1. Hype and Apprehension

I landed harshly on my back, tucked-in ponytail decorated in dirt from my own backyard. I propped myself up on my elbows, grimacing at him. How was I so off my game today? I hadn't been for quite some time. I was getting rusty, which I didn't see how I was, being that I had been doing this with him for years ever since I became close to the age of being picked for the Games.

He towered above me, smirking, his arms folded over his chest. I jumped to my feet, shaking the dirt out of my blood-red hair. It's a natural color, not dyed. I got that from my father, my eyes are my mother's: a dazzling ice-blue that looked almost unnatural when in sunlight.

"Come at me," I barked, beckoning him to me.

"You really want to get this right, don't you?" he teased, crouching.

"Well, yeah, I'm rusty. Besides, we've got until Mom comes home."

We circled each other, anticipating the enemy's move. He lunged for me, his head a red blur like mine usually was when I darted anywhere. I ducked away from his grab nicely and kicked him in the back. He staggered but whirled around. He tried to throw a punch at me, but I parried it with my arm. I tried to push him away from me. Seeing as neither of us was giving ground, I kneed him in the gut. He gave a grunt of pain and pushed me to the ground. I rolled on all fours and kicked at his legs.

"Really, you two?" Mom cried. Dad and I both stopped our fighting and looked.

Sure enough, standing at the back door was my mother. I could tell the sun was starting to set because of how the light was on the house.

"I go away to work and this is what you do?" she ranted. I looked away nervously.

"We didn't expect you to be home until later," Dad said.

Mom sometimes worked late hours, being a Winemaker. She used to be a Jeweler, but the job became too boring for her. She enjoyed being a Winemaker, because once in a while, she'd bring home a bottle. Of course, I wasn't allowed to drink it, but it was somehow fascinating to me what flavors she brought home. I had tried to sneak a few sips once, but she caught me. Dad one time let me try a small bit of wine. I had to put soda in it though—wine was an acquired taste. But still, the warmth the wine spread through my veins was unbelievable. It was like I was sitting in front of a fireplace.

"For the record," I said as I stood up and brushed myself off, "I didn't skip school today like you'd think. And Dad didn't sign me out early. I went today like I should have." And school had been agonizingly long that I almost considered faking an illness just so I could get out of it.

"How long have you two been at this?" Mom asked.

"Not long, Blaire," Dad panted. "Not a bad session, Crystal, but you're still rusty."

"I know. I don't get why I am, though," I complained. I tossed my head, beads of sweat flying off my forehead. "I can't remember the last time we took a day off and didn't practice."

"If you're done, I need help with dinner," Mom piped.

"I'll help her, you go shower," Dad told me. I bobbed my head in acknowledgment.

Dad and I both sauntered inside our one-story house here in District 1. Our house was away from the town square, where I would have to be tomorrow for the reaping. What used to be North America was now called Panem, split into thirteen districts, each having a specific specialty.

Things definitely weren't what they used to be.

I brought in my nightwear (a dark blue camisole and sweats), stripped in the bathroom, and hopped in the shower, hot water spilling over my body. I closed my eyes, letting the steam engulf me as I thought about tomorrow. Tomorrow was an important day. Tomorrow was the reaping. The tributes for the 107th Hunger Games were to be chosen.

How the Hunger Games became an annual thing was rather tragic. Panem was originally split into thirteen districts, controlled by the government in the Capitol. The government still to this day was very strict. One day—way before my time—the districts decided they had had enough of the Capitol's rule. They began to rebel against the government, hoping to succeed.

The districts failed miserably, as District 13 (whose specialty was graphite mining and something to do with nuclear power) was defeated by the Capitol. They were thought to be obliterated.

The rest of the districts had no choice but to surrender to the Capitol. As a result of the failed rebellion, the president of Panem at that time declared that each year twenty-four tributes—one boy and one girl ranging from the ages of twelve to eighteen—would be picked to participate in the Hunger Games, a yearly televised fight to the death.

For the first seventy-five Hunger Games, District 13 was not included since they had been defeated and pretty much thought to be dead by all the other districts. However, not too long after the 75th Games did the twelve districts realize that 13 still existed, that there were people inhabiting it. 13 had become a base for a new rebellion, thanks to the work of the two victors of the 74th Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

Unfortunately, even their rebellion wasn't good enough to overtake the Capitol. Most that fought for freedom had been killed during that time. Very few people from that time were still alive today, Katniss and Peeta being two of those people. I knew there were others still alive, but the names couldn't come to me.

The Hunger Games had yet to cease. If anything, they'd become more horrible each year—that's how many of the citizens viewed the event. Some years you'd get a handful of little ones who had to kill each other, other years you'd get a variety of ages.

Twenty-four tributes was a thing of the past now. Seven years ago, in the 100th Hunger Games, a special Games took place. Every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell: a Games that had a certain twist put on it to spice up the event. On the 100th Games, District 13 was introduced into the tribute pool and would have to give up two children, a boy and a girl, just like the other twelve districts. That special twist became permanent after it was introduced. Really, it was more of a new rule than just a one-time thing for a Quell.

The Hunger Games...that's all I could think about. Would I be lucky enough to get reaped?

For now, my fate was up in the air. It could go either way. If I wasn't picked, I'd volunteer. After all, District 1 tributes usually volunteered because we trained for the Games—even though it's not considered legal.

As I dried my hair with a towel, I could hear Mom and Dad bickering in the kitchen. I sighed. Mom was probably chewing out Dad because of what she saw us doing. See, unlike my dad, Mom didn't approve of the Hunger Games. She thought it was wrong, that watching children kill each other was a crime. Dad didn't think so, he thought of it as pure entertainment. How those two married and had me was beyond me. The phrase "opposites attract" came to mind, but even that didn't seem plausible.

"...if someone saw you?" I caught Mom's voice growling at my father. I stepped in the mouth of the kitchen. "Peacekeepers could have easily taken you to the town square and had you whipped for that!"

"Peacekeepers aren't strict in One, dear. You know that," Dad said softly. "We're one of the Capitol's most loyal districts other than Two. They give us leniency."

"I wish they were stricter than they are now." Mom's voice was dark. I cleared my throat so they both knew my presence was here. Mom looked over her shoulder, her light brown hair in a low, messy bun. "How long have you been standing there?"

"A few minutes," I said quietly as I went to the table to sit down. Mom gave me my plate before she sat down with hers, Dad mirrored her.

There was no talk at the dinner table while we ate. It was usually smart to not talk about touchy subjects like the Hunger Games during dinner, because food could easily be thrown. It happened once before, when Dad had brought up the idea to Mom about training me for the Games. I was younger then and didn't really understand why Mom was throwing food at my dad. I thought it was just a game and joined in. That night, Mom and Dad vowed to never talk about the Games during dinner ever again.

After dinner, Dad and I sat at the table while Mom washed the dishes. Dad looked to be fumbling for right words to say at the table. We might not be eating dinner, but Mom could still chuck water and dishes at my dad.

"You nervous about tomorrow?" Dad asked me carefully. This was the first time in a long time that the subject of the Games was thrown out for discussion. At least Dad waited until dinner was done before bringing it up, though Mom could always throw wet plates at him.

"Yeah, just a little," I admitted, running my finger along the polished wood table. "I've only got two more shots at being picked. After that, I'm out of the running, and then it's off to work."

Mom mumbled something under her breath. Neither Dad nor I asked her what she said; it was no doubt something criticizing the Games or Dad training me for them.

"I think I'll guarantee myself a spot in the Games. I'll volunteer if I have to." I shrugged. "It's not like anybody fights over who's going to the Games."

"That's because a lot of those children would rather not risk their lives so that people can watch them be hunted down, killed, or watch them kill others," Mom hissed. "Those children are the ones who have common sense." The water sloshed as she dunked the plates. "I personally think you're better off becoming too old to be reaped, that way you can get a job and live a long life, Crystal."

"But, Mom, this is something I've dreamed of doing ever since I can remember!" I whimpered. "You should be proud."

"You want to risk your life so that you can possibly lose it and take others'? Yes, that's something I'm extremely proud of," Mom said sarcastically. "You're telling me that I should be proud of a daughter who wants to be on a televised fight to the death so that she can give her mother a heart attack every day she's in the arena or every time something happens to her?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought this up," Dad whispered. I nodded nervously; glancing at Mom's stiffened body posture. I bet she was holding back what she really wanted to say, she was just speaking mildly. Mom would love nothing more than to go after my dad and try to knock some sense into me about not trying to get into the Hunger Games.

"I wish you hadn't," Mom snarled.

"Mom," I said cautiously, "you always told me to follow my dreams and make them become a reality."

"Yes, but I didn't expect your dream to be one where you trained to become a killer."

"If I win this, I can move us into a better place, into the Victor's Village! You wouldn't lose me, then. I can get a job after that."

"Yes, but that's only if you won. If you did win, you'd have to train up the next victims of the next Hunger Games along with the other mentor. That's not a job I'd want you to have. And what happens if there's a Quarter Quell where you have to be thrown back in? I wouldn't be able to handle that, Crystal."

Mom was talking as if I was volunteering for death early. I knew she was saying that because she convinced herself I wouldn't come back. That was pretty dark for my mother, but I knew what would really happen: I'd go in, fight, win, and return home to 1.

I saw water leap out of the sink. Mom wiped her hands off with a cloth and stormed out of the kitchen. I looked at her pitifully. I didn't like that my mom wasn't supportive of my decision. Isn't that what parents did, though, support their children, no matter what they did?

Only one parent in the Springs household supported me.

I didn't see why Mom was worrying so much anyway. When I'd get into the Games, I'd win, just to prove her wrong. Of course, I could kind of understand where she was coming from. Having your child one day decide she wanted to pursue something dangerous would frighten any mother every day of her life.

I looked at Dad; he just stared back at me. Neither one of us went in after Mom. If we did, she wouldn't let us in. She needed her alone time and we respected her enough to give her what she wanted.

* * *

Dad and I sat in the living room, watching TV. Mom hadn't come out of the bedroom since her hasty exit out of the kitchen at dinner.

Night had fallen. Crickets chirped outside and from a distance someone was throwing a party, probably some pre-reaping, pre-Hunger Games party. There was always one somewhere in District 1 when the reaping was near.

I twitched nervously on the couch, watching down the hall, just waiting for Mom to appear. The minutes ticked by painfully.

"I know you're worried about her," Dad said softly, making me jump. It was obvious my twitching was a dead giveaway as to how I felt right now. "She'll come around."

"I think I should go talk to her, I think I pushed her over the edge."

"If you think it's a good idea, then be my guest." Dad turned his eyes back to the TV. Inhaling, I rose from the couch and stalked down the hall.

The first door on the right was open. Carefully, I poked my head in. The blinds were pulled, so it was nearly pitch black. I could just make out Mom's figure in the dark, on the bed.

I searched in the dark for the lamp on the nightstand, flicking it on. Mom's eyes squinted, they were red. She had definitely been crying. The pillow was stained too, so she had been crying into there. I hate seeing her like this.

I knelt down beside the bed. Mom didn't meet my eye. I saw a wine glass on the table. My brows knitted. She had been drinking.

"Mom?" I whispered, sliding my hand across the bed to her. She shrunk away from me. I put my chin on the bed, watching her. "Please look at me." She didn't. I breathed through my nostrils. "Mom," I started again, "have you been drinking?"

"No." She hiccupped.

"I think you have. Where's the bottle?"

Mom reached behind her and pulled it out. It was half gone.

"When did you get this?" I probed.

"When you and your father were occupied with the TV," she grumbled.

She had to have been silent because neither of us heard her. Then again, the TV was usually loud, so even if she made a little noise we probably wouldn't have noticed.

I gently pried the bottle out of her hands and set it on the nightstand with the lamp and the empty wineglass. Mom sniffled, hiccupping. I blinked back a tear or two. Mom was never one to drink her feelings or problems away. She never had a problem with drinking. Now, I was afraid she was starting to go down that path to becoming a regular drinker. If this went any further, she was going to have to quit this job and go back to being a Jeweler, or anything but a Winemaker.

"I just h-hate it, when you or your father talk about those—hic—wretched Games," Mom whimpered. I saw her other hand clench into a fist.

Carefully, I sat on the bed, unclenching her fist. Inside it was the necklace I had gotten for my 7th birthday. It was a choker with a small crescent moon dangling from it. It was special since that was what my birthmark was: a crescent moon. It was near my right eye. I almost always wore the necklace every day; I'd only not worn it a few times. The choker was also my good luck charm.

"Why do you have this?" I asked her.

"Because—this is all I have left of the real you, Crystal," she whispered, looking down at the moon charm. "I always thought that how you were when you were younger would be the young woman you would become. Instead, y-your father takes you under his wing a few years later to begin your training w-with him. He brainwashed you—hic—into believing that winning the Hunger Games is your biggest dream. He's made you into what he wanted: a lethal weapon to throw into the Games.

"I thought your father was a different man, o-one who didn't support the Capitol and its Games. I-I must be wrong about—hic—everything. About you, about your father..."

"Shh, Mom, calm down," I crooned, trying not to choke up myself. I rubbed her arm as she muffled her crying, covering her mouth.

"Y-you were right when you said I told you to follow your dreams. I should be in total support of what—what you want to do. But, Crystal, I—I just can't. You're my o-only daughter. I don't want to—hic—lose you. I can't."

"I understand," I murmured. There was a long silence between us. I could hear the TV chatter in the living room. "I know this is a sensitive subject for you, but, if I do get picked, will you say goodbye to me in the Justice Building?"

"I don't know if I'll even have the courage or strength to step outside to watch the reaping tomorrow, Crystal."

"How about you sleep, Mom, okay?" I combed through her hair with my fingers. "And just to make sure you don't get any ideas..." I grabbed the wineglass and bottle, leaving the bedroom to put them in the kitchen. I never bothered to grab my necklace from her. If Mom wanted to have it so it could help calm her down, she could have it.

As I was trying to figure out where to put the wine, I heard Dad come behind me.

"Your mother was drinking?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes. She snuck out while we were watching TV," I reported gravely. "She's a little unstable, the wine doesn't help. She needs sleep and more comfort." I turned to my dad. "Please, don't say anything to her. Just hold her and make her feel better. She may not want you in there because of how unstable she is, but she'll grow so tired she won't care."

"I will. You should get to bed, too. Tomorrow is an important day."

"I know."

Dad went into the living room to shut off the TV while I tried to find a good hiding spot for the wine bottle. I didn't want Mom sneaking out of bed to the kitchen to a vulnerable wine bottle. She had enough to drink for one night—and for a long time.

Afterwards, I passed my parents' bedroom, stopped, and watched as Dad slipped in, just barely closing the door behind him. I turned and dragged myself into my bedroom.

I pulled my blinds, sinking into bed. I snuggled into the sheets and against the pillow as close as I could. I felt wired and worried. If I got picked for the reaping, I couldn't imagine what my mother would. Being out of the house was something that usually happened when a child turned eighteen, so being out of the house at sixteen would sound unheard of. Then again, I wouldn't be moving into a house of my own at sixteen; I would be on a train, being whisked away to the Capitol for one of the various steps of the Hunger Games.

Between the excitement and nerves, it befuddled me how I managed to slip into sleep sometime during the night. 

**So, yes, I'm starting a new take on Hunger Games fanfic. Back when I first wrote this, I rarely saw any Career POV's. Hence the inspiration for this.**