So this is my first fanfiction :D But I am crap at writing so please review and give me some advice on the story :3

My eyes flutter open as I wake from the deep sleep which had engulfed me. I try to recollect the dream I was having, no such luck, the only thing I know is that it wasn't one of the usual nightmares which riddles my mind every night. My eyes adjust to the light, scanning the ceiling looking for its familiar quirks: the damp patch in the corner; the cracks which litter the off-white canvas; the crayon marks from trying and failing to draw stars; and the initials of every person who owns the Daly name. If I wake from a horrifying nightmare, I look at these initials and try to put a name to all of them, this calming me down enough to go back to sleep. I stretch my tiny body out, what seems like every bone in my body cracking. No matter how hard I try to forget all I can think of is that today is the day, The Reaping. Some say it is a day to celebrate; the only the Capitol says this, the place which started all this up; it's a place filled with people who have gone under the surgical knife so much that you can't tell if there is anything natural; people who find it odd if you don't have multicolored clothes and make-up which looks like war paint; people who enjoy the Hunger Games and find it acceptable that kids die every year, the bloodier the better; people who's children are safe from the wrath of the Hunger Games. Just the thought of these people is enough to fill me with anger. On the other hand, for other people from the Districts, it is a day of fear; preparing for the possibility that they or someone close to them will be chosen; preparing for the either celebrating that they haven't been chosen or hiding from the world, trying to figure out how they will survive if their loved one is killed; preparing for the fact that perhaps the odds will not be in their favor.

Today is my first reaping, and to say I was a bit nervous would be a big understatement; my name will be put seven times into the bowl which controls every girl's life in the district. At the age of twelve, a few lucky children would only have their name in once but for the rest of us who have mouths to feed, we have to get tesserae with the cost of one name slip. It's a cruel way of controlling us but the Capitol know that we are too poor and helpless to stand up to them. Even with the tesserae I still have to get up every morning to work in the orchard. I do this all day, every day, ever since I was five; I've only had about a month off work in total. People say I work too hard, that I'm only twelve and should be relaxing more, but how can I? I have five tiny mouths to feed and they would all starve if I didn't. Even though mother works full time, the amount of money she gets paid wouldn't be enough to feed our family and I would rather die than watch mother take a second job or some of the younger siblings do work. I have told them not to work until they are ten years old at least, and I have forbidden them to under no circumstances take tesserae once they are twelve. If I get reaped then I don't know what will happen to my family, I made a pact with my friend that if one of us gets reaped and doesn't return then A quarter of their earns should go to their dead friends family, I hope she'll keep this pact.

I lie there for a few minutes, gathering the strength to get up; in the last few minutes my bed has multiplied in comfort and warmth, it's as if it is doing this on purpose to make me stay. I can hear the peaceful, heavy breathing coming from the other five children in the room; a soft snore coming from one. I can remember each one of them being born as if it was yesterday; the screams of my mother, her face contorted in pain as each child pops out; the clean scent of the hospital, the crispness of the white sheets, and the sound of beeping, babies crying and the burble of friendly chat. I remember seeing each one of my sisters' and brothers' faces for the first time and being overcome with joy; Each of those days cannot be compared to anything else, each day filled which the aura of new life. Another baby is on the way, in fact twins, a boy and a girl; it's as if mum is a mass production industry like District 3 or District 8. She laughs whenever I tell her this, she never laughs anymore so on the rare occasion she does it's like a spell, transfixing us on the spot as the melodic sound washes over us; everything seems to brighten and I can almost believe that everything is going to be alright. I finally decide to get up, and trying not to step on any stray fingers or toes, get ready for the day; shorts, sandals and a t-shirt, just like normal. Just as I'm about to leave I hear a faint whisper from Bailey, my youngest sister, a see she's crying. "Rue, Rue, please don't die Rue, please don't die." I tip-toe over and stroke her tiny head, it breaks my heart when any of my siblings cry, especially Bailey; "I'm not going to die Bailey, it's just a nightmare." I sing her the lullaby which mum used to sing to us when we couldn't sleep; I can feel her muscles calming down as I stroke her head and her breathing slows down. I brush away her wisps of hair and kiss her on the forehead, her face once more in a tranquil state. I tip-toe through the house quietly and let myself out through the front door, closing it slowly behind me.

The sun peaks through the leaves of trees in the orchard creating a mottled pattern on the ground. I can hear the mocking jays' singing their sweet sound in the trees. I love it in the morning – the crispness of the new day; the calmness of the orchard. I can't help but forget the pain of everyday life when I am in the orchard; I even forget the Hunger Games. I feel free out here; collecting the food is therapeutic in a way and the mocking jays and I sing to each other this little tune I taught them; the orchard is like a second home to me. If heaven was even half as tranquil as the orchard, I would embrace death with open arms. "You're daydreaming again aren't you?" The familiar voice snaps me out of my trance though I can't see where it has come from. A sudden object flies from the sky and smashes against my head, the pain instant; I see a bruised apple lying on the ground. I look up to see my friend Amaya hanging from an apple tree, a basket of apples sitting beside her; "thanks a lot," I say, giving a slightly hostile laugh while rubbing my head, "and you're going to get in trouble for that apple". Amaya jumps down from the tree, landing lightly on her feet; "they won't miss one apple" she laughs, winking. You can't stay mad at Amaya, she's just one of those people who everyone loves, always a smile on her face; she can wrap her finger around any person in the district, getting anything she wants at a bat of her eyelashes. We chat about the events of the past week as we gather the apples, there's an unanimous consent to not mention the reaping; Amaya has lost a brother and sister to the reaping leaving her as an only child so it's a touchy subject for her.

We stop working at lunch time and split to get ready for the reaping, agreeing to meet up at the square. I get a small lunch of an apple and a glass of milk, and get dressed in my best clothes for the reaping; mother has laid out a dress which blends from gold to green, it is obviously new as all our clothes are normally dull and could be compared to rags. I get my brothers and sisters ready, even though they won't be in the reaping. We all walk down to the square, all seven of us; in any other District we would be out of place, looking like a mini army but in District 11, there are multiple families who have more than six children, the hunger shows in their faces. The square is already starting to fill up; I leave my family at the back and join the twelve year old section, searching for Amaya. I see her at the back of the section, waving at me; I skip over to join her, greeting her with our usual secret handshake we made when we were three. The feeling of butterflies creeps into my stomach, making me feel queasy; I can see my sickness reflected on Amaya, her face I sickening green. My attention moves towards the screen which is currently showing the emblem; so many people hate this emblem, it represents so much pain and suffering in Panem; no-one speaks as the people look at the emblem, the only sound you can hear is the shuffling of everyone going into their place. The clock chimes twice signaling the start of the reaping. The District 11 representative, Chriselda Beltrisari, walks onto the stage; her cherry red wig bouncing as if it has a mind of it's own. She is always too extravagant and cheery, it gets annoying after the first few minutes; she greets the district and sits down at the front of the stage. The mayor then comes, introduces himself and reads the history of Panem. You could hear a pin drop in the square today, the tension hangs stiff in the air. After the mayor's speech, he introduces the District 11 victors, Chaff and Seeder; these victors will personally mentor the two chosen tributes this year, as they do every year. I wonder how they don't go insane as every year the tributes they mentor die. The mentors from the other districts resort to alcohol and drugs after becoming victorious to hide the emotional scarring of the games; I don't want to turn out like that ever.

Chriselda comes back to the microphone; it's time to choose this year's tributes. You can tell her smile is just a front; what must she feel every time it comes to choosing the tributes. Knowing that you have the fate of every child's life in your hands, that with which ever slip you pick, you will be condemning a child to pain and suffering. "Boys first, I think," she says, sticking her hand into the bowl; she fumbles around the slips and draws out a slip with a flourish. Everyone is holding their breath; the only sound is the slight humming of the electrical equipment. "Thresh Garland!" A piercing wail erupts from one of the girls in my section; I turn around to see the poor girl fall to the ground sobbing. Thresh walks up to the stage, a determined look in his eye; I'm impressed he hasn't turned around to see the girl, perhaps he wants to stay emotionless for the camera. He is well built, has dark skin and looks like the kind of guy whose stare could kill you. I wouldn't want to be his competitor. He shakes hands with the mayor and victors and takes his seat.

"And now for the girls." Chriselda says as she sticks her hands into the bowl again and draws out a slip with a flourish. Again it is silent as she slowly chooses which slip to draw out. I realize now that I don't want to know who is picked; I grab Amaya's hand, squeezing it so hard that I am probably causing her pain. I try to block out the words which have started to form on Chriselda's lips but I can't help but listen.

"And the female tribute is Rue Daly!"