of darkness. He's not overly tall, but lanky for his age.

Back at home, in the hallway of our moderately-sized home, my father keeps memoirs of his favourite hobby; the expensive pastime of photography. Most Saturday afternoons for as long as I can remember, Father has disappeared off about the district, looking for ways to utilise his skills with the crude camera that he saved for years to buy. Then he spends all evening poring over the films, looking to see if any other shots he has taken are worth the exorbitant amount that it costs to pay for our film to be developed.

And if any good photographs do arise, then they join the others along our hallway.

Taking pride of place in the hallway is a photograph taken last summer out in the wheatfields, on a blisteringly hot day in early August. I think it might have been the day after the Games had ended; the first full day where we wouldn't have been tied to the television. By all accounts, the day was too hot for any outing to be much fun, but for the freedom it gave us. The freedom that, luckily, the reaping had let us keep, for another year, at least.

I remember Father took the chance to take his beloved camera, which falls into disuse during the month of the Games; the hobby requires not only plenty of money, but an abundance of time, too.

And so on this day he took a photograph of me and Esteban lying in the wheatfields staring up at the bright blue sky, seemingly without a care in the world. The one thing I remember was that, as with every year around the time of the Games, my petty differences with my brother are put aside, in a time of solemnity for the whole district. Luckily, nobody from either my school district or Esteban's was chosen last year, something we were grateful for; it made the Games slightly less torturous than they could have been.

This year, we haven't been so lucky.

For the first time, a brother and sister have entered the arena together. Our sibling alliance has no doubt lasted longer than many would have expected, especially given our record in the past. But we have worked well together. Through a combination of good strategic planning, strong fighting skills and yes, a lttle luck, we have both survived to the final five.

What happens for us now, I don't know. All I know is that we need to stay together if there is to be any chance of either of us leaving this arena alive.

Esteban has turned away from the lake, and his words startle me back to reality.

"I guess we shouldn't stay angry at each other for long," he says. "Sorry."

I nod to accept his apology for his losing his temper, something that I never would have done a month ago. But the arena changes people, and desperate times have called for our unity. Together, there is a chance of us escaping.

Maybe, just maybe, we can do it.

I open my arms to Esteban and we embrace for a moment, before walking together to the edge of the woods, where are supplies are situated.

"I guess we'd better get a move on."

We both laugh.

The 20th Games were the first Hunger Games to feature a brother-sister pair form the same district, and both survived into the late stages of the Games. The two from District 9 met the other surviving allied pair - the girl from District 6 and the boy form District 10 - on the eleventh day of the Games, with three casualties. The only surviving tribute was Michelle, now stocked with choice supplies from the dead tributes and fuelled with a greed for vengeance that was only satisfied three days later when she killed the boy form District 1 to be crowned the victor of the 20th Annual Hunger Games.

A/N: Twenty down, only fifty-five to go! I think I can now safely say that the early stages of the history of the Hunger Games are over, and the First Quarter Quell is nearly upon us!

I think, after twenty chapters, I've just passed the 30,000 words mark, which is another milestone reached. Hopefully this story will reach a word count with six figures in fifty-five chapters' time!

Also, now that twenty chapters are complete, I'm eager to hear what you, the readers, think about the first twenty Games AS A WHOLE. Was there enough variety, character depth, creative arena designs, etc.

So please review! As ever, I'll welcome constructive criticism :)

Again, thanks for all the support so far, I hope you continue to enjoy the story :)