Disclaimer: I do not won the Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does.

A/N: This oneshot is dedicated to: M-x-M, KatnissIsTheLove, NewProphecy, Rue V & Chocoholic Jeevas for guessing that All Time Low sings Sick Little Games.

This is a random idea I had for Foxface

Also written for the 100 Theme challenge. I replaced Theme 98 (Grandparents) with Control

Control

I can't control my birth

Before I was born, I was a pawn for the Capitol. Being born to a couple in District 5, the district of scientific research, I was never really 'born' because I never created the 'right' way. In our district babies are often created in test tubes. A man and a woman want the perfect offspring and they will stop at nothing to get it.

Everybody knows about the July 5th, 1996 cloning of Dolly the Sheep. It took 277 failed attempts for that sheep to be successfully cloned.

District 5 children are often 'born' by similar methods. As I mentioned before. Parents want the perfect offspring. One that can be the first to walk. One that can be the first to talk. One that can have superior intelligence and excel in school. Most importantly, one that can win the Annual Hunger Games and bring them honor.

How do you get this perfect child? It is quite simple, really. DNA is taken from District 5 residents with desirable genes. Often when a young couple wants a child, they will go to one of these DNA facilities. They will review as much data as they please. They can even choose hair color, eye color, tall gene, short gene, gender; anything.

However, much like Dolly the sheep, this method fails...often.

My 'parents' went to a DNA facility 14 times in 5 years before I was successfully produced on the 15th try.

When I was finally born, I was just what my parents wanted. A girl who would grow to be tall with red hair and hazel-green eyes.

It was not my choice to be born.

I can't control my father.

I ran to my room crying again.

My father.

All he does is yell at me. Hit me.

And I thought I was perfect. What happened to me being just what my father wanted? He always said I was the perfect daughter and that he couldn't hope for anything better.

Where did that father go? Where is he?

Why won't be come back? Why did he leave me with this different father?

He screamed at me while I cried. I hope you die, he said. I hope they day you turn 12 you are whisked off to the Hunger Games and your mother and I never have to see you again.

It was not my choice to be unwanted by my father.

I can't control my mother.

Daddy hit me again, Ma. I said.

Darling, he is just harsh. He knows what's best for you. Ma said, twiling my red hair around her fingers.

But he hits you too, Ma. I argued.

He knows what is best for me too, Darling.

But Ma-

Do you understand that Darling? Ma asked harshly.

Yes Ma. I understand. He hits me because he knows what is best and I do not.

Good girl, good girl, good girl. Ma said in her rhythmic voice.

I was not my choice to have an abused mother.

I can't control my sister...

Lacey was 7.

Lacey was beautiful.

Lacey was kind.

Lacey was blonde.

Lacey had big, blue eyes.

Lacey was petite.

Lacey was perfect.

Daddy liked her.

Ma sang to her every night.

I had to listen to little Lacey.

Daddy didn't hurt her.

Ma didn't scold her.

I could not reprimand her.

She was just what my parents wanted.

It was not my choice to have a perfect sister.

I cannot control The Reaping

Darling, you were born for this reason. Ma said. Mas kissed my cheek.

But Ma, I do not wish to die.

You will not die Darling. She assured me.

How can you possibly know that?

You were created to win the Hunger Games. Your intelligence is superior. You are fast. Strong. Courageous. That is why your father and I wanted you. Your name will be on every female slip. You will be chosen.

Yes Ma. Those were the last words I said before I was whisked away to the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

Our escort was not very nice at all. She looked stupid. I scolded myself for thinking that about her. She reached her hand into the bowl and loudly announced my name.

It was not my choice to be chosen at The Reaping

I can control my death

It was the home stretch of the 74th Annual Hunger Games. The boy from 12 was really stupid. He tried to eat Nightlock berries. The girl form 12 was smart. She told him not to. I was watching from a distance.

I stared at those berries and contemplated my options.

I could have eaten them and ended it right then and there. On my terms.

I could have not eaten them and killed the remaining tributes. I would have had to carry the Arena with me everywhere I went.

I made my decision.

I filled my right hand with Nightlock berries.

Ma, Daddy, Lacey...you three are right. I am very intelligent. I am too smart to be eating these berries. But that is where you are wrong I am just smart enough to know what happens if- what happens if I do- I brought the berries to my mouth and said my last word- this.

The berries touch my tongue and I felt the effects instantly.

Just like that...

I was dead.

It was my choice to die the way I wanted to

-The Girl With the Face of a Fox