Welcome to Districts of Hunger. Sorry this author note might be a little long. Couple of things though. I've been working on this weeks to get this done. This is the story of how the first rebellion ended and the story of the FIRST Hunger Games. I don't think it's ever been done quite like this before—so please stick around.

This is just the prologue, a teaser if you will. There's not going to be a lot of in-depth action of the rebellion (some flashbacks). The prequel that details how the rebellion fails will come out later—Districts of Rebellion.

This is going to be…graphic. Not OMG graphic, more…just depressing. You're warned. My PM box is open for consoling.

Final thing, first update is on the 18th. This is just a TEASER. After this, there will be two updates a week.

May the odds—Who are we kidding? They're not in your favour.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!

Patrick Henry

For weeks, we waited and listened. We had this planned for a long time, we could wait a little longer. All we had to do was wait for the sign that said now is the time. It would symbolize that now was the time to attack, to take back our Districts from Panem. They would know that we are no longer weak, no longer willing slaves for them.

They don't expect us to rebel, only to bow under their iron-will. They've pushed and pushed us until finally they have pushed us too far. I feel my mother's hand on my shoulder as we wait inside the building with what weapons we have. The smell of sweat and fear is strong. I keep wiping my hands as I grip the axe in my hand tighter.

I was born a slave, I will not die a slave. For fifteen years, I was in their servitude. Today, my fifteenth birthday is the day we will wrench our freedom from their hands—all thirteen districts will rebel and come together. How can they stop us if we band together.

A sound wafts on the cooling evening air, a four note whistle that signifies the birth of a Rebellion.