Another Foxface POV story, I'm sorry to say. It just wouldn't get out of my mind!! But this one is different, I think... If not, well, just ignore it. Please don't flame me! Fire is hot.

Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins, therefore I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters. Shocking, I know.

Reviews are greatly appreciated! I also like constructive criticism... My lone brain cell needs company. Truly, I didn't think I would publish this story. But I just started writing and, well... Here is the result of my twisted thoughts!

Chapter 1: Madness

Madness: The state of being mad; insanity.

Senseless folly.

Intense excitement or enthusiasm.

The above quality is highly lacking in most people of Panem. Those that are mad, are usually slow and have few mental capabilities. There are a select few, however, that have embraced the quality.

I was born with it. I had earned the reputation of being 'strange' in District 5 by the time I was nine, and at twelve, I had abandoned my name for one more fitting to my person, as I put it. No, Hazel Valentine was too pretty a name for me. So I chose my own.

Now I am known in my small circle of friends as Spork. They were all I could think about for a month, so I scrawled the word onto every item of clothing I owned. Then my mother put a tiny spork on a chain for me and wore it everywhere I went.

I can feel the cold metal on my neck now, as I sneak through the dark streets towards my friend's house. I broke the lock on her bedroom window last time I visited like this, so there was no problem getting in. But, to avoid being impolite, I merely tap on the window to wake her up.

"Nara!" I whisper. The window creaks open to reveal a short, rabbit-like shadow. Nara's chocolate pigtails were messy, poking out at odd angles, and giving her a very comical appearance. Her eyes were droopy with sleep.

"What is it now, Spork?" She asks tiredly.

I swing my legs onto the windowsill and sit there in a frog-like position. People think it's uncomfortable to sit like that, but really, it's quite relaxing. And I can get up at a second's notice. "I just wanted to wish you luck," I say, grinning.

Nara scowled. "But it's three in the morning," she says, irritated. "What do you really want?"

I put my hands up innocently. "Okay, you caught me. I was actually hoping you could give me a bit of your chocolate to give to my little brother. It's his first reaping, and I want to cheer him up a bit." I also seem to be the only one in town that isn't fazed by the looming Hunger Games.

My reason for this is, what's the point in worrying? You either get chosen, or you don't. Nothing you do can change that. Unless someone volunteers, of course. But then that's their choice. I don't really care, because you never get out of this world alive, anyway.

Nara drags a palm down her face. "You couldn't have waited until sunrise at least?" She asks.

"But it's still morning," I counter.

Nara disappears into the darkness of her room. I hear a sigh as she re-emerges, holding a small bar of chocolate. She didn't care much about Noah, or even myself for that matter. She only does these things to get me out of her hair.

I take the chocolate gratefully and, with a small "Thanks," I fall backwards out of the window. I land on my hands and propel myself back onto my feet, then shove the bar into my pocket and start cartwheeling towards my house.

==#==

I am furiously trying to adjust the bow on my dress as I walk out the door and into the Square. My mother insists that the soft brown material compliments my eye colour, but I think it looks like something large and creepy took a dump on me. I hate frilly dresses. Actually, I don't much like wearing dresses a all.

I wish I could wear my trousers, rather than this ugly thing. But, rules are rules. Of course, I would break the rules more often if it didn't mean a death sentence. So I just sit back and do as I'm told. I obey the Capitol like a mindless zombie. According to them, we commoners shouldn't be given minds of out own.

We sign in and enter the Square, my mother standing off to the side. My two brothers and I are herded into roped off areas containing out age groups. I give Noah a small reassuring wave as I take my place with the other fourteens. I ignore Sage, because he never does anything for me. Ever. He just stands sullenly in the area reserved for seventeen-year-olds, ghosting his way to the back.

The majority of children in any District do not get chosen at the reaping, so I'm not worried. It won't happen to me.

The clock strikes two and the mayor begins to make his speech. I zone out, staring into space and thinking of what to do for the rest of the day. It is a public holiday, after all...

My attention is brought back to the stage as Kita Jenkins reaches into the glass sphere containing the names of the boy tributes. My eyes meet Noah's terrified ones and I smile. He has even less of a chance to be drawn than I do, because he has only one entry. I have three. Not many, compared to those in the poorest parts of the District. They have taken some tesserae for their families.

The small piece of paper is smoothed out on the podium, and Kita's high, whiny voice rings in the deadly silent air.

"This year's boy trubute is... Sage Valentine!" She announces cheerily.

I nearly fall over. Sage! I think to myself. Maybe I heard wrong. Maybe Kita was lying. But when I turn, I see my brother mounting the stage. He turns to face the audience at Kita's instruction, and I can see his alarmed expression. My brother, competing in the Hunger Games. No... Sure, I didn't like him much, but he was family! I can't watch him die for the Capitol's entertainment!

I am so caught up in thoughts of my brother's well being in the Games that I almost don't hear the woman on stage read out the girl's name. And now I wish I couldn't hear.

Right now, I wish I was never born.

"Interesting... Our female tribute is Hazel Valentine!"

I can't do this.

I don't want to compete in the Hunger Games.

But what I don't realise is that my feet had already started moving towards the stage. The audience parts to let me through, and at the end of that path I see my brother. Sage. His icy glare sends shivers down my spine. I return it, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I'm already too numb to cry.

I can hear my mother give out an agonized wail, but I don't look back. I can't afford to show any emotion, because the tiniest tear in my eye will break me. I can't do this.

I step onto the stage slowly and am greeted by Kita. She looks from me to Sage, and claps joyously. "Ah, sibling rivalry at its best! You are related, I take it?" She asks.

Before I can say a word, Sage speaks. "No," He says coldly, meeting my eyes.

My eyes widen in fear. He is already trying to convince himself that we are not related. That we don't know each other. truly, we don't look related. My hair is a brilliant red while his is dark brown. His face looks like it had been carved in stone, and mine looked like a marshmallow. A weak marshmallow. The only thing we had in common was our eyes; brown with flecks of gold. But it wasn't noticeable.

"Oh," Kita says, a little less enthusiastic than before. It sickens me how much these people would love to see a close pair kill each other. "Okay then. Now shake hands!" She orders happily.

Sage looks like he would rather stick needles in his eyes, but it goes unnoticed. Instead, he holds out a large hand. I take it and try to shake, but he doesn't budge. I try once more. Still nothing. I look up to meet my brother's hard gaze. He is making me look weak in front of the entire country by not allowing me to move his hand!

Oh, no... I think, all the blood draining from my face. He isn't going to let me go if he catches me in the arena. He is going to treat me like he would any other tribute.

And there's nothing I can do. Sage is going to kill me.

I begin to smile.