This is my first Hunger Games fanfiction, I hope you all like it, and I will try to update on a regular basis :) Oh, and I won't stick entirely to the original HG plot, I'm sorry!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the Hunger Games.

Chapter 1

I open my eyes slowly, wincing as the bright light streaming in from the window shines into them. I turn over and bury my face in the soft pillow, wishing that I could go back to sleep. I almost have when my father knocks on the door, asking that I get up. I groan and shove the covers off me, standing up slowly, feeling my joints ache in protest. I had not had a good night – I had had nightmares, in which I had been picked. I had been chosen to fight to the death.

I press my fingers to my temples and rub slowly in circular motions, closing my eyes again.

Why today? Why do we have to go through with this? It's horrible.

I open my wardrobe and pick out the first dress I see. It's white, and comes down to my knees. The top half is covered in cream lace which is in a flower pattern. I mentally shrug and dress quickly. I didn't care what I looked like. Why should I?

I always felt bad on reaping days, simply because I always worried when I really had no reason to. I felt guilty for being scared. So many people had worse chances than me, and I was feeling sorry for myself. It just seemed wrong, but I couldn't help it.

I combed my hair quickly, avoiding looking at myself in the mirror. I knew what I would see – a pale face, dark circles under my blue eyes, blonde hair that fell a few inches past my shoulders. Nothing special – I wasn't ugly, but I still preferred to not look at myself. The dark circles would only remind me of last night's terrors.

I slip on some shoes and make my way downstairs to be met with a cup of tea, with one teaspoon of sugar, like always. Toby, the man who helps us in our house, sits across from me for a few minutes, attempting conversation. He gives up quickly, and I don't blame him. I'm a terrible conversationalist when I'm worried.

I gulp down the tea and check the clock that hangs in the kitchen. Only an hour more. What would happen if I'm picked? Highly unlikely, but it could still happen.

I couldn't imagine what I'd do. What would Haymitch say? The man who would be my mentor, how would he react?

I shake my head, and set my empty mug down on the counter. No. I wouldn't be picked today. And once again, the guilty feeling washed over me again for being scared.

My father comes down the stairs, wearing a suit.

"You look nice, Madge." He comments.

"Thank you," I reply in a monotonous voice. He sighs and walks over, palm outstretched. A gold pin is there, a mockingjay.

"What's this?" I ask, genuine surprise in my voice, although I recognised it. It was the pin that my aunt took into the arena.

My father fastens the pin to my dress, and I raise my eyebrows, looking at him expectantly. I knew the pin was old, and solid gold. Why has he given this to me? "For luck." He says, briefly managing to look me in the eyes before turning away.

"T-thanks" I stutter, still surprised.

They arrive later than normal. I open the door to three sharp knocks, to find Gale and Katniss standing on my doorstep. Only Katniss smiles at me. Gale glares as he takes in my expensive dress, the gold coins in my hand.

"Pretty dress." He says, refusing to look me in the eyes. I press my lips together, knowing that it was not a compliment.

"Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" I reply sharply. Confusion appears in his eyes for a second, but quickly returns to indifference.

"You won't be going to the Capitol." He says flatly. He glances at my pin, and I can see that he is resisting a glare. "What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old."

"That's not her fault." Katniss cuts in. I want to smile at her, to thank her for sticking up for me, but I can't, not in front of Gale.

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is." He says. I refuse to show any emotion on my face, but inside I wanted to slap him. I couldn't help that I came from the family I came from. I quickly give Katniss the money, and take the strawberries.

"Good luck, Katniss." I say nothing to Gale.

"You too." She replies. I close the door as they turn to walk away.

Once out of sight from them, I let my annoyance show. I storm past Toby who takes a step back, surprise showing on his face. I stomp up the stairs to my bedroom, slamming the door. How dare he! I throw my pillow across the room, flinching when it hits the wall. Why was I so angry? How did Gale manage to piss me off so easily?

I sigh, and retrieve the pillow, no longer angry. Just tired, like always. I sit on the bed, and fiddle with a strand of my hair. I absentmindedly put it back in a ponytail, staring into space, not really thinking about anything.

Eventually, my father calls for me to come downstairs so that we can leave together. We get to the reaping early, seeing as my father is the mayor. He oversees the final preparations while I sit alone, waiting for the other people to arrive. I have my finger pricked with a needle by a peacekeeper, and the blood marked on a page. I barely feel the short, sharp pain; I am still in a daze from my previous outburst of anger.

The citizens of Twelve slowly filter in, lines of children and teenagers in their categories, talking to each other, fiddling with their smart clothes – but most of all, glancing at the two glass bowls that sit on the stage.

When the time comes, Effie appears on the stage, her hair a bright pink this year. I inwardly sigh and look away, not listening to her speech, not watching the familiar video of the Uprisings. I turn my head this way and that, scanning the crowd for nothing in particular. My eyes land on Gale, who was staring at me. I feel anger bubble up inside me, looking away quickly. What was he looking at? This stupid dress that had started this whole thing? My gold pin?

I told myself that I didn't care one bit. So what if he was looking at me?

"As always, ladies first!" Effie's voice breaks through my daze, and I look up at her. She reaches into the bowl, her hand hovering above the slips of paper. She draws one out quickly, and holds it still for a second. The breath catches in my throat. Could my name be on that slip of paper?

I have no idea if this is good or not, but please read and review!