ch. 1 |

     The air was warm and held a bright hue throughout the district as the sun rose in the morning sky, igniting colours across the blank horizon. Pluto had been up long before the sun, however, in an anxious anxiety, pacing across the rough, wooden floorboards of her family's home. The occasional splinter jabbed into her bare toes, but Pluto didn't notice the pain, feeling numb and sick, stomach churning with bile. The little pricks of wood would not quell the sputtering of her heart.

      Twenty names were in the system this time. All bearing the same namesake, all stamped with her letters, Pluto Miller, sealing the possibility of her fate. Pluto was well aware that there were others in District Eleven that were far worse off, many with names in the system double her amount.

      Even still, the thought lingered. The possibility of her name being pulled scratched at the back of her mind and clawed against Pluto's torso with bated breath. Pluto couldn't be picked this year, she just . . . she just couldn't. Of course, Pluto realised how selfish a thought that was, but her still let it seep deep inside her mind.

      Pluto's dark, cracked feet stopped in their tracks, bringing her swollen frame to the window sill of the worn house, so she could see the sun spread its dawn over the agricultural city. Morning glowed soft and sweet, filtering gentle light across the wheat fields and bountiful orchards. The scent of honeysuckle and lilac mixed with tilled earth and rust floated in the most peculiar way. It beckoned to soothe her, as it did on many mornings before, but not today. 

     In the distance, she could see the Peacekeepers erecting the metal stain on the land, hoisting the banners of Panem and the capitol's symbol, preparing for the Reaping. Large sound booths were already erected, and Capitol cameramen scurried around as they searched for the best lighting for the show.

      The thought of the Reaping being here already was enough to floor Pluto. Hatred burned at the thought of how fast time had passed. It wasn't fair that some would never know the horror they, outside of the Capitol, faced annually.

     Even though she had only been alive to witness seventeen of the forty past Hunger Games, Pluto could see the toll it had on taken on her mother. Sharline Miller was born in a different time, a time that remembered the Great Rebellion well. A time that knew true pain, pain far worse than the Reapings and Games every year.

      The sound of a door clicking shut echoed behind Pluto. As she strained her ears, she could hear the quiet murmurings of her older brother, Bronx, as he spoke in low tones with their mother in their modest kitchen. Neither of them had addressed Pluto so far this morning, and she was glad that they stayed away, mild and quiet in the background of the early hours. Their words of reassurance would only darken her spirit.

     Pluto kept her eyes on the outside world, waiting for the Reaping to come to a head.

      In little time, a dark cast face walked past the small, dirt-clouded window pane. The woman's dark, blurry little eyes peered in for only a moment before shuffling past, to knock lightly at the door. Recognising the face, Pluto quickly toddled to the door but paused as her hand reached for the scratched, brass handle.

      Pluto took a long, slow breath. She could feel her heart calm as she forced another breath before opening it with a fake smile splashed across her dusk lips.

      "Momma Bea," Pluto smiled harder, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes as she looked at the deepening wrinkles in the woman's familiar face. 

     The visitor seemed older to Pluto, despite having only seen her a month before. 

     Momma Bea was not a small woman, despite her age. She was a tall, ox of a lady, with broad shoulders that filled the frame of Pluto's door, and weathered hands that displayed her years of handwork on the farms. Bea had golden eyes, which used to spark with life and laughter. However, this year had been hard and cruel, causing the light to grow dimmer. It had been too long since Pluto had last seen her, she thought to herself, chiding her negligence in the depths of her mind. 

     "What brings you to my door?" Pluto said sweetly, embracing the woman in a drawn-out hug. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She could feel the pain gurgling up in the pit of her stomach. Pluto quickly dropped the hug and pushed the feelings back down into the darkness where they would stay, for however long she could hold them back.

     Momma Bea shook her head, her tight, greying curls bouncing with a labored sway. "Honey, I don't think I need a reason to visit you," she smirked, "but, I did want to swing by to wish you luck this afternoon. And," Pluto watched as Bea rummaged through the ragged pockets in her coat, "gift you with this."

     Carefully, Bea's dark, weathered fingers produced something small from the vastness of her coat pockets, offering the trinket to Pluto. 

     Pluto's trembling fingers outstretched to the old-fashioned brass locket that swung gently out from Momma Bea's fingers, collecting the morning sun's rays and shooting arches of gold across her cheeks.

     "This was mine, honey," she stepped forward, pressing the locket into Pluto's palm with an intensity to her dimmed eyes. "I'd like you to have it."

      Pluto stared down at the precious gift, wanting to refuse it; Pluto knew what it was and it seared against her hand like a brand. "Oh, Momma Bea I couldn't—"

     "—You can and you must. I insist."

     Pluto's brow hardened, finding she couldn't produce any tears for the occasion, though she really wanted to cry. Pluto had all but used up all her tears in the past month. Running her thumb over the smooth, bronze oval surface, Pluto nodded and thanked Momma Bea. "Thank you, I'll wear it for good luck."

      "Oh, I wouldn't put that much pressure on Onyx. You and I know he didn't have the best luck when he was alive." She managed to chuckle at the end of those words, which was surprising to Pluto. She hadn't even been able to utter his name, let alone laugh at his misfortunes.

     Momma Bea noticed the sting in her words and quickly apologised. "I'm sorry, honey. I meant no bad memories. I'll be on my way now, just wanted to stop by and drop that off before opening the store for some last minute Reaping purchases."

      "You're open today?" 

      Momma Bea nodded, a tired nod that seemed to pain her joints as she did it. "Yeah, people still need food, even on the Reaping."

       "You be careful out there then," Pluto sighed, leaning slightly out the door as the old woman waved off her words, making her way towards the cobbled stone streets where people of all shapes and sizes were flittering about, preparing for the big day ahead. Momma Bea leaned on her cane, shoulders hunched with defeat.

      Pluto watched the retreating figure of Momma Bea until she was just a blot in the dirty streets. For a moment, Pluto wished she could just stand there forever, wait for the Reaping to pass and, then perhaps, live the rest of her life as a living statue.

      That would be nice. 

     "It's time, Pluto." Her mother's voice was guarded, but soft as she lightly placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, pulling her from the doorway and closing the screen door tightly behind the two of them. "I've laid out some things for you on your bed. I know how you like to dress yourself, so feel free to wear whatever you think best."

     Pluto kept her eyes down on the floorboards, afraid that if she met the gaze of her mother or brother she would lose her composure. She had never claimed to be a very brave girl. The fear of the Hunger Games struck her to her very core. 

      On her bed, her mother had laid out a stretchy, white cotton dress that buttoned up from the waist and had soft, eyelet sleeves that capped off at the shoulders. It was a very pretty dress, perhaps the prettiest thing that Pluto had to her name. Pluto squeezed herself into it, finding that she had gotten a bit bigger since the last Reaping.

      A lump formed in the girl's throat as she felt the bronze necklace in her palm. Sucking in a trembling breath, Pluto slipped the locket over her head and cradled the oval trinket against her chest. She pressed her finger against the clasp, pausing only moment at the thought of the pain it would bring to see it, but giving in to temptation as she often did.

      With very little effort, the little door of the bronze locket swung open to reveal him. Onyx. Looking no older than the day she had fallen in love with him, his face smiled up at her in the weathered photograph.

      Two hot tears streaked down her cheeks and splattered onto her collarbones as she snapped the locket shut, sniffling and rubbing vigorously at her cheeks. 

       She was wrong, it seemed. She did have more tears to cry.

     ♇

     The soft morning air had turned hot and sticky. Pluto picked at her eyelet sleeves, feeling slick with sweat. Whether from nerves or the heat, she couldn't be sure. She focused her attention on the silk blue ribbon she'd added to her dress, eyed the stitching and corrected her work in her mind. Pluto had saved a fortnight's rations for the ribbon and thread, she recalled ominously. Whenever she had enough sewing materials, even if just to patch a hole in Bronx's work trousers, it was a joy.

     This dress in particular was special; she'd rejuvenated it over and over throughout the years. It was her Reaping dress, her party dress, and it was--had been, she thought mournfully, her date dress. Onyx loved the colour blue.

     The Capital's anthem yanked her away from those thoughts.

     Pluto wanted to run. Run far away. However, she hadn't been very good at getting around the last few months, and her feet were a bother to her. Pluto knew she'd be dead in the water if picked for the games. And, by the looks of the other girls in her section, the section for seventeen-year-olds, the other girls were thinking the same thing. There was always a fright during this time. Anyone could be called, though some had worse chances than others. 

     The poorer you were, the lower your chance of survival. Pluto picked at her pinkie nail, brow furrowed. The Millers were poor, not the poorest of course, but this year was a hard one and they were struggling.

      Pluto reached up to fidget with the wooden pins in her hair that somehow managed to tuck back her coarse mane into a stylish up-do. Her mother had always done the best she could to make her daughter look nice, just in case she was picked to be broadcast on live television across the whole nation of Panem. 

      Not wanting to ruin her mother's work, Pluto forced her hands to her sides and instead played with her fingers once more, barely listening to the Panem promotional video that played every year to celebrate the Reaping. 

      Before long, the video was over and Pluto was yanked from her terrorising thoughts and into the very real reality of the Reaping by the escort of District Eleven, Trudy Turnpike. She was a small woman with dyed yellow skin and emerald tattoos that branched up the sides of her arms and peaked at the base of her neck. For a moment, Pluto watched the way her skin danced, as if it was a painting of trees in the wind. 

      "Welcome, District Eleven, to another exciting Reaping! I hope you all are as thrilled as I am to see who will be representing us in the Forty-First Hunger Games! I am absolutely thrilled! Just thrilled."  

      Pluto wondered how many times the escort could slip the word thrilled into her speech. 

      "Now, time for the drawing. May the odds be ever in your favour, District Eleven!" Two large, glass bowls filled with small, white slips of paper were slowly, ceremoniously, carted onto the midst of the stage as Trudy Turnpike beamed, adjusting her matching green hair as it did. 

      Pluto could almost taste the anxiety around her. She was in the second to last group of girls to have their names in the drawing. This was almost the last time, the very last time, and then they would be finished. Done. 

      It was thrilling.

      A light hand touched Pluto's arm as Trudy took her time making the most of the ceremonial pulling of the name. Pluto jolted in surprise, not really aware of anyone she knew being around her. The girl who had touched her, unfamiliar to Pluto, offered her a small, nervous smile. "Sorry for scaring you. I just, well," Pluto knew the tone in her voice as the girl's grey eyes dropped to the floor before she continued, "well, just good luck."

      "Good luck to you too."

       "Ah, here we are," Trudy proudly clapped, as if the Peacekeeper, who had wheeled the cart full of names onto centre stage, had done some grand performance. "As usual, ladies will be selected first."

      Pluto felt her stomach roll, lightly placing a hand on it and taking a deep, steadying breath. It would be over soon. She took another deep breath, her heart racing as Trudy took her time. Her nerves were on fire.

      Another breath, and then, Trudy's voice spoke from the microphone, amplified across the entire District Eleven, and across the entire nation of Panem. 

      "The female Tribute for District Eleven is... Pluto Miller!"

       Head snapped back and forth, eyes immediately seeking her out as she stood, shell-shocked and tight-lipped in the back of the crowd. Pluto took another breath, trying not to cry on live television. 

      Pluto thought maybe she'd heard wrong. Maybe she'd dreamed it was her name and some other, sorry girl was chosen instead. Her heartbeat echoed with a whoosh in her ears. More and more eyes turned to face her, looking at her in panic, in worry, in despair, in relief. There would be no volunteer tribute.

       "That's, oh my, that's not you," the girl gasped beside Pluto. "I'm, I'm so sorry." 

      Pluto ignored the girl, hardly even hearing her words as Trudy Turnpike called her name once more. "Pluto Miller?" Pluto felt hands softly push her towards the stage, towards her fate, as she tried to find her feet.

       For a moment, just a small one, she had forgotten how to walk. One person pushed Pluto too hard and she toppled to the hard, stone floor. People cleared away from her, as if she were a plague.

      The pain of the hard cobblestone on her hands and knees sent another wave of shock through Pluto, showing her that yes it was real. Pluto wanted to throw up, to cry, to scream, but as she felt the helping hands of Peacekeepers hauling her to her feet, she realised that there was nothing that she could do.

      Pluto Miller was a Tribute. 

     "Ah, here she comes!" Trudy Turnpike cheered, trying to get the crowd to cheer along. However, no one in District Eleven made a sound as Pluto was carted up onto the stage by the two, rough Peacekeepers. 

      "Had a bit of a spill, did you?" Trudy grinned wide, eyes sizing up Pluto's frame, her smile flickering off her face for a moment before reappearing with a faux excitement. "U-hh, on to the next thrilling, er, male Tribute!"

      Pluto bit her bottom lip, feeling flushed and hot under the blinding lights and cameras. Her eyes flickered from the stone faces of the crowd to the way Trudy struggled to pull another name from the boy's bowl. She watched as the cameras zoomed in on her, making a special pause to get a good look at District Eleven's new tribute.

      "Cinnamon Troponin!"

       Pluto held back the bile that kept threatening to overspill as she stood beside Trudy, the dark image of a small, young man that was certainly much younger than herself, climbing up the stage to nervously shake her hand and stand beside Pluto. She wasn't sure how old he was, probably fourteen or so, but as she shook his hand she could feel a strength in his dark, calloused fingers. 

      "Your Forty-First Hunger Games Tributes for District Eleven, everyone!" 

      Pluto watched as the boy took her hand and hoisted it in the air, a large, dopey grin on his lips. Confused at why he was acting so excited, Pluto swallowed the lump in her throat and turned her gaze to the image of the dead quiet crowd, forcing a watery smile on her face. 

      From the back of the crowd, Pluto was almost sure she could see Momma Bea crying.

      Inside Pluto, her unborn son kicked in protest of the way his mother's heart was beating so fast.

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so, it's probably not my best, but yeah! 

the hunger games fanfic is back !

I'm aiming for this book to be 30 chapters... i can do thirty chapters