Hello!

I'm a bit new to the Hunger Games fandom. Most people may know me from the Percy Jackson fandom. Yeah, I'm that weird chick that's writing a trilogy?

Anyways, I LOVE the Hunger Games. The trilogy is amazing. Who here's Team Peeta? =)

I've never really seen a story about the very FIRST Hunger Games, so I'll try my best on it.

Will be in the POV of an OC name Katy Grite. (rhymes with right?)

The woman who performed the reaping introduces herself as Sabrina Trinecle.

"I will be your escort," she tells us as she shakes hands with Mitchell and me. "And you schedule caretaker. It's my job to make sure you get to everywhere on time." She points to man that I know immediately to be a soldier from the Dark Days. He was decked out in the standard armywear: dark green uniform, black combat boots, a few guns behind his back. He had a few buttons and medals pinned on his shirt. There was an eyepatch covering his left eye, with a deep, pale scar running above it and below it. The man himself looked hardened by war, like he'd seen it all. He had a short cropped buzz cut and dark piercing eyes that looked deep into your soul. "That's Harter. He will be you mentor, the one who will help you with training. He's a bit tough on the outside, but he's nothing more than a crippled teddy bear."

Sabrina takes out a clipboard. "You have exactly one day to say good-bye to your family and friends. Not any longer than that. I expect you here tomorrow at five o'clock sharp." She walked away with Harter.

"She's strict," I mutter to Mitchell. He just stares out into space. I snap my fingers in front of his face.

"What?" He says after he snaps back into reality.

"What were you thinking?" I ask. I put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"This." He leans in and kisses me passionately. I object at first, but then as he grabs my waist and begans to pull me towards him, I enjoy it. I tangle my fingers in his golden hair. His lips against mine, it feels so... right. I'm enjoying every minute of it... I stop and push him away.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this. We're about to kill each other in an arena. We can't be in a relationship."

"So, you do feel the same way?" Mitchell asks, his eyebrow raised.

I look up into his hazel eyes. "Yeah."

"For how long?" He pushes back a loose strand of my red hair.

"I'm not sure. Since I was nine, I guess."

I remember it as clear as the water at Lake Mystery. My little brother, Callen, who was eight at the time, was stuck up in a tree. For some stupid reason, he climbed it because of a dare even when he knew he was afraid of heights. No one could convince him to come down, and not that many adults in our district had the strength or guts to climb that tree. Mitchell, tired from seeing me and my mom cry, I guess, began to climb up there. He picked up Callen, set him on his shoulders, then began to climb down the tree. I hugged Mitchell after he sat Callen down.

"After I saved Callen?" Mitchell asked.

"Yeah," I replied. My cheeks turned a soft rose-like hue.

Mitchell smiled his famous crooked smile. "You really are falling hard for me, aren't you?" he joked.

"No, not that -" I protest. I'm cut of by Mitchell playfully shoving me. I catch myself before I can hit the concrete ground.

"See? You're falling for me."

"Mitchell Liste! I am not falling for you!" I defend myself.

"Oh?" Mitchell's eyebrow raises. "Then why does it seem like you enjoyed that little kiss we just shared, and confessed your love for me?"

"You know why I'm not falling for you?" I challenged.

"Why?" Mitchell retorted. Crossing his arms, he looked as hardened as Harter.

"Because, I already fell for you." I turned around, and sprinted towards my house, leaving Mitchell standing there.

Fifty feet away, I turned back and looked. Mitchell slouches, and begins to grumble and walk away. I could imagine what he was saying: "Girls are so hard to understand." I mentally chuckle; Mitchell and I are so close, we can tell what we're pretty much going to say before we say it. It can get annoying sometimes.

I turned back to the direction of my house, and jogged the rest of the way there.

The moment I walk into the door, I am tackled with a hug from Callen.

"Callen!" I exasperate and try to shove him off.

"Please don't die, Katy!" He looks at me straight in the eye. His eyes were puffy and red from crying. "Don't die."

"I won't," I promise. It's an empty promise, one that would most likely never be kept. Twenty-four kids in an arena, fight to the death. Only one can win. I would probably get killed the first day. The odds are definitely not in my favor.

My mom enters our living room. Her eyes match Callen's, with thick lines of her mascara running. She hugs one of my dad's old jackets; his favorite one that he always wore, before he left us. I know that is not a good sign. Mom dislikes the sight of that jacket, and only brings it out when situations are dire.

"Katy?" she croakes. She dashed to where I was standing and hugged me tight. I felt the wrinkly leather of Dad's jacket against my face. "I don't want you to go. If only someone else had volunteered..." She trails off obviously thinking about what it would be like if someone did volunteer for me.

I escape her hold and comfortingly put my hands on her shoulders. "Everything happens for a reason, Mom. If I die, just know that it was meant to be."

My mother nods vigorously, then softly sobs. She points towards the kitchen. "I made your favorites: French-style bread, cheddar clam soup, and hot white chocolate." She splurged; we only get that kind of a feast near the holidays, if we can afford it. My eyes trail towards Callen, who doesn't even gag when mom mentions the cheddar clam soup; he hates it more than anything in the world.

We take our places, and quietly enjoy our meal. Every minute or so, Mom and Callen would exchange gloomy glances with each other, exchanging a mental conversation. By the end of dinner, Mom was bawling her eyes out every time she looked at me.

"Really, Mom. It'll be fine," I comfort her.

She sniffs, then takes a good look at me, like she's trying to remember what I look like. "You're right, Katy. Completely right. I need to calm down; you're a strong girl, one who won't succumb to dying. You'll fight for your life." She strides towards the hall closet and begins to rummage through it. After finding what she is looking for, she hastily walks back.

In her hands, she holds a thin headband. It's a light colored blue, with the words "DISTRICT 1" stitched on in gold. "This was mine, when I was a little girl," My mom tells me. "Wear it; wear District 1's pride into the arena." She slipped in on my forehead, then guided me to a mirror.

I look weird, compared to the rest of the district. I don't have blonde hair, tan skin, or the usual hazel/green eyes. I look like my father; black hair, bright blue eyes, and fair complexion. My father was originally from District 12, and met my mom at the Capitol. He moved here with her, since my mom was terrrified of leaving her parents the way they were: sick, crippled, and on the verge of death. Grandma and Grandpa died, anyways, but Dad stayed with mom until Callen was five. Then, he left one day, under mysterious circumstances, for the Capitol. Mom, Callen, and I still believe, he's out there, being held against his will. I just know that someday, before I die, I will meet him again.

The headband brings out the light hues in my eyes, and stands out very well against my black hair. With my hair tied up into pigtails, I look as if I'm a teenager when my mom was.

"It's perfect," I tell Mom. She smiles with joy.

"Sleep, my little pearl." She pulls off the headband. I smile at our little joke; Mom always called me a pearl when I was little, because I "shone bright, brighter than anyone else in the district". I guess she could have called me a star, but she wanted the joke to tie in with the district.

I walk towards my bed, and fall asleep in my clothes.

So sorry I haven't updated this! I've got three stories to update, and it can be a hassel, really. So, enjoy this chapter, review it, and I'll update when I can.

~Percidia Jackson