I feel horrible. I have been dying to post, but couldn't bring myself to post something so short, so crappy. So... Here us the chapter that you have been waiting WAY too long for. And it better be flipping awesome, or I want reviews that torture me for being such a horrible person. So, I figured that if I post shorter chapters, I will be able to post more often.

October 5th was my birthday; I am officially thirteen!

Well... All though short... Here it is!

Oh, and thank you SOOOOO much for staying with me.

Love you all!

-A Heart

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES.

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Some people look at an achieved athlete, look back at themselves, and think, 'Wow. What have you achieved in life, hot shot? Not Olympic athleticism, that's for sure.'.

Not my mom. My mom is an interesting character; with an even more interesting story. Instead of envying my success, she finds a way to take pride in it, like it was her soul in my body that is running. But I guess that is a little confusing. So let me give you a background on my mother.

After my dad died, she shut down. She did nothing, leaving me with a crazy running schedule, school, and three, unreliable, less-than-minimum-wage paying jobs. Lets just put it this way: I was not my mom's biggest fan at the moment.

One day, Prim, the most optimistic, strong person I have ever had the honor of knowing, broke down. She was distressed that Mom would not eat and she still had to do homework, as well sell her cheese that she made from her goat that I allowed her to keep in our backyard to the local farm. When Prim burst into tears, Mom glanced at her sobbing child and something snapped. She jumped up and cradled the crying girl, whispering soothing words that come out incoherent to me.

The next day, she showed up at work for me and still made it home in time to cook the venison that my friend had given me that day at school. Little did she know that Henry had been providing me with the fresh meat (his father is a hunter) the whole time she was in her less than lively state. But I did not dare mention it, I was too estatic to see Prim estatic that Mom was up and running again.

This continued until it became a regular routine, and I go used to no longer having such a busy schedule and allowed myself to focus on my main interest: running.

Running pretty much was a crutch for me, something to lean on for support. Bad school day- at least I had practice after. Got in another fight- at least I had practice today. At first I liked to just run the 200 and that was it. Soon, after a lot of coaxing, I was convinced to try the 400. Although thrilling, it didn't have the same effect on me as the 200 did.

However, running did not appeal to the kids at school, especially the fact that I was the fastest in the school, let alone my grade by its self. On Fridays, my gym class would do one race, a new kid against the student that won the week before. Unfortunately for the other students, I was getting professional training, and I always seemed to be racing every week. Cray, a tall, muscular boy from a very wealthy family somehow got the idea in his head that I was on steroids, and that was the only was that I was beating him. After that rumor was spread around five different grades in three surrounding towns (including our own) the nurse forced me to get tested. When the tests came back negative, a new rumor was spread around that Cray was the one doping and he too had to get tested. Much to Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell's despair, the results came back stating that he was indeed using steroids to enhance his baseball performance.

Only a mere three weeks after Cray left for rehab to get off the steroids, did I win states in the 200, the first in history for my school. News reporters pounced on my house, stalking my family at school and at home. My mother lost it once threatening to sue everyone on our lawn unless they left immediately. After grabbing our house phone and pretending to call the lawyer that we didn't have, they gave in and went away.

So, to say the least, I've had my share of ups and down with running. But this is most definitely my lowest of lows.

After my almost-ejection from the race, I lay in my sorrow on the hotel, eating up the British soap operas with drooping eyes. Madge is in the kitchen, making me some kind of soup and loudly sighing at me whenever she asks how I'm doing and I reply with a moan. Gale called once, with Peeta in the background yelling at me to tell them what's going on and to "get off the flippin' couch before they come over and do it for me". My head still aches as I go over me feeling of lost passion. My friends are right, really, if I can't run for myself, I should run for Prim. She would want me to succeed in life, and all that sappy stuff.

I hum unwittingly to the cheesy theme song of the show I'm nit really watching and pick up a stray pen that's lying on the coffee table. Because the nearest paper is across the room- a place I don't really want to go- I start to draw on my hand, carefully spelling out the letters to Prim's full name. As I sketch the words onto my skin, I make my decision.

Let's run.

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So... What do you think? You got some background information, which hopefully clears some things up. I know it's short, but I really wanted to end it there. Also- we are almost done! Just two, maybe three more chapters to go! Then, Little Island comes back into the picture, which I have HUGE plans for.

Please review, it makes me right faster to know that people are actually reading this. Also, I need to know if I am or am not boring y'all to death.

Thanks so much!