Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, or any original characters.

A/N: I'd just like to say thank you to those who submitted tributes :) even if some were from Districts and not from the Capitol... But still, thanks! Anywho, here's the first chapter.

Chapter 1 -

Rust and Dust

Bron Weatherbee's POV

We were a sea of black, dressed simply for mourning. When the Districts over-threw President Snow we thought the hatred they carried with them would diminish. Only it didn't, consequently resulting in something even more sinister than a public execution of one man: the public execution of many children.

That was what the Games came down to in the end anyway. Execution. Some even said it was no different from our own way of punishment because after all, we had killed hundreds of their children over the years, hadn't we? I guess the people of the Capitol had just hoped that because the Districts were trying to change our way of life that they would change the Hunger Games too; get rid of them even. I know that I had hoped for that.

Now I found myself surrounded by people that I may or may not have known, all of us terrified and tormented by the very idea of what was about to take place.

I had been ushered into the centre of the crowd along with classmates of mine, childhood friends and even kids I had never seen before in my fifteen years of life. We were grouped together. Males to one side and females to another. I could barely breathe amidst the panic, and I wanted so badly to scream but I didn't have the air in my lungs. I even felt faint as a man began speaking into a microphone.

His speech was different to the one my family had heard on our television every year before. He was callous, almost heartless even. Had our speaker ever sounded so heartless? I couldn't clearly remember. Nothing before the announcements that a final Game would take place seemed real to me anymore.

"...We shall welcome instead the children of our dear, sweet Capitol onto the stage." My heart thudded harder and I gripped the closest hand next to me. As I looked down I saw his skin was tanned however not in the fake orange way that was the craze when I was eight. Biting my lip out of nerves, I looked up and met the eyes of the hand's owner. They seemed so alive, a mixture of permanent Autumn colours. I held onto his gaze for as long as possible, his own grip tightening around my palm.

The speaker laughed a little as he read out a name. I bit down on my lip harder, tasting the rust of blood as it welled into my mouth. If there was one thing I was lucky to have it was a high physical pain threshold. I didn't have an emotional one though.

A boy no older than twelve years old was on the stage now, the crowd before him shouting and crying out. He was crying, the tears messing up his wonderfully painted face.

I closed my eyes, momentarily, fighting back a sob. More names were read out, more shouts and cries. Then the hand that held mine was gone and I let out a small gasp of surprise. My eyelids shot open, following him as he walked through the crowd onto the stage, joining sixteen other children who were stood huddled together in a mess of nerves.

I couldn't even make out his eyes from this far away now.

"Weatherbee, Bron!" In that second I heard my own name, it was like my veins had filled with ice. I heard my mother screaming from somewhere below, desperate not to lose her surviving daughter. She'd already lost my baby brothers to an explosion during the rebellion. I suddenly felt as scared as she probably was.

I was pushed forwards, in the same path that the boy with Autumnal eyes had taken. My feet stumbled underneath me and I almost landed in a heap on stage.

The speaker helped me steadily regain my balance as I turned to face the same direction as my fellow tributes. The speaker had already begun reading out the last remaining names. I ignored him, trying to find my parents in the crowd. My heart fell as I realized I couldn't. There were too many people, a flurry of Capitol citizens and District onlookers. I bet they were damn pleased.

I tried to glance at Autumnal Eyes but he wasn't looking my way. Instead, he was bent next to the little boy who was still sobbing. I couldn't tell if he was having a go at him or comforting him, however his words seemed to work and the boy straightened up a bit.

The final girl was walking to join us now and it was then that I realized I hadn't paid attention to anyone elses names. Only my own, as always.

The girl seemed to disect us each, inside and out, as she prowled onto the stage. She gave the appearance of a wild animal, with pointy features and heavily dyed hair that stuck-up in all directions. I wondered if she had dressed like this for a reason, perhaps out of some foreboding that she would be Selected. I mean, the emotionless expression she wore looked almost practised to perfection.

She met my eyes and in the split of a second, I knew with a certainty that once in the arena this girl would kill me.

Pacha Lawson's POV

I felt sick, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I was sure I was not the only one either, though my pain somehow seemed to matter more.

I'd always been a huge fan of the Hunger Games - mainly because to that younger version of me it had never seemed real. Just a show plastered onto our TV screens for us to watch, to enjoy and then to forget about until next year. My favourite had been a victor called Finnick because he knew how to swim and to use a trident. I'd never been taught how to do either.

Now my family were really going to regret not listening to me when I'd asked for a specialist combat tutor and for swimming lessons. Around about the only thing they'd actually taken seriously was when I had asked them if I could be dyed entirely violet, and to that seemingly stupid request they'd even agreed. Being a walking grape wasn't going to help me now I had been Selected though, was it.

Really more furious than upset, I looked up and down the line of the other 23 tributes as the speaker drawled on about how this had been a day that had taken so long to come. I wanted to punch him. How dare he talk about us like that? We were Capitol citizens after all, and I was certain he was just from one of the Districts. I didn't care which.

There was the girl in the year above me at school, the one who had bullied most people and never got caught for it. I bet people were thankful she was being sent into the arena. Then there was another girl standing next to her that I'd never even seen before. Was her name Ron? Her gaze appeared anxious as she looked about the crowd. I wondered momentarily who she could be possibly looking for.

In the distance between Ron and myself were several kids, each with varying appearances but all wearing the same black clothes. It was something our citizens had agreed on beforehand. It was something that was also sure to irk the Districts. Beside me was a girl with blonde hair thrown back into a tight ponytail. She didn't look completely unhappy about being thrown into something that would probably result in her death.

She looked kind of... Angry. As angry as me. I decided I would make this girl an ally, just like I had watched Finnick make allies too.

Suddenly I couldn't focus on the Reaping anymore and I had to cover my mouth because I was sure I was going to throw up. The blonde-haired girl turned and looked at me momentarily as I gagged. Then her eyes brushed past me and focused on a boy with messy, fair hair in the crowd. I couldn't focus on watching the others anymore and I collapsed onto my knees, coughing and vomitting.

That's when I realized I hadn't eaten for two days so I would look good for the Reaping. It wasn't something I'd done on purpose, it was just habit. My mother, father and sisters all fasted before important events instead of using vomit-inducing tablets. When you added nerves to an empty stomach though you didn't need tablets.

Bron Weatherbee's POV

The Reaping was over by the time they carried the purple boy off stage. He'd collapsed in a puddle of sick a few minutes ago and I'd had to look away, knowing that the sight would probably make me feel even worse myself.

They made us stay where we stood as the camera men checked that the footage had been broad casted to everyone in Panem.

I felt like a puppet on a string, barely able to stay still and straight as we waited to get away. I wasn't sure what exactly happened next after the Reaping but I knew we would be given some time to train, some time to be dressed and designed and then... Then we'd be on our own in the arena.

I'd be alone with the wild-looking girl. The very thought frightened me.

The camera man gave the all clear and the shouting from the crowd got louder as we were herded off of the stage. I had heard somewhere in school that herding was what you did with something called cattle. I suppose that's all we were now. Cattle.

I followed the rest of the tributes, trying to keep my distance from Wild Girl. It wasn't hard to keep up, seeing as no one particularly wanted to be the first to know what was about to happen next. It was something no one in the Capitol had ever seen aired, something remotely private. I was curious, there was no doubt about that - but terrified at the same time.

"Come along," a tall, broad-shouldered man told us in a voice that fitted his gruff appearance well. His head was shaved, covered in tattoos. I couldn't tell if he was Capitol or District. As if it mattered now anyway. "Hurry up, or I promise you won't make it to the Games." We hurried up immediately, none of us willing to take that impossible chance. They couldn't really kill of tributes before the Hunger Games started, could they?

I didn't want to find out. We were led behind the back of the stage and into the house it had been built in front of. It was one of the oldest buildings in the city, I knew that at least.

The purple boy had been led in before us and who I'd guessed were his family had gathered around him. His mother, who's hair hung in coils down to her hips, was crying very loudly and very sadly. I thought of my own mother. Was she crying? Most likely.

The man stopped us, pointing for us each go into a room identical to the one the purple boy and his family had been sitting in. There weren't enough rooms though and soon two or three of us were put in altogether at once. We were told to sit and wait, and that our families would be here to say goodbye soon. I found myself with a petite, red-head girl and Autumnal Eyes.

She was watching me, I noted, her eyes big and brown and sad.

"This is messed up," she stated, a sigh escaping her tiny chest. She was right in a way too because this was completely and utterly messed up. The Games always had been. "It's really bad to think that we'll all just end up killing each other."

"It's what happens every year though, right?" I asked her, my voice croaky and quiet from disuse.

"True but it's still really horrible. I mean, I'm not going to lose... But I don't want to win for the same reasons."

I found myself smiling shyly at her, "What makes you so sure you'll win?"

"Because I'm Vanessa Flint, that's why. Flints never lose. So who are you two then, I haven't seen you before - well, not that I can remember anyway?" She smiled back.

I remembered the fact that we weren't alone, my eyes inadvertently flitting to the boy. He was rigid on the battered leather couch and that's when I realized I was the only one still standing. I took a seat in a chair by the fireplace, forcing myself to look away from him. I looked anywhere else, taking in that there were at least a dozen empty bookcases surrounding us. Had this room was been a library? It seemed it.

"I'm Lio Kerim," he said first and I was shocked by the tone of his voice. It was... Emotionless, detached even. The boy in the crowd seemed so different from the one sitting across the room. "And surviving may not be a victory, Vanessa. In fact it could be the opposite. Who knows what the Districts have in mind for the winner?"

"We always treated their Victors with respect and adoration though," she shot back, flicking her long red hair behind her shoulders. I had guessed that she was no older than me. "Why in the world would they treat us any differently?"

The doors to the room re-opened before Lio Kerim could reply. My parents were the first to rush into the room, arms flung at all angles around my body.

"Oh," my mother practically sang, "My poor baby, my baby! How could they do this! They are sick, sick people!"

I wanted to tell her I'd be OK in the arena but I doubted I would, remembering Wild Girl's raging eyes as they looked into mine. I found that I couldn't even talk, sobs escaping from my throat instead. I hugged my parents close, trying to remember their smells. Perfume: that was the strongest and most familiar scent of all. Sadly, I knew I would probably forget all other smells as soon as they were gone though.

Damn, it wasn't them who were going though, was it. It was me - and I was probably never coming back.

Completely engulfed in their embraces, I looked over at the red head. Vanessa Flint was almost entirely encircled by rich-looking family members. No doubt she would have plenty of sponsors. Then there was Autumnal Eyes - I mean Lio Kerim - who only had one person with him, and that was an elderly lady in a fur coat. She was combing his hair with her fingers, a soft sad smile on her face.

Really, where were the rest of his family? Had they died in the rebellion along with my baby brothers? Or had they died some time ago? Thinking about it made my throat hurt with each new sob.

"Bron," father began, his voice deeper than usual. He always deepened his voice when he wanted to seem stronger. "We're going to do everything we can to get you home. You are coming home, I promise. You'll win this for sure and we'll love you along the way."

"What if I don't win?" I whispered to neither of them in particular, ice filling my veins again.

Father pulled away slightly, giving my mother a look which she didn't reciprocate. Either way, I couldn't read what that look had meant but father didn't say any more. We all just held each other for what seemed like an eternity. I didn't care, I never wanted to let go.

Letting go came to soon though. The skin head came back in and ordered everyone to leave "the tributes". As my mothers hands left my skin, it felt as if my heart had been tugged out of my chest. There was nothing inside of it now. Only the need to see my family again as they disappeared in a fit of sobs out of the room.

I stared for a long time at the empty doorway, willing for someone to come out and saying everything that had happened in the past year had been a joke. For a moment I even let myself believe that there had been no Quarter Quell, no rebellion, no burial for my brothers, no Reaping.

"This sucks," Vanessa Flint said finally, breaking the silence between us as we waited to rejoin the rest of the Cattle and be herded somewhere else.

I wanted to reply to her but my voice was broken, tears still streaming down my face. Lio Kerim answered for me instead, and surprisingly his voice was actually slightly more emotive, "You could say that again."

A/N: So tell me what you all think... The good, the bad, the ugly...? Reviews please :) x