Author's Note

I do not own the Hunger Games. I also don't own the quote from the summary.

Okay guys, I'm doing this! I'm starting a partial SYOT! And if you're here, you've probably got some interest in it.

So, here goes.

This is going to be a shorter story, as most of my fics generally are, told entirely from the perspective of my two tributes. This means that if you submit, your tribute may not get a lot of focus or be killed off screen. I know there are at least two other fics like this around at the moment.

In addition to this, while I've lowered the rating to a 'T' for now for better visibility, the rating will be raised to an 'M' for themes, language, and violence. This might be overkill because this is the Hunger Games and violence and death is expected. However, while I don't want to put anyone off, I also want to feel comfortable and safe myself within the site and community's guidelines.

On the other hand, the 'M' rating also means that I'm open to being submitted some darker characters. Now, I don't want twelve super dark immoral tributes, because that would be boring and most tributes are going to be normal kids (please some people submit some normal kids), but if you have got a darker character or character idea you've been wanting to submit, well, this is going to be a darker story so I'm open.

If you're still interested after all that, please visit my profile for further information, guidelines, and the submission form.

They were born less than a year apart, him first, and then her.

As they grew, they would be each other's best friends and carers. Their father left the cabin hungover in the early hours and returned drunk in the late hours. Their mother sometimes didn't come home at all, spending the night with 'Uncle Ray.' He was six and she was five when their mother came home for the last time. She screamed at their father for his drunkenness, and he screamed back for her cheating, and they watched the door swing closed.

She never came back.

Their father continued in his ways, drinking his way towards an early grave, so it was just them.

And the fairies.

And ghosts.

They were wild children, violent children, half feral monsters roaming the rolling hills and fields of the District and woodland that bordered it.

The teachers at the low, cramped stone building that served as a school for that sector of the District despaired. They were bright, intelligent, but brutal and vicious. The girls turned on her for her bizarre nature and he turned on them for their cruelty with his fists and feet. The boys turned on him for his violence and she turned on them for their hypocrisy with her teeth and nails.

The children learnt to stay away, and the adults said they weren't right, that they were wrong in the head, that their father gave them too much freedom and not enough of the fist.

They grew up alone.