A/N: So I came to a conclusion that there should be a Brittana/Hunger Games fic, and since I couldn't find one, I decided to write it myself. The chapters are going to alternate from first person Brittany to first person Santana because I wanted to tell both of their stories, but also stick to Suzanne Collins's style of writing. That's also why I wrote it in present tense. Enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 1: District 1, Reaping

Brittany

I'm lying in my bed with my eyes tightly shut. The warm sun reddens my eyelids and I know that the time has come for me to get out of bed. But I don't want to. I don't want to face today.

Today is the day that I've been dreading my entire life. The day that I've been vigorously trained for from my first step as a toddler to today, fifteen years later as a seventeen-year-old. I was to grow up to be like my parents—a glorious victor of District 1. I am to bring honor to our district, to continue the long line of triumphs over the other districts. But doing so would mean to kill innocent human beings. Innocent teenagers who haven't yet had the chance to begin their lives. Although, from what I hear about the other districts, I'm not sure that they would even want to.

District 1 is one of the wealthier districts, though not nearly as wealthy as the Capitol, of course. We produce all of the luxury items for the Capitol. Diamonds, other precious gems, jewelry. And since we're the district that brings the Capitol the things that they love most, we receive the best treatment out of all of the districts.

In that sense, we're by far the most fortunate. Rumors tell that the other districts live in terrible poverty and have to provide things like lumber and coal for the Capitol, which must be much harder work than making jewelry. We do have our miners in this district, of course, who retrieve the precious gems, but they are the lowest in the social pyramid and nowhere near the victors. My father and mother make a habit of spitting on the miners when they pass them by. They even gave them a cruel "nickname" which has caught on and has been used by other upper class citizens—Garbageers. Because they're nothing but worthless garbage to them.

In that sense, we, the victors and their children, are the luckiest of all. But in another sense, we're also the most miserable. There are some of us who don't mind it so much. They try to wire us to despise, to yearn to destroy the other tributes, and it works for some. But it didn't for me. I always end up thinking about the lives of the other tributes, or the lives that they had before those were mercilessly snatched away from them. I think about their families and their facial expressions when they see me pull my knife out of their daughter's chest. I think about how they will forever remember my face and seek revenge. How they will never forgive me, how I will never forgive myself, for something that was entirely out of my control.

And then there's the possibility that I won't win. The likelihood that today will be the last day that I spend in District 1. There was the very probable possibility that I would die in that arena.

I've wished many times that I were born into a different family. I would have preferred to grow up poor with a family that loved me rather than grow up wealthy with a family that literally only wants me alive if I bring glory to the district. A family that would make their only daughter volunteer to die.

The door of my room creaks open and my mother's boots click into the room. "Brittany! Wake up! Today's the big day!"

I reluctantly open my eyes to find her powdered face looming over me. She has the typical face of a victor—skin pulled tightly and lips overly plump due to collagen. Everything about her screams, "Rich! Wealthy! Money! Fortune! Look at me, I'm the victor from District 1! Behold and bow down to Shimmer Pierce!"

I cough a little at the sharp and powerful smell of her perfume as she straightens her back to give me space to stand up. As I do, my face entirely unenthusiastic, she brings my chin up with a long nail so that I'll look her straight in the eyes. "Now where's that smile we've been working on? You need to look absolutely perfect for the reaping!"

The tips of my lips pull into a halfhearted and somewhat sarcastic smile. I have this terribly sour feeling in my stomach. I keep asking myself the same question over and over again—when the time comes, will I kill or let myself be killed? Neither option seems very appealing.

The one thing that comforts me is the knowledge of how powerful I am. I may be a girl, but I'm stronger and faster than any boy who's been trained for the Hunger Games. I can sprint for miles with a hundred pound weight on my back. Maybe I can run and hide in the arena until they all kill each other.

My mother shoves me out of the room and into the shower. "Make sure you scrub in all the little places! You want to leave an impression!"

I turn to look at her and she slams the door in my face. Ugh. So typical of her.

I strip out of my pajamas and step into the shower. Whenever I turn on the water in the shower, I take a moment to thank whoever is up there for letting me have warm water. So many people don't. And those who do take it for granted. But I appreciate every little thing in my life. Maybe because I've always known that my life will most likely be over before I turn eighteen.

My thoughts turn to my mother again. There's just no way that she's always been this bubbly and feminine. I mean, she won the Hunger Games. She had to be tough at some point in her life. She's ruthless, yes. That I've always seen. I don't have a hard time imagining her carelessly chopping off heads. But how is it that she didn't get killed first?

After scrubbing in all the little places, I step out of the shower and begin to dry myself off with a soft towel. I unfold the dress that my mother had picked for me and lift it before me. I cringe and gasp at the same time, which probably makes me look like a moronically incompetent squirrel. What is that?

It looks like a cross between a poodle and a whale. It's a disgusting shade of gold that will look awful with my skin, and its shoulders are so sharp that it looks like it could poke someone's eye out. From the pointy shoulders dangle long links of gold rings, which connect to each other in the back. Its hem won't even reach my knees, and the dress poofs out beneath the waist so that it looks like the wearer of the dress is a floating gold ball of doom.

I sigh deeply and shake my head. Not only am I volunteering for my death today, but I also have to look like a ridiculous ostrich when I do it.

I carefully slip it on, trying not to get impaled by the shoulders. It fits tightly around my chest; too tightly for my liking. After struggling with the zipper in the back, I turn around to face the mirror and evaluate the catastrophe.

It's even more appalling than I imagined. The dress is too short for my lengthy body, which means that if I even bend down just slightly, all of District 1 along with anyone who's watching on television will get a lovely view of my glorious sitting pillows.

Before I can peel the disgusting dress off of me and tell my mother that there's no way that I'm wearing it, she bursts into the bathroom and squeals delightedly as she sees me. "Oh, Brittany, you're perfect!"

"Mother—"

"Shush, shush, no speaking! Remember, tough and beautiful, that's what you are! There's no need for simple and petty words when you're about to win the 68th Hunger Games!"

I glare at her. Her blonde curls bounce around happily as she pulls me out of the bathroom and back to my room. She forcefully sits me down on a decorated chair in front of a mirror and begins to alter my hair to her liking. I gaze at her in the mirror as she mercilessly pulls on my hair. She's exactly what they want at the Capitol. An insignificant tribute who becomes one of them. Well, I won't. Even if I win, I'll never become one of them.

"All ready!" she skips around joyously and I stare at myself in the mirror. If I thought that I looked horrible before, it was nothing compared to now.

My hair is curled to the point that it just looks utterly ridiculous. Precious gems of different colors make up a hairband that is firmly latched onto my head. I look like some creature from some horror movie, like the ones that my parents told me that they show in the Capitol.

My mother pulls me out of the chair and drags me down the stairs to the kitchen. My father, the infamous Glint Pierce, is sitting at the dining table, reading a newspaper. When we enter, he looks up and his mouth stretches into a grin. "There's my perfect little baby girl."

I roll my eyes and sit down across from him at the table. He's only "loving" when he wants something from me. And at this moment, he wants me to bring glory and honor to our family. To serve a reason for him to continue to say our family's motto: "We're Pierce and we're fierce!" What an idiotic motto, really.

My mother hurriedly serves us breakfast, all the while muttering, "Happy day! Happy day!"

I pick up my fork and push my food around the plate. I'm really not hungry. In fact, I feel like I'm about to puke my guts out. I guess that's what happens when you know that you're facing a death sentence.

"Let's go, Brittany, eat, eat, eat! You want to be nice and full for the reaping! You can't faint on the stage in front of everyone!"

"I'm not hungry, Mother."

"Oh, it's alright, Shimmer, soon she'll have some quality Capitol food to munch on," my father's unnaturally aligned teeth are revealed once again as he smiles proudly. "You'll enjoy every bit of it, Brittany, I promise."

Yeah, that's very likely. I drop my fork on the table and look everywhere except at my parents. I have a feeling that if I see their delighted facial expressions, then I might really throw up.

After breakfast, my parents and I begin to make our way out of the house and to District 1's Justice Building. We walk through the Victor's Village, which is composed of a horseshoe of blindingly white houses that wrap around a small park and pond. As we walk past the houses, we come to the training arena, where the children get trained to become Careers.

District 1's Justice Building is a tall marble structure with great pillars and glossy walls. Before it stands a large platform, on which a podium has been placed. On the podium is the symbol of the Capitol, a sort of eagle whose feet clutch onto a batch of arrows. Two glass balls sit on either side of the podium. Before the platform is a sea of District 1's eager and not-so-eager citizens.

"Alright, Brittany," my father grips my shoulder firmly. "We have to go up to the platform as the mentors of the tributes. But you know the drill. When the female tribute is chosen, you will volunteer. Are we clear?"

I nod reluctantly as he loosens his grip on my shoulder and begins to make his way to the platform. I gaze around me. I would've tried to find my friends, except I don't have any friends. No one wants to be the friend of the daughter whose parents spit on miners and walk around with their noses high up in the air.

I stand in the crowd and hug my arms around my chest, hoping that the shoulders of my dress won't skewer some innocent little kid. I can see the judgmental faces of some of my schoolmates as they point and giggle at my ludicrous outfit.

The mayor of our district, a plump man with a fat white moustache, steps up to the podium and clears his throat. He begins, as he does every year, to tell the long and difficult history of Panem. His monotone voice drones on about the natural disasters and the hardships that the people had to face before creating this amazing country. He tells how the glorious Capitol took charge over thirteen districts, which, in their opinion, needed to be shown the "right ways." In other words, become their slaves. But then came the Dark Days. The districts began an uprising against the Capitol. The Capitol, in turn, defeated all of them, and even wiped District 13 off of the map. The Treaty of Treason was written to impose new laws on us, and to remind us just how powerful and scary the Capitol is, they also created the Hunger Games.

The mayor goes on to read the long list of District 1's victors. My parents, who are sitting in black chairs on the platform, expand their chests and raise their chins as their names are called. My father is asked to give a small speech, and he stands tall on his feet and walks to the podium. He places both of his hands on either side of it and gazes around proudly before beginning his speech.

"Today is a glorious day for me. Today, my daughter will volunteer to bring honor to our district. We've trained her, trained her well, since she was just a tiny little toddler. I've never been more sure of anything, than that my daughter, Brittany, will be coming home from this year's Hunger Games."

The crowd claps politely, but quite unenthusiastically. No one likes a pompous ass.

The mayor returns to introduce District 1's escort, a bubbly young woman named Neenee Max who is sent from the Capitol every year for the Hunger Games. Today she has magenta hair and is wearing a neon blue dress suit. She smiles widely at us as if this is the moment that she's been waiting for her entire life. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She claps cheerfully as her cobalt lips stretch into an even wider smile. "Now let's begin with the drawing! Boys first!"

She crosses the stage to the glass ball on the left, her unbelievably high heels clicking on the metal. She reaches an enthusiastic hand and extracts a little white piece of paper. But no one is worried. Everyone knows that even if their names are the ones that are chosen, someone else will volunteer for them. That's how it always is in our district.

She makes her way back to the podium, clears her throat, and says, "Wonder Jiller!"

Wonder Jiller, a fourteen-year-old boy and a son of a miner, doesn't even bother to walk to the platform. A deep voice rings loudly and clearly through the square before he even has the chance to. "I volunteer."

Everyone makes way as Flicker Longis walks proudly to the platform. I sigh in disgust. Why him?

Flicker Longis is also a child of two victors. His parents and mine have been head to head their entire lives. In my parents' eyes, it is my destiny to destroy the Longis family's pride. If I did that, then I would truly bring ultimate happiness to them.

Flicker steps up onto the platform and stands beside Neenee, who is eyeing him up and down in satisfied wonderment. "Well, then!" she grins into the microphone. "We have a volunteer! Your name?"

"Flicker Longis," he says, his face hard and expressionless.

"Flicker Longis, everyone! Your male tribute!"

The crowd claps and some cheers rise from his friends and family. I begin to bounce my knee up and down, anxious at what's about to happen.

"And now, for our female tribute!" Neenee clicks over to the glass ball on the right, sticks a quick hand in it, and picks out a random note. Once she's back before the microphone, she says, "Glitter Nilly!"

Both of my knees are bouncing now and my breathing is staggered and unstable. I notice my parents' threatening glares from the platform. "I volunteer," I say weakly.

"What was that?" Neenee looks around at the crowd. "Did I hear someone volunteer?"

The people around me back off so that there's a clear path to the platform for me to walk through. I try to catch my breath as I begin to make my way toward the platform. After what seems like ages of walking through endless bodies and faces, I finally reach the stage. My throat is parched and my tongue feels like paper.

When I finally find my way to Neenee, she beams joyously at me. Her magenta hair is quite blinding from this close distance. "And your name?"

"Brittany Pierce," I say, my voice almost hushed.

"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of District 1, I present to you your volunteer female tribute! This wonderful girl here, Brittany Pierce!"