Hello all! Here is my first Hunger Games story: The 23rd Hunger Games. I'm warning you now that it might change. Sorry about the SYOT, just couldn't take it all and I wasn't getting a lot of tributes. Anyways, on to the story!

"So what are we going to do today?" Jen asked, she asked it everyday after school.

"SG," I answered, everyday. SG was my sword group, and Jen was one of the few people who knew about it. SG- standing for 'Sword Group'- was a band of boys. Plus me. We would always meet after school, after what seemed like hours in the fields, and into the bare meadow. I don't even now why we called it that, it was like a big dust bowl. There was rounded edges that, if you have no balance, will easily snap your neck sliding down. We always met here because no one else would come and see us. It was something to do, get our minds out of this wretched place. To get there, you had to sneak past peacemakers and their fat brown brutes. One time Michael got caught sneaking down to the SG. He served two times the work, and got three whippings ever day, for a week. If I wasn't wrong, that was 21 whippings. Talk about savage. "Stop," I whispered to Jen. This is where we would always depart, how much she hated it I couldn't let her be caught.

"Good luck," Jen whispered back and left. After watching her go, I ducked down and crawled behind coarse bushes, hidden to the peacemakers.

"Hey, you there!" I heard one yell. I stopped suddenly, heard the footsteps coming closer. I'm going to die, I'm going to die! Just breathe, Crimson. "What are you doing, boy?" I looked up and peeked over the bushes, there sat a boy, about five or six, with an apple. Close. "I said, what are you doing boy." I made my way past the bushes, taking up on the distraction, and looked back once. The boy was being picked up by the throat, his legs thrashing and the guard having no mercy, muttered terrible insults to him. A pang of sympathy ran through my body, I knew I couldn't help, however much I wanted to. I ran as fast as I could to the opposite direction.

I reached the meadow and called down to them. Them meaning Marc, Michael, Sean, Thom, Fred, and Brian. "Hey Crimson," Marc called back up. I smiled shyly and slid down the side. Marc helped me up and once again I smiled a shy smile. I was locked in his pale green eyes for what seemed like minutes.

"Thanks," I said, tucking a strand piece of vivid red hair behind my ear.

"Welcome," he replied, winking at me. "Where's my sword?" I saw Michael throw it to him. It really wasn't a sword, not metal anyway. It was a carved wooden sword, that could do damage if you mean to, but of course, this was just messing around. He caught it expertly and waved it around. "Up for a challenge Crimson Treke?"

"You bet." I caught the sword Michael flung at me. I glanced toward Michael, who was about to battle Sean. They always paired up, every time. I held the sword firmly in my hand. I took my first aim; the leg. Marc quickly deflected it and tried to go for my foot. I jumped back and quickly aimed for his neck. He ducked and tried to slice my stomach. My sword met his with a WHACK. I stood back and tried to angle his sweet spots. I smiled as I sent the sword right under between his legs. Marc gasped mockingly and took my sword in his hand. I quickly kicked him hard in the thigh, making him stumble back. He let go of my sword and grabbed it before he could regain it. "What? You gonna give up?" I jeered. Marc replied by clanking my sword with his. By the time the sun was high, no one had actually won yet and we were sweating by the buckets.

"Good match Crimson," Marc said, meeting his eyes with mine. We shook hands and I went to Brian.

"Brian, challenge?" I asked but he shook his head. He tilted his hands toward the sun. "Oh... See you tomorrow then." Only then I noticed Marc, Brian, and I were there. Brian climbed up the side which left Marc and I alone. I looked towards him, he was playing with his sword. He looked up and looked back down. I saw under beads of sweat a peachy color. I couldn't believe it, is he blushing? I walked over to him and smiled.

"Nice game today," he said, not looking up. "Hey Crimson... are... you..."

"Yes?" I interrupted, eating up every word.

"Are you meeting... anyone... after the Reaping... tomorrow?" he spoke in parts, nervous.

Straining to control my excitement, I answered, almost screaming, "Yes, sure. I mean, I'm not meeting anyone tomorrow. I'd love to go."

Marc looked up, his pale green eyes once again melting into my bright green ones. "Good, how 'bout behind the Harvest Den."

"Sure, anything's fine with me," I said, smiling crazily.

"Meet you there than," he said. He turned to leave then he turned back. He slowly leaned forward, kissing my cheek. He blushed and turned away with a single 'bye'. I was about to faint and almost screamed at the same time. I'm going out with Marc! I'm going out with Marc. The fifteen year old boy, who I've had a crush on every since he showed me how to hold a sword. I kept chanting inside my head about my date. I can't wait to tell Jen, how surprised she will be!

I walked into the small, peeling blue paint covered walls, room. I set down my small amount of Tesserae to only last me a week. "Hello!" I called, then heard Sam's voice come up in the living room.

"Hello Crimson, everything good?" he asked.

"Yes, especially because someone asked me out!" I squealed. I told the story to Sam, all except the kiss, I thought he would be over protective about that.

"Good for you Crimson, now let me set down some guidelines," I rolled my eyes as he starting The Rules. "No making out, no going to his house, and absolutely no spending the night at his house."

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm only fourteen," I joked. I headed towards my bed, which was in our living room. Our house only had two rooms, one living room/bed room and kitchen/bedroom. Sam sleeps in the kitchen. Sam actually isn't my father, he's my twenty-one year old brother. Our father died because a whipping he had that had not the slightest relation to him. Our mother was so dampened by the thought, everyday seemed gloomy and wicked. She stopped smiling and soon enough, she died. I miss her every time I go to the grape vines. It was her favorite place. Often she'd take a pen and paper to draw, which she was very good at. Sam and I soon started living on our own. Sam was never picked in the Hunger Games, and loves children. It's too bad he doesn't have a wife. Repeated times I've tried to hook him up, though ever time he always would say I'm fine. Though I know he's lying. I set my puny brown school bag at the foot of my bed and took off my black slippers. "So, what's for dinner? Your stale bread or my Tesserae?" Sam looked up from the couch which he was playing with and simply laughed.

"You choose," he replied. I walked into our kitchen and got the stale bread. Better not let the bugs get it first.

"Here," I said, passing a small piece to him then tearing off one for me. I chewed it slowly, knowing that it could easily rot. I walked back into the kitchen, tried to wrap the bread. Walking into the living room I tried to hide a yawn, but failed.

"Time to go to bed, kiddo," Sam said, getting up and ushering me towards my bed. I was too tired to refuse

"Goodnight Sam," I yawned.

"Goodnight Crimson," he replied. I turned over in my bed and closed my eyes. I smiled, remembering tomorrow.

Falling in a deep sleep, I still remembered Hunger Games. Will I or won't I get chosen?

How did you like it? Ways to make it better? Constructive criticism works too. But don't put to much criticism!

Just push that cute little button down there that is really wanting your cute little curser! R&R!

-The Last Sketch