Hello all!

This is my first post. I hope you like this particular fan fiction, which is based on The Hunger Games, BEFORE Katniss and Peeta's adventure. The heroine of this story is a girl named Ivory Legend, (which is a name I may use in other fan fictions as well because I just love it!). It has chapters, but because I unfortunately do not have the time to create a fully fledged novel type fiction, chapters will be shorter and fewer than the average book. However, this will have a developed plotline, and I will continue, if it goes far. I understand that there may be some similarities between characters in this fiction to characters in the original book (for example, Ella developed into a Prim like character). Trust me, this will be very different in many ways. And however it may seem, Austin is NOT like Gale. If I continue the differences will become obvious.

Hope you like it!

CHAPTER 1

The water reflects stars, gazing down like a thousand gleaming eyes. I suppose once upon a happier time people loved the stars, and the night, like I do. Now that is not so. People hide from the stars. For nowadays there is no one and nothing to trust. Not even the ever watchful black carpet of night.

The soft lining of my jacket, so pale a blue it is almost white, slides along the skin of my arms as I shrug it off. It drops into the lazily swaying grass. I glance in distaste at the delicate lace the jacket covered, black to blend into the sky, with a lining of sequins that gleam occasionally. It is a dress, long, tight and slightly translucent to show a form fitting sleeveless leotard. It is slightly worn and beat, but still in good condition, and obviously expensive. I think it used to be my mothers.

The party wasn't worth it. I should never have dug the disgusting thing out.

Without hesitation I reach back and unzip it. I breathe deeply and freely as the tight corset is loosened and removed. Though the air is chilly and my legs and arms are bare, I rip the clasp from my auburn hair, letting the wavy locks tumble out of its bun and over my shoulders, and elegantly dive into the calm water in just my thin leotard.

The icy surface is pleasantly shocking. I shiver as I twist against the current, gently blinking until I can see past a blurry sheet of solid blue.

Water is beautiful.

Despite all my troubles, I would not live in any District apart from Four.

I know this for sure.

My eyes are trained so everything is clear and bright underwater, even in the late night. I drift blissfully, as if wrapped in silk. Everything is numb and still.

When the familiar catching feeling in my throat grows insistent, I sigh in my mind and propel myself to the surface. I often wish I could run as fast as I could swim. In reality, I unfortunately fall short of even the average speed on land.

I drag myself to the bed of grass and undergrowth where I had first approached, pulling myself up and out of the river. I let myself slide back to lie down, glaring up into space. Now that my brief escape from the world had ended I can't help but think of why I came searching for sweet relief.

I had left early from a District bash, complete with food, escorts, and entertainment. I hadn't wanted to go, and for good reason. I knew what would occupy the thoughts of every girl and boy from the ages twelve to eighteen.

The reaping.

The haunting of every mind in the "lesser" Districts. The prize and pride of every Career soul.

Except for mine.

They were all excited. It was coming, again. A chance at eternal wealth and fame. A chance at a thrilling test of courage, that would result in respect from your District and a shower of affection from the Capitol.

And the price? Only twenty three lives.

I am the only one who sees it for what it is.

I live in a community of monsters.

But it is probably only because of how I was raised, and how I live, day after day after day. Alone.

All of the poor see the pampered Districts as groups of toys the Capitol can manipulate. Toys with perfect lives, plentiful food, and slackened laws.

Some of our population has just that, it's true. But their eyes seem to skim right over the small percentage of struggling families that live on the borderline of their Districts, which is mostly woods. The one's who can't support themselves. Who are left to fall in the dust. The beggars, hunters, outlaws, and handicapped. The Black Market. The orphanage, filled to the brim with unwanted children. Practically every District has this. The unbalance is a part of life, which is the only reason the Capitol allows it to continue.

In District four, we call this percentage The Brink.

I gaze down the length of the river. If one should follow it, they would eventually find a steep cliff, jagged and plentiful in shabby, unkempt grass, weeds, brambles, and other more unpleasant undergrowth. It is not too high, and not terribly hard to climb, though most don't care about what lies beyond it in any case, so they do not try. The river itself rises in a small waterfall and continues to wind through the trees at the top of the cliff.

If one were to scale it, they would find themselves walking through steadily thickening forests, dark and confusing; but soon the trees would thin and spread, to reveal The Brink.

The Brink, itself, is an appropriate name, for the population beyond District Four's unfamiliar and plentiful territory is on the brink of starvation, exhaustion, and in dire cases, death. Though we persevere, everyone knows it is true. We are the definition of desperate.

Nonetheless, I am proud of my neighbors. They are strong. And we, The Brink folk, are the only people of our district who are against what everyone else is for.

The Hunger Games.

It is the thing of dreams for most. It is a thing of nightmares for us.

I shudder as faces flash in front of my eyes.

Beth. Fourteen years old. Sweet as sugar. Caring, bright, sometimes just simply naïve. Eyes of the palest blue, paler even in contrast to her dark skin and short hair. She wouldn't last three minutes in the arena. She'd curl up in a ball and pray.

June. Thirteen. She's constantly acting older than her age, pretending to be tougher than she is, telling people she's been outside of District Four, on wild adventures…such an imagination… and yet truthfully, she's scared of her own shadow. She can only trust me with her secrets. She's tough in her own way, hiding her fears… but if she was chosen as a tribute, I don't know how long it would be until she broke down. I don't want to think about it.

Cyan. Fifteen years old. Sarcastic, smart, and snappy, with a tolerance level of zero. This is a girl who didn't put up with any nonsense. Who is as tough as nails, as cold as ice, and as thick as stone. Even her jet black hair and narrow dark eyes told people not to mess with her… yet there was something about her that made people want to feel close to her. And, if it was played right? She wouldn't push them away. She would probably last longer than most in the Games. She might even make it out. But there were far more dangerous competitors to think about.

Ella. Only twelve. She is bouncy and kind and concerned… like an energetic little puppy. She is also soft, fragile. Her long blonde hair is always twisted in an elegant braid when she is in the house and out on business, but when she isn't in sight of her mother and father, she will let it loose, and it will flow in impossibly straight, beautiful sheets… so tame compared to my own waist length, dark brown, reddish –tinged, unkempt waves. This girl is the definition of optimistic. She also has a mother, father, and little brother to think about. Because of the number of people in her household, though it may seem few, and the unfortunate conditions, her name is in the Reaping twenty times. It is almost enough to break my heart. Seeing her face, blood streaked, with a glassy, unseeing gaze…

Quinn. Seventeen. One of my closest friends. She is fairly silent, very tall, and good at hiding her emotions, though never from me. Very thoughtful, very clever. Quinn specializes in herbs and first aid. I'd learned much from her. She is also quick. I can see her doing well in the arena, though every second of every day my eyes would stare, unblinking, at the screen, daring to hope… If I could, I would volunteer in her place. I would volunteer for any of them. But it is no longer allowed in the higher class Districts. There was a clash, not too long ago, where blood was spilled over the matter. Now, whoever is chosen is chosen. There is no hope that a crazy, determined, heartless Career will come to your rescue.

In fact, in our generation…you're kidding yourself if you believe there is hope at all.

These are the few children I have come to know and love as my own family, in replacement of the one I lost seven years ago, when I was nine. It's a story I'd rather not recall. In short words… disgraceful mother who decided she was sick of us all, heartbroken father who tried his best to keep me and Rae supported, the threat of starvation hanging over our heads, and finally a sickness that rendered both my father and my sister incapable of taking care of themselves. Technically I live in the orphanage, but I find myself spending days on end under the blanket of trees around us, and next to the river. I love the river.

There are more children and families. So many more, in The Brink alone. But it is hard to get to know and trust many others when everyone is aware that we who are desperately trying to stay alive would do anything to keep themselves and their families going. Anything. Including various forms of treachery.

I have briefly met, or recognized, others from the main part of District Four as well. A connection that Quinn (who is more involved with the outer folk than the rest of us) and a richer girl bought us all invitations to a celebratory party up in town square. One that I couldn't bear to attend for longer than mere minutes. Which is how I ended up here, by the riverbed, stripped of my fancy wear and gazing into darkness, deep in thought.

Until a muffled voice behind me makes me jump and gasp.

"Ivory!" It shouts, then chortles at my expression, just barely visible in the black night. "Hah. You didn't hear me coming, did you?"

Had I forgotten to mention Austin?

Silly me.

A boy, sixteen, climbs smoothly over a rustling bush and drops to the grass next to me. His warm brown eyes are bright and cheerful, his grin easy. Messily cut, short blonde hair crowns his head. I sometimes tell people he's my brother. They can guess it isn't true, what with the fact they know the story of my family, and that we look nothing alike. But he feels like one.

"Sup?" He laughs, leaning back, like he had been there all day and was frankly bored. I shove him.

"Oh, There's just a life changing event tomorrow, that's currently dominating all the thoughts of every person in the District. Besides that, nothing much." I tease.

His eyes grow dark and serious. "Don't joke about that." He says sharply, and I blink in surprise. "I've been getting really edgy. We've all been lucky, you know? None of our group has been chosen yet. But… I have a bad feeling." He shudders, then looks at me intensely. I draw back a little, worried about his concern. "It's not going to be you." Austin says with a steely expression, but behind it there is fright.

I struggle to attempt a convincing smile. "Nah, out of all the people in our District? Four is pretty big. And the Careers are determined. Their names have been in there a million times, not because they actually need the extra grain. It's not gonna be you either." I add. "It isn't going to be anyone we care about." I wince, realizing how heartless that sounds. It's true though. Every year, an unrecognizable name is called. Every year, instead of sorrow for that person, we feel relief. Sheer, one hundred percent relief.

He smiles back, genuinely this time, and stands, holding out a hand. "C'mon. Get your jacket and dress and let's head back to The Brink."

Sunlight glares through my eyelids, turning them a reddish hue. I squint and yawn, turning over and burying my face in a meek graying pillow.

"Up and at 'em!" A voice sings, yanking thin covers from my grasp. I grumble, sitting up blearily. I blow a strand of dark hair from my face, and focus on the girl in front of me.

"Bethany Gleeson" I snap, knowing she hates it when I use her full name. "What reason could you possibly have for waking me up this early in the morning when I stumbled across your doorstep so late at night?" I often chose to crash at one of their houses instead of returning to my own bleak, bare room, or the forest floor.

She purses her lips, looking cross. "The Reaping, genius!"

I wince. Right.

I am soon standing by the door, my sun streaked hair brushed back into a tightly knotted velvet ribbon, my arms wrapped with the gossamer sleeves of a simple white gown and my face clean of dirt or smudged pencil marks (for once), making my almond shaped, electric green eyes stand out against my light skin. I finger the skirt uncomfortably with one hand, the other clenched tightly in Beth's grasp as we wait for the others. We all, even Cyan, abandon any pretense of strength and pride on this day. We all need each other.

A silhouette appears, outlined against the steadily rising sun. I nod in greeting to Quinn and June, trekking their way toward us with solemn faces. June's gaze quickly darts to mine, and her eyes are all the words I need to hear. I slip away from Beth and walk into the tiny, empty kitchen. June follows.

As I turn to face her, she relaxes her stiff expression to one of fright. Her hands clench and shake. "Ivory, I just have this feeling..."

I hold a finger to her lips. "Shh. It's okay June." I smile gently, despite the aching, empty feeling in my stomach. "I promise, it won't be you. It won't be you, or Ella, or Beth, or Quinn, or Cyan, or Austin."

"What about you?" she whispers, and I flinch inside.

"It won't be me either" I say quietly, and pull her in for a hug. I grasp her tightly, blinking back tears. None of them know.

We make our way back to the group, both of us wearing shells of composure. Everyone had arrived while we were talking.

I look around at my family, and my heart bleeds.

"Let's go." Austin says grimly.

We stand so close our shoulders brush, except for Cyan who hovers about a foot or two away, lost in thought and determined to look bored. We walk through the woods, each footstep dragging. What if one of us was literally walking to their death?

Stop Ivory. You can't afford to think like that.

I feel a tap on my hand and look up to see Austin. I know him so well I can plainly read the look he gives me.

There is something you aren't telling us.

I smile in response, trying to look as though I don't understand what he's thinking. I know he is not convinced.

I glance forward again, keeping my eyes trained on our path, toward our destination. We cannot be the only ones in the woods at this hour. All of The Brink have to reach the town square in time for the reaping. People in these parts, however, never make themselves known. We tend to be quiet, seclusive folk.

And then I my gaze drifts to Ella. Tightly gripping Quinn's hand. This will be her first time.

I feel something on my left cheek, and reach up to touch a tear. I hurriedly run my sleeve over my eye, but June has caught my movement. Her eyes widen. I don't cry. I can't cry. I have to stay strong for them.

"Something in my eye," I mutter, and she gives me a small, unfocused smile. She is already lost in other thoughts.

Too soon our feet hit gravel, and other figures slide into sight. I force myself to keep my breathing even as peacekeepers stalk purposefully toward us.

"State your names and ages and we will point you to the correct groups," one yawns, and I suppress fury. The other stands with a clipboard and a pen. There is a moment of tense silence.

"Bethany Gleeson." She steps forward, her voice cracking. The clipboard carrying peacekeeper scans the list and makes a tiny checkmark. His partner jabs a finger toward a huddle of fourteen year old girls off to the left, tightly packed and controlled by more white coated men.

She looks at me, and I nod, reaching over and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

As she melds with the crowd, Cyan steps forward. "Carly Woodsthine" She says, her voice dripping with sticky innocence. Austin pinches her hard, and she glares at him. "Fine. Cyan Rithing"

The peacekeepers stare at her with wary eyes, scribbling a note on the list, and I try not to shout at both them and the girl standing defiantly in front of them. What did she think she was playing at? Did she want to cause trouble?

She disappeared into the crowd, heading for the group described. Hopefully she would find her way.

"Next."

"Quinn Clovayn"

"Seventeen?"

"Yes" She confirmed, wearing a shaky smile

"Can't point it out from here. Look for Brigid, in the far right corner. She'll escort you"

Quinn nods and stiffly walks away. The peacekeeper switches his gaze to my little trooper.

"You?" He asks gruffly, and her eyes widen. She steps back, shaking her head. "I don't want to." She mutters. "Take me back..."

I kneel next to her. "Ella, hun? Please give the man your name. You won't get hurt, I promise." I grasp her cold hands. "I swear."

She bites her lip, then bravely steps forward and tilts up her chin. "Annabella Rye."

The pen again, scans the list, checks her name off, and motions to a nearby group of huddled twelve year olds.

Next I step up, gazing steadily but coldly into a pair of emotionless eyes. Before they can I ask, I say "Ivory Legend."

My name is checked off, and I am roughly steered into the crowd. I look back in time to see a flash of Austin's blonde hair over all the heads. I also hear his voice, shouting something unintelligible over the ruckus. I think I catch the word "name", and bite my lip.

I face forward just in time to avoid colliding with another girl, her immaculate, shiny black hair fluffed and curled to perfection, her eyes heavily outlined in sparkly eyeliner.

Usually this type would make a snide remark, or at least an indignant expression. Instead she stares tensely forward, her eyes locked on the stage, her lips dry from countless times of swiping her tongue over them. She is nervously anticipating the drawing.

I crush the impending feeling of dread in my gut, looking wildly around to try to pinpoint all of my family. I see Austin standing near the front, on the far side of a group of boys. Their knuckles crack and their eyes flash with menacing excitement. Austin leans as far from them as he dares, disgusted by their eager acceptance of this sadistic game.

Next I spot Cyan, and Beth right after. They stand relatively close to both each other and to me. I look around, but I don't see June. Ella could be nearby, but she is shorter. There is a good chance she was just hidden by the cluster of figures surrounding us, pressing in on me from all sides.

Everything seems to vibrate as the sound of a clicking microphone suddenly resonates in the air. I slowly turn my eyes toward the stage to see a woman who hadn't been there minutes before.

She was tall, but not as tall as she appeared; though in reality her height may have varied from five foot seven to six foot, she appeared stretched; her waist, arms, legs, and hips were very thin, her neck rather long, ad her blonde hair willowy and fanning behind her. It just brushed a pair of jutted shoulders. I try to look past her small black eyes, her pink, flat cheeks, and the decorative black swirls lining her complexion, but the amount of layered frills in her outfit was so plentiful I felt dizzy just glancing at it.

"Ah," she breathes into the microphone, which is turned up too loud and is far too close. I struggle not to clamp my hands over my ears. "Welcome to the sixty first annual Hunger Games! My name, as you all know, is Verta Telgrine, your Reaping host! But what we're here to find out, on this very special occasion, is your names." Verta laughs. Her voice is surprisingly clear compared to her coarse appearance. "Two of them, to be exact. But let us not rush through the ceremony!"

The Reaping drags on, as it always does. A video is shown on the origin of our Games, the rebellion of District Thirteen. A deep voice lectures on about how deadly wrong decisions can be, about how the Capitol is generous. About how we should shut up and stay in line or we'll be shot down as an example to our fellow slaves, in other words.

And then there is the speech. Though the words are different, it always sounds the same to us; Like a low buzz pounding in our eardrums, attempting to chase away the heart throbbing terror and wild thoughts. It never succeeds.

Verta flashes her painfully white teeth toward us in a smile that looks extremely unconvincing to me, but has the rest of the crowd rapidly muttering.

"And now..." she beams, drawing the moment out until my hands are closed in fists and my scrubbed, stinging fingernails are digging into the palm of my hand. "...for the drawing."

She steps up to the podium. It is so quiet the whistling of the wind is literally audible. The silence presses down, like an invisible force.

"As is customary..." she flexes her manicured fingers, "ladies first."

I blink and her hand is suddenly groping at the bottom of a clear bowl. Names are piled high, most of hopeful, heavily outlined, careful handwriting. The other portion is filled with slips of barely intelligible, purposefully light labels, a remnant of hope that it will be unreadable and returned.

A crinkle echoes as her hand snags on a messily folded square of parchment. She lifts it up out of the death bowl, and pries it carefully open.

Squinting, she reads, over exaggerating each consonant.

"Ivory, Legend!"

I stare uncomprehendingly at the stage. Why was she saying my name? She should stop wasting time and get on with the Reaping.

And then it hits me, as reddening faces lined with fury and envy turn toward where I stand.

I force myself not to shake, to stay stiff. My eyes harden to fragments of green ice, my face wiping over like a slid mask.

I make myself take a step, and it seems to pound into my skin and soul, rebounding off of everything, growing louder and louder, until it fills my ears and I am convinced it is cruel laughter.

I swallow hard, and am about to continue when I feel a jerk on my arm.

I turn, breathing unevenly, and stare into the eyes of Cyan. She has grasped my wrist, and is for once, struggling to gain composure. I am surprised at a show of emotion. The corners of her lips tense, then curl. Her eyes flash with something I couldn't catch. Then she has let go, and I try to smile in reassurance.

I fail.

"Move." a voice growls suddenly, making me jump. A peacekeeper stands behind me, prodding my back with his gun. A shiver travels down my spine, like tricking water, and I start numbly forward.

"No!" a small voice cries unsteadily. There is a brief disturbance in the grouping of people, and Ella tumbles into the clear, her face tear tracked. "Wait!"

"Ella, get back with the others." I say soothingly, relieved to find my voice steady. "It's okay."

"But you can't go! Make them choose again!" Her hands find my sleeve and she grips it, trying to hold on as the peacekeeper urges me forward. He signals to his partners, and they start forward.

I stop. "Ella, go back please, it's fine, everything is going to be fine" I plead loudly, speaking over her as she tries to say something. I hear June as well, a little bit away, struggling to keep it together. They were so strong.

I wish I had warned them, but I hadn't wanted them to worry. I didn't actually consider it happening. Both were mistakes.

The crowd parts again and Austin and Quinn appear. She leans down and slides her arms around Ella, steering her away as she shouts. Austin whispers to her, but his gaze is locked on me. By this time I am too far away to see what is in his eyes.

I am forced up the stairs and onto the stage. Traditionally the female tribute stays to see her District partner, but seeing the potential ruckus Verta waves me on into the Justice Building, beaming.

"And now," she calls her voice behind me as I hurry toward the building, "for the male-"

She is cut off as the door slams. The sound echoes in the sudden silence, and I feel a wave of a feeling that I can't quite pinpoint...something in between terror, dread, and oddly relief.

At least it was me and not them.

The peacekeepers keep me moving, until I come to a small room with blank metal walls and a small couch. I gaze at it until one shoves me forward onto it.

"Wait here," they command, and turn back to the open door.

They are about to stalk through when Austin tumbles in. My blood runs cold, but his next words dismiss my inference that he had been chosen.

"How many times was your name in the Reaping?" He demands loudly, walking over and leaning close to me. I bite my lip and avoid his gaze, "how many times, Ivory?"

He grabs my shoulders and shakes them roughly. I look up at him, then close my eyes.

"Fifty six," I shrug, and his deep eyes flash with shock. White gloved hands pull him back, veering toward the door, but he fights to get to me.

"I could have helped!" He shouts, and something wet glistens on his cheek. I stare. "I could have shared the tesserae! You wouldn't be-"

He is successfully pulled through the door, and I hear a rough slamming noise and a short muffled gasp. My heart leaps and I pray he hasn't been injured. Or worse.

His unfinished words linger in my mind as I gaze unblinkingly and distant at the floor. I wait for what I know is coming.

I would release myself, would break down and sob pathetically, but there are cameras for sure nestled in these walls. I will not show weakness. They want a reaction.

Instead I turn my cold eyes to the ceiling and let my face fall blank. I am a shell. I am seemingly unbreakable, yet already broken.

Until visitors are permitted.

As the door opens and I see the dirt streaked crumpled faces of my neighbors I lose all resolve and rush to meet them. It is not like Austin, who understands. Ella and June and Beth and even Cyan can only comprehend the fact that I am leaving.

And I, though I may try, don't expect I shall return.

I hold Ella's small, thin frame in my arms, ruffling her silky blonde hair and wiping away her tears with my coarse thumb. "Hey," I manage to grin. "You're okay. You're my little trooper."

She nods numbly, and I rest my chin on her head for a moment, then turn away to June and Beth, who have wet eyes but dry cheeks.

I hug them both, though June is almost my height and I have to lean up a little to reach her. I stroke Beth's dark fingers and ruffle her hair. She laughs, but the sound is flat and heavy. June looks practically dead. Her skin is pale, her eyes dim. I lock my gaze on her and send her a silent message through my expression. "Everything is going to be fine."

Except it's not. Not for me.

I approach Cyan, and hold out a hand. She takes it, trying not to grip too tightly or show signs of distress. "Take care Legend."

"You too Rithing." I grin. "Work on your aim. You do want to catch food right? Not scare it away?"

We look at each other for a moment, silent. Then, she wraps her arms around me and buries her head in my shoulder. I curl my hands around her black hair, surprised and choked by this sudden un-Cyan like affection.

She backs away from me, looking ruffled and distressed. I fail at returning a smile.

Quinn steps up next and we fall into a perfectly fit hug, her face serious and solemn, but masking any heavy sadness or fear.

"It's only for a little while," she murmurs, holding my cold hands in hers, "and then you'll be back and everything will be the same as always."

I stare at her, my eye tracing over her weary face, following the creased lines and crinkled eyes, the stiffness of her bones, the thin line that represents her chapped lips pressed together, her few freckles dark against her whitened face... And yet hope lingers in her eyes, desperate, pleading, hungry hope.

I look around at the faces of my comrades. I look down at my weathered hands.

Could they ever possibly tighten around the neck of a human being? A living, breathing soul, a beating heart, most likely with a family back home?

For the people standing around me, they would. I think.

"Yeah." I smile, hoping the lie doesn't linger obviously as the words slip from off my tongue. "I'll be back soon."

The peacekeepers suddenly return in the doorway, hustling through and pulling my loved ones back. "Survive!" I shout to them before the doors shut tightly and I am left with only the company of my echoing word.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!

-Caxis