Disclaimer : Unfortunately I do not own the hunger games. Susanne Collins does. I just own the characters and the plot I made up.

Chapter One - District Four

I feel wet sand drying on my feet as I wake up to the sea birds making their presence known over the small cove. I love where I live. Well, not exactly. Living in district four is not an easy life, and I am not in an easy situation, but I have to cope. At least our district is beautiful. We have the seas to stare at all day, instead of rough roads or misty, polluted parks. Our cove is beautiful. We live away from the town centre, away from all the noise of the daily market, and away from the almost daily show that peacekeepers make out of what they call criminals. We live on a ledge, just above the sand of a small beach, with the shelter of cliffs behind us, and the sea, open on front of us. That makes us vulnerable to flooding and storms, but when they happen, we just try to get back to normal, salvaging what fish have been washed up into our little hut. It is usually, sunny, so grey clouds are an early warning. I can already feel the sun beating down on my closed eyelids, so i know today will be good. Well, it will have good weather anyway. I open my eyes the sun rises over the sea, turning it from a mysterious dark blue, to a clear hue of a colour I can't quite describe. I have tried to describe the beauty of the sea many, many times. I can't ever get it right. The hues of the perfect, ever changing blue, mixing with the ash grey of the sea floor, and the beautiful rays of sun that cast swirling reflections into the calm waves.

My father has told me tales of mysterious sea maidens many times, when I was little of course. I do not belive in such things now. There is no time to. But telling them to my sister, Raven, is a nice way to relive that magical feeling. Watching her stare out of our tiny beach hut window, looking out into the waves and rock formations, like something magical will happen. The only thing I have ever seen out on those waves are the wooden rafts of fishermen, trying to bring fish to the market, putting up the price. Or a peacekeepers boat, driving by slowly, watching our every move. The peacekeepers boats come by every two hours or so. This gives us time to get precious, precious food. Here, in district four, it is illegal to fish without a licence, which are very hard and expensive to attain. So, we fish when we can with my handmade lures and my brother, Ryan's willow rods. Unfortunatley, my father isn't around anymore to teach us all of the tricks he used to use, to bring in huge bags full of fish. Always. He never came back empty handed, and im sure he traded most of his fish at the market. We could never afford a licence. How I miss the feeling of when I would hear his boots at the door, and I would drop whatever I was doing, usually drawing on a piece of slate from the beach, and run to him. He died in a storm, just two years ago, when I was fourteen. Our hut, our tiny home, was destroyed. We are still adding little little finishing touches to it. The chipping blue paint on the wood, the rocks outside that I found when I was little. But nothing will be the same without my father. As for my mother, she died while giving birth to Raven. Ryan is now head of the house, but I look after my siblings like I am their mother. Sometimes I feel like I really am, but I could never replace my mother. Ever. I am nothing like her. Or at least I don't feel like I am. I am not worthy of taking her place. I will just help out here and there.

I sigh as I roll over on the wooden floor. I am wrapped in my usual woven blanket to protect me from cold sea winds. The wood creaks in protest as I shify, even though I weigh very little. I focus on the tiny patterns that go through the wood, every change in colour, every little dark spot, every light stripe, every mark from where the saw cut, every groove, every indentation, is imprinted into my mind.

I am just giving myself excuses to stay in bed longer. I must get up, so that I can beat the patrol boat and get fishing.

My eyes are still heavy, but I solve that by looking at the sun for a few seconds. I feel more awake now, but just a little. I am not a morning person. Maybe Ryan's laziness has rubbed off on me. I shudder at the very thought

I decide I better get up now. I shrug off my blanket, and it falls to the floor in a crumpled heap. I make a note to myself to fold it later.

I untangle my shell necklace from my hair, letting it hang loosley around my neck. I couldnt stand to wear any kind of choker those people from the capitol wear. I would feel like I was being strangled. Of course I envy their wealth, the constant presance of food in their homes, but I really do think that they can be quite stupid with their diets. If I had that much food I wouldn't waste a single crumb.

I go through to the tiny bathroom, and close the door behind me. I change into my stripey dress, and flip flops. I let my medium length honey hair stay tangled for once. Dragging that brush through it can't be good for it. I turn on the water, which runs cold as usual, and splash it up into my face. I look back up into the mirror, water dripping off of my bronze skin and high cheekbones. I wipe the crust away from my bright blue eyes, and wince as I hear the pipes protest against the water. The creaking, groaning sound spreads throughout the hut. I quickly shut off the tap, and as expected, I hear Ryan's voice.

"Phoenix? Phoenix! Ugghh! How can you get up this early?!" he shouts. I shuffle my feet on the floor, trying to get the sand off, as it is starting to feel uncomfortable.

"Practice Ryan!" I shout back, pulling up my backpack full of lures. In case any peacekeepers search it, I add in some woven mats, my excuse would be that we were just on the way to the market. I could easily sell my lures for money at the market, but I would be caught straight away, and probably killed, since it is an illegal trade, and the hooks can be dangerous.

"Yeah Ryan!" shouts Raven.

"You are just as bad Raven! Well, maybe not as bad... But..." I trail off, trying to think of a way to finish my rant. "Just get up!" I finish weakly.

"I am up!" she laughs.

"I can confirm that." mumbles Ryan.

I fasten the buttons, and adjust the rope straps, pulling them so that the bag stays tightly on my back, to buy me time if anyone fancies stealing anything in it.. My beautiful brightly coloured anklet and bracelets are still on, my father gave me them too. I never did learn how to make them. I wished I did when I was little. I would watch him weave them for Raven, who can make them, and wonder how his clever fingers could weave such delicate thread into such fascinating patterns, that reminded me of forsets or the ocean.

Whenever I pick up pieced of thread, the only part I can do is dye them, nothing else. Then they get tangled and I throw them away in frustration. Raven always fixes them for me. I'm not a patient person. Not one of my best qualities. You can't blame me though. With Raven and Ryan to look after, not even including my boyfriend Will, I am bound to have a short temper. It really depends on what mood I am in.

I nod to myself, completing the checklist in my mind, and wandering through to the main room, where Raven is trying to plait ridiculously long dark brown hair. I smile and sit down behind her, helping her.

"Why do you keep your hair this long again?" I ask, laughing as she tries to pull her finger out of a knot. I pull them out for her, before raising my eyebrow, telling her to answer my question.

"Ryan said Mom had long hair." she states simply, and very seriously. She wants to be just like Mom she never knew. A sad story really.

I say no more as I tie it with a braided, thin rope I found on the beach the other day, when I scavenging.

Ryan finally walks through, ready to go.

He has tried to spike up his dark brown hair with water, but it hasn't worked. He looks very like Raven. Like mom. They have her green eyes, pale skin, and dark hair. I got all of Dad's looks, except from the high cheekbones. They are definatley from Mom, there is no denying that.

Keeping her hair long is a desire I don't understand. Her hair is straight and wispy, not thick and wavy like mine, so I guess she has the advantage of tame hair, while the sea air makes my hair look like a bush. I don't like having to care for my hair. It takes too long. Even Ryan and Will keep their hair better than mine. The brittleness from the salt water adds to the my hair is a mess look. I just want to be able to not worry about my appearance like the women of the capitol.I just want to be outside, and be happy. I am neither of those things right now. I am indoors, and feeling slightly annoyed.

Finally, everyone is ready to go. We didn't have any breakfast, trying to save food, so I use my trusty pen knife to cut off a few pieces of bark from a nearby tree, chewing it as I wait for the other to get out of the hut. I lock the door, with the huge metal key, which I swing around my fingers, before putting it in my pocket. There is no point in locking the door anyway. The frail, sea damaged wood wouldn't hold up against a kick from Raven, so anyone could get in.

How do I know it wouldn't hold up against a kick from Raven?

One word. Tantrums. Raven may not be strong, but she sure knows how to make a mess. I think she has a tough girl attitude as she is trying to forget her losses. But even I can see though her facade. and I can't see through much when it comes to people's emotions and feelings. I kind of hardened to them when my father died.

We pick up our bags, and walk out of the door, and towards the abandoned pier that fishermen used to use.

The paths we walk are worn by our feet only. We walk through sun yellowed grass and across high cliffs, until we come to a steep downhill path, through the sand coloured stone. I hold onto the rock, but I know my path, it is the one I have walked for years and years. I do slip a couple of times, but no major falls. We walk on the sand for a while, before hopping up onto the wet wood, worn away by many fisherman's boots in the past. I can just imagine them now, trudging out onto their not so trustworthy rafts, many never coming home. Especially when the rebellion started. Some say they stole the peacekeepers boats and used their own weapons against them! How brave and heroic. I wish we had won, so that we could go back to when Panem was called North America. Stange name really. My father told me that they used to have trucks that went around giving out strawberry flavoured frozen cream. I don't belive he was telling the truth though. He says they were called, ice cream trucks, and that stories from this strange country of America, were passed down through his family in hope that one day, we would win the rebellion. That we would one day, be a free country again.

We walk to the end of the pier, sitting down and swinging our legs over the edge, and dipping our toes in the sea. We put down our stuff, and set up our rods, before casting them out. We sit on the pier for a while, watching the sun rise over the horizon. We talk too. Mostly about how hungry we are, and what kind of food we would have, if we could have any in the world.

I catch a few fish, which I stuff into my bag under a few mint leaves, which mask the smell. There is no way of keeping them cold for long under the heat to the sun.

Eventually we get bored, so I dive off of the pier, landing in the water with a splash. Ryan joins me, but Raven seems scared. Eventually she jumps in too, and we play and splash. We even see who can hold their breath for the longest. I also practice swimming, doing laps around the pillars of the pier. My father always called me his little fish. We swim under the bright rays of the sun for what seems like forever. But even forever can't last.

I am talking to Raven about what kind of fish we need to catch, and what kind of fish go for different types of bait, when Ryan suddenly pushes me underwater with a strong hand on my head, taking the gear with him. Raven too. I kick myself over to the pier, fighting against the waves, and the urge to breathe. Something must be wrong. Ryan would never do that unless there was danger. Swimming underneath, and coming up for air, unseen. I hear footsteps above my head. Distinct footsteps. Uniform and loud. Perfectly in time. Marching. Those of the peacekeepers. I stay as quiet as possible. Ryan and Raven pop up beside me, and Raven looks at me with worried eyes. I wish she wasn't twelve yet. She wast worried when she was seven or eight. Ryan just looks up, listening carefully. I listen too.

"I'm sure I saw them here. We can do another patrol on the boat soon." says one. "Or on foot."

"Alright. Lets go back to base." says the other. "There must have been people out here. Maybe old fishermen. They will hqve to update their permits soon, which means more money for us!"

They jump onto the boat they pulled up in, and start the engine, idling before finally setting off after a nerver wracking wait. They make me sick.

I stay under until I can no longer see the boat.

I finally come out, and we pull ourselves up onto the pier, panting and soaking wet, our clothes and hair dripping onto the already soaked wood.

We run back home, tripping on the worn paths as we make our way up the hill to our hut, slamming the door as we run in. Not saying a word as we stash our stuff in the pantry, and leave our clothes to sun dry by the window, not daring to leave them outside.

I change into some denim shorts I made from an old pair of jeans, as there has been a heatwave lately, and a tank top, putting my hair back in a ponytail, so it is less noticable

We sit in the main room, telling each other how scared we were, and what we would have done if we had been caught, and what we should do in the future.

We decide to find a new spot to fish. Best not to stay there when they are hot on our tails. We have enough food for tonight anyway. A few pieces of slightly stale bread and some vegetables from the market. Also, I think we have one mackrel left.

And some eggs I found. I can tell they were laid by the wild hens that roam the cliffs. Not the best habitat for hens that I could think of, but then they are not the most intelligent animals.

"Thanks Ryan."I smile at him. "Will will be so jealous of your skills."

I really am thankful. I we had been sitting on that pier, we would be the next people to be tied to the pole and whipped on front of the whole town. Or shot. I don't think they would care anyway. Nobody really knows us. We are sort of recluse I suppose. At school too. Everyone just leaves us alone. We are the poorest of poor. I used to have other friends. My father's friends children. I know they recognise me, but none of us can be bothered to say hello, or have a conversation.

Will. My boyfriend since... Since ages. We were childhood friends. Sometimes we fished together. His mother died in the games, and he is also sixteen. I can relate to him in many ways, even though our situations will never be quite the same. He is richer than me. He owns one of the fishing boats, but in his own words, is useless at fishing. I have tried to teach him. I guess it is something that comes naturally to me, and not him.

We have helped each other through many tough times, and built a strong relationship upon that. Also, him and Ryan are best friends. They have a way with humor, which made them instantly click.

Oh well. I will teach him. I am detrmined. One day will, you will be able to fish.

Ryan laughs at my comment, tyring to get Raven to be more comfortable, but ever since then, she has been a nervous wreck. She will calm down eventually. Hopefully.

The games are always in the back of everyone's minds, but it is front and centre in Raven's, a constant worry. She always seems to be musing over how she could win the games, but then concludes that she couldn't and gets all mopey again.

I hate seeing her worried and sad, but it just seems to be a built in thing, like my impatience or Ryan's laziness, although, it controlls her more. She has very complex thoughts for a twelve year old. Although not top of the class when it comes to math or english, she is great when it comes to debates and opinions, which is a problem. Even though most peole agree with her opinions, speaking out about how badly we are treated or how poor we are, is a good way to get yourself and everyone associated with you killed, which I am sure the peacekeepers enjoy.

We all jump as we hear the noise of the projector turning on. This is not good. This is usually about the time that the games are announced, and this year, is the fourth quarter quell. We have all been forced to watch the victory tour, so it can't be that. I am not looking forward to whatever sick twist President Watson has put into this years games. Not at all. And the projector only turns itself on for mandatory announcements. Ones we have to watch. Raven slips her hand into mine as we see the capitol symbol appear on the wall. She looks at me, with a face so filled with dread, it is hard to look back into her huge eyes. But I look back, and rub her hand. My way of telling her it will be okay. I hear the anthem blasting out of the speakers, and look nervously at the screen. The capitol screen dissolves into the stage set up. And there is Cesar Flickerman II, his hair dyed bright yellow, and wearing a matching yellow suit. He is jumping about comically on stage as the strange creatures called the citizens of the capitol scream and reach out to the stage.

As soon as the crowd settles down, the hunger games symbol appears on the screens, along with a deep bass sound effect that shakes the foundations of the hut.

President Watson appears on stage, on a raised platform with the anthem playing in the background, followed by last years victor, Kelsiee O'Donohue from District Two.

The spotlight focuses on them as Kelsiee holds up the box containing the envelope labelled, One Hundredth Year.

She sparkles in the light, her Red hair tied back, her green eys glimmering, her freckles drawn on, standing out against her puffy blue dress.

The focus goes back to President Watson, a large man with thinning brown hair, and thick eyebrows, with large brown eyes. He looks almost like a character described as the bad guy in a fairytale.

He opens the box, which is decorated will all sorts of jewels and metals i have never seen before in my life, with one gloved hand, and starts out in a clear voice as he opens up the parchment envelope carefully, breaking the red wax seal that is supposedly one hundered years old. Rumor has it they were re written to sort out the second great rebellion. To eliminate a girl called Katniss Everdeen. She is long gone though. Was blown to bits in a raid in twelve.

President Watson reads from the small card inside,

"To show that no matter how many times you try to push against the capitol, no matter how many paricipate, no matter how strong the group, the capitol will always overpower, no matter how many times history repeats itself." he starts. The words send shivers through my spine. History reapeats itself? I think. Maybe they will put more victors in, but that ended in disaster last time, so it can't be that. Maybe someone from their family? I might be safe this year. Mabe the odds are finally in may favour after all.

"The second quarter quell will be repeated. Four tributes from each district will be put into the arena, and to show that we forgive, an original team from the same district, if all four still stand, they may win. May the odds be ever in your favour." he finishes.

The capitol anthem starts to blare again as they walk off of the stage, and the crowd cheers loudly, im even sure I spot a few fainting as the camera pans the crowd of exotic looking people. Their embellished wigs, eyelashes as long as my hair, animal skin clothing and tallons as nails. Their facial expressions seem like someone has taken their faces and stretched them to inhuman levels, somehow without making a single mark or dent in their skin. They are almost funny, but given the situation, I am not in the mood for laughing.

A feeling of dread starts to spread through me, what if I am picked, what if I never see my family again? What about Will? What will happen if I am picked? What if we are all picked? Wait, calm down, we could win. Calm down. Calm down.

Thoughts fill my brain, and I begin to become frantic, freezing still as I tell myself to be brave for Raven. I am rigid. I look over to Ryan, who is still staring at the screen, not blinking for as long as I watch him. Raven just stares, and stares, her eyes as big as the shells on the beach, her mouth slighly open but turned down in an expression I can only define as utterly terrified.

Eventually, I work up the courage to move and calm myself.

I stare in shock as the countdown until the games is projected onto our wall. Raven grips my hand tightly.

We all stare in shock. Our eyes wide, mouthes open. Now I could really go into the arena. I would never be able to support my family again if I lost. If I die, that means they die too. My chances of going into that arena are slowly going up. I look at the countdown. One week.

"Phoenix, Ryan, what if I'm picked?" asks Raven quietly.

"You wont be Raven, no need to worry okay?" i fake smile at her, but my stomach is churning.

I can feel my heart hammering through my chest, the sweat starting to form on the nape of my neck and on my forehead.

I haven't been this worried since the storm started, when I clung to the rocks embedded in the ground to save myself from being smashed onto the rocks.

Maybe it would have been better if I had died there and then.

I tell myself to get those thoughts out of my head. My family need me now. I will be their rock. I will not let the fall.

I will fight to stay in my district. The place I know off of the back of my hand. The place I was born and raised in. The place I will die in.

Well, I need the odds on my side, because right now, they couldnt be any worse.

It seems the odds are never in my favour.

Thank you so, so much for reading my first fanfic! This will probably end up being quite a long story, so stay tuned for updates. Please review, they keep me inspired!

Bethany x