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?)

When I woke up, it was still dark outside. I could hear the soft snores from my mother and Callen. I cautiously tiptoed out of my room, trying very hard not to wake anyone up.

I didn't succeed.

About halfway to the bathroom, Callen exited his room, saw me, whiped the sleep away from his eyes, and asked, "Katy? What are you doing up so early?" He asked that rather loudly, so I shh-ed him.

"I thought that Mitchell and I would spend the whole day together, before we try to kill each other," I whispered. "Go back to sleep. If Mom wakes up, and you're not there, she'll freak out." I entered the bathroom, hoping Callen heeded my advice.

I took a short shower in cold water and dressed in my usual mud-stain jeans, blue tank top, and olive green windbreaker. I slipped on a pain of wore-out leather boots. "So much for being the district with all the 'specialty goods' if we can't afford them," I muttered, while lacing up the black boots. I combed my hair, then put it up in my trademark low-pigtails. I slipped the headband Mom gave me over my forehead.

"Looks fine," I mumbled to myself in the mirror. Like I really care what I look like. Never have, and probably never will.

I grabbed a couple of granola bars from the pantry. A real sprlurge, since we haven't had a shipment from District 11 in over three weeks. Jolting out the door, I headed to the only place I knew Mitchell would be at: Lake Mystery.

"Hey," I call to Mitchell when I arrive at Lake Mystery. I walk over to him. He's sitting on a stump, one he carved himself to be more comfortable. His hair was combed and gelled, which was unusual for him. It made him look more... sophisticated, I guess. His clothes were nicer than mine, with his baby blue button up shirt, and black jeans. He wore black tennis shoes, the ones he only wore on special occasions.

I sat in the chair/stump beside him. "Your mom make you dress like that?"

"Yep," he replied, with that same distant expression in his eyes. He looked over at me and cracked a smile. "Did your mom make you dress like that?"

"Oh, definitely," I replied sarcastically, then laughed. Mitchell joined in, but only for a few seconds. He then looked out to the sunrise. "How many of those do you think we have left?"

"Left of what?" I asked stupidly.

"Sunrises. And sunsets," Mitchell added. "I hope more than this one." He grabbed my hand, and looked straight into my eyes. "I wil try my hardest to protect you, in the arena. I'm not sure if I could live with myself if I let you die."

"Mitchell-"

"No, Katy," Mitchell interrupted, using a tone I have never heard him use when he was speaking to me. "Listen to me. You will live. You're strong. Me, not so much."

"Maybe we could bend the rules. If they see how in love we are, they might let both of us live," I offered.

"I doubt it. We're just pawns of the Capitol. We go out, and do their dirty work, just to get killed." Mitchell looks away. I know who he's thinking of: his dad and brother. A few years ago, the Capitol came to "recruit" people for the Dark Days. Long story short, if you were picked, you had to go, no if's, and's, or but's. Mitchell's dad and older brother, Jackson, were picked to fight for the Capitol. They never made it home.

I put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll be fine." I looked over his head. "What's that?" I got up from my seat and sprinted to a bright flower in the middle of green grass, with Mitchell not far behind me.

I stopped, right in front of a flower. "It's a violet," I whispered to Mitchell. I turned to him, and exclaimed, "A violet!" In District 1, violet is normally a good luck charm, because it doesn't grow much around here. I've heard many stories of people who find a violet, and obtain large amounts of wealth, food, valuable items. Maybe this means Mitchell and I will win the Hunger Games.

I pick the violet slowly from the ground, careful not to rip any roots. I know a recipe for violet stew, that I can make with ingredients found right here, at Lake Mystery. All I need is some water, a couple of cattails, berries, and some spices found around here.

"Violet stew?" Mitchell askes.

I nod. "Start the fire. I gather the ingredients." Mitchell nods, then goes off into the wood to collect firewood. I head towards the other side of the wood, to gather some berries. I'm not sure what type of berries they are, but they're filled with sugary sweetness, so I call them sugarberries. I first tasted them at Aunt Mad's cottage, when I was around four. I was a bit skeptical of the deep crimson color and plump roundness, but I ate them anyways.

I grabbed a basket I strategically hid in a hollow rock by the berry bush that I normally use as a pot for food, and started picking the best looking sugarberries I could find. After ten minutes of picking, the basket was filled, and I walked back to where Mitchell should have the fire started, grabbing the hollow rock as I go.

Mitchell had just came back from the wood when I arrived. I set down the basket. "That's a lot of firewood," I muse.

"It's getting cold. This year isn't as warm as years past." Just him saying that sends a chill down my spine. What Mitchell said has a metaphoric meaning, as well as a physical meaning. "You okay?" he askes, noticing how I am hugging my jacket tightly.

"Just cold," I replied, my teeth slightly chattering.

Mitchell comes over and hugs me. Just the touch of his warm skin sends relief throughout my body. I hug him back tightly, no wanting to ever let go...

"Better?" Mitchell askes, interrupting my train of thought.

"Better," I agree. We let go, and awkwardly stand there, waiting for something to happen. I decide to be that something, and say, "We should probably start the fire."

"Yeah. Good idea." Mitchell walks to the lake to collect stones, and I follow him, so I can collect the cattails and spices. Just a few cattails. Those things add a very bitter taste to the stew if too many are in there.

I took out a sharp knife to cut the first cattail. I sawed through the stem, and set it beside me. I repeated that process two more times, and walked back to the place where we would start our fire, then set them down beside the berries. I walked back to the lake to gather some alfalfa, wild onion, chives, basil, and some katniss roots.

I walk back to the berries and cattails, and set them there too. Mitchell has already started to place the stones on the dirt. He kneels down and feels the ground. "It's a little dry. Could you go and get some -"

I grab the hollow rock. "I'm on it." I walk back to the lake, fill the large rock up with water, then hike back. I pour small amounts of the water on the ground, for I don't intend on going back to the lake for more water.

"That's good," Mitchell says, when the rock is about three-quarters full. Which is fine, because that's more than plenty for two people. Mitchell places the fire wood in the stone circle. He takes out a small flask of gasoline and gently pours it, little by little. When he is satisfied by how much gasoline is on the wood, he stops pouring and puts away the flask. He then takes out a small box of matches, which he must've snuck from his mom. He takes out one match, the swipes it across the box. A bright orange flames appears on the end. Mitchell tosses it into the firewood, which immediately catches fire.

Now it's my turn to act. Mitchell hands me the metal rack; I set it over the fire, cautious not to burn my hands. Then I heave the rock/pot on top of it. I let it boil for some time. Next I begin to smash the berries with a carved stick Mitchell made a few months ago. "So you won't have to use your hands," he told me sheepishly when he gave it to me. I smash the berries to a paste-like state, then pour them into the boiling water. Next, I begin to chop up the herbs over the pot. I was carefully not to slice my hand, which is what happened the first time I attempted to cut up herbs. Then, I finely chop the three brown cattails on a cutting board. I wait awhile before putting those in the stew. Finally, I lowered the violet plant into the water. I took a wooden spoon and began to stir the ingredients.

"Mmm, smells like someone is making violet stew," a voice called from the wood. I'd know that voice anywhere; Aunt Mad's. She arrived out of the wood, then said, "Katy, Mitchell, what are you doing here? Don't you know you were chosen to fight in the Hunger Games?" Aunt Mad always states the obvious.

"Really?" Mitchell asked sincerely. "I had no idea."

"Oh, don't play funny with me boy," Aunt Mad snapped. She then surprised us by laughing. "Oh, I don't mind. Do you have enough stew for three?"

"Plenty," I reply. Mitchell hands her a hollow-rock-bowl. I continue to stir.

"You know, you have a very good chance of winning, Katy," Aunt Mad tells me. "With your culinary talent and skills with a knife."

"Yes because I could definitely chop a person up and serve them up in a soup," I mutter sarcastically.

"Katy," Aunt Mad says seriously. "I have foretold that one of you shall win. The other... I'm not quite sure. It's very fuzzy. But it will be tragic." She took a small pouch out of her jacket pocket. "Here. This is a little something I have made for you two. There's two bottles inside. Take it before you enter the arena." She hands me the pouch.

"What is it?" I ask.

"My lips are sealed. But it will greatly impact what will happen."

We sat there, in silence, with only the bubbling of the stew being heard.

With one final stir, I announced, "The stew is done."

I filled Aunt Mad's bowl first, then Mitchell's and finally my own.

I set my stew off to the side, to let it cool. "Let's talk strategy; should we team up with others?"

"I don't see why not," Aunt Mad replies, sipping her stew. "It would put you at a greater advantage."

"But with who?" Mitchell wondered out loud. "District 7 would be nice. District 11 would put us at an advantage, since they know their plants."

"Yes, but what if they aren't very nice? They could be total snobs and -"

"I'm only hypothesising here," Mitchell interrupted. "We'll see if they're nice when we get there." He gulped down his soup. "And Aunt Mad is right; you do have some awesome culinary talents. If we could get you to hunt..."

"No way. I am strict vegetarian," I reply hastily.

Mitchell's hands flew up in surrender. "I'm only saying; you could have much more food variety if you hunt."

"I sure I can learn," I say, just to shut him up. It's an empty promise, one I hope I never have to fufill. I sip my stew. "What time did Sabrina say we have to be there?"

"Five 'o clock sharp," Mitchell says in a terrible Capitol accent. "Why?"

I gulp down the rest of my soup. "What time is it?"

He checks his black leather watch. "Four fifty-five!" Mitchell rushes to get up. "I'm sorry, Aunt Mad. We need to go." He sprints off towards the wood. I get up, and follow him, shouting a sincere "Sorry!" back to Aunt Mad.

So, there you have it. Chapter 4.

REVIEW!

~Percidia Jackson