I do not own 'The Hunger Games' or anything related.


I was startled when someone woke me. Instinctively, without knowing who it was, only that they were likely a threat, I tried to attack my attacker with the knife I always took with me to bed, but my assailant managed to grab my arm. I tried to struggle, but the pack had restrained me.

"Alright, Mr Abernathy, settle down. Easy."

I recognised the voice, and I knew it wasn't an enemy. Not a friend either, but I knew they wanted no harm to come to me. I calmed down, realising that I wasn't in the arena, and these weren't the career pack come to kill me. I was in my house, and these were a bunch of peacekeepers. They must have broken in because I was unresponsive. People would rather not try to wake me, and wouldn't do so unless they had to. The peacekeepers would only do this once a year, on the same day.

Once they were sure I was calmed down, they kept watch, as I washed my face, got dressed, and took a bottle white liquor with me for breakfast (Or was it lunch?) as I was escorted out. No one seemed to object to me drinking as long as I didn't cause trouble. It's funny. I used to hate drunks, people like my old man, or Raybearta my mentor. Or should I say my so-called mentor. It's funny that I became one myself!

Once out of the house, we walked towards the town.

Well, it was that time of year again! A time of celebration and a chance for glory! A time of death and untold grief!

I was taken to the town centre, where the kids were all gathered, girls and boys separated. Wondering which sorry pair would be chosen, stuck with me as a mentor, the person who was supposed to prepare them, to help them survive, only to die. Effie, the Capitol escort, was making her speech, but I wasn't paying attention. I was thinking back to an earlier time, 25 years ago, a day as bright as today.

I was sitting in the meadow, watching the horizon. It was the day of the Reaping. Only this year it would be worse. For this year happened to be a quarter quell, where they added some horrible twist as a reminder that the rebellion was our fault. This year, twice as many tributes would be going in as. It was bad enough waiting for your name to be called once. But to go through that twice?

"I could do it, you know."

I turned to look at my best friend Mel, who was sitting next to me. I call him that because, even though I didn't have any other friends, if I did, he would be my best.

"Do what?" I asked him, even though I already have a suspicion as to what he's talking about.

"Win the Hunger Games. I mean, I'm fast enough, I can climb really well. I'm good with a weapon, I can kill, I can survive in the-"

I stopped him from continuing.

"Or you would be as dead as any of the others. Anyway you only have a few more years to worry about being selected and then you'll be off scotch free!"

You'd think I was being cruel, telling him that he had a chance of dying in the Hunger Games. No one wants to be told that. Everyone wanted to believe that they have a chance of surviving.

No, I said it because I knew he wasn't talking about being selected.

"Well, what if I didn't wait to see if my name was to come out."

And there it was.

"What do you mean?" I asked, even though I knew exactly what he was alluding to.

"I could volunteer."

"Don't be stupid."

"Well why not?"

Mel stood up.

"Mitch, aren't you tired of all the kids who are sent every year off to be slaughtered, regardless of age or ability? Wouldn't it be great if we had at least another victor for a change-"

"Who cares?" I shouted at him, "Who cares if a bunch of kids you don't know that well wind up dead?"

Mel, furious, sat down.

"I care."

"I know you do. And if you do wind up volunteering and coming back here in a box and the whole district's grieving over you, don't expect me to be one of the mourners."

"Forget it."

"Fine!" I snapped.

We just remained looking at the horizon in silence. Mind you, I told a lie back there. Of course I was sick of how kids were chosen only to end up dying. Kids you knew at school, or fellow kids of the seam, never being seen again. Kids as young as my little brother, or older kids, with their younger siblings pulling at them, not wanting them to go. Lovers split apart. Friends taken away. Fellow classmates who are there for one moment replaced by an empty chair, or a void where they used to walk. But as much as I hated it, what I feared more, far more than my name being pulled out, would be if someone I cared about being taken. Every year at the choosing ceremony, it's not just my name I dreaded being called out, but Mel's as well, along with my girl, Rachelle. And now this year, I was going to start dreading about my brother's name being called out. And I did not want my best friend to be volunteering for death. We continued to sit there in silence before he spoke.

"We should probably head back soon."

I didn't reply, still mad at him that he was even considering the idea of volunteering.

"Hey."

He pushed me to the ground. I looked up at him, grinning down at me.

"Race you back to the Seam!"

He ran off. I couldn't help but smile.

"Oh that's it, you're so dead!"

Getting up, I ran after him.

Eventually we both made it to the edge of our home, the Seam. We both caught our breath.

"I won," Mel managed to say.

"Nuh uh, I won!" I claimed, even though I knew he did, even if he didn't have a head start.

"Well, see you in the town square," Mel told me.

We shook our own handshake.

"Yeah, see you."

I walked into my house. My little brother, Larie, was all dressed up.

"Well look at you!"

Then I saw the look on his face. I hadn't seen that look in four years, not since our old man had died, that look he had whenever the time drew near that he would be returning home from the Hob.

"I think your tie needs a bit of work."

Bending down, I fiddled with it.

"It's just one name, Larie. One name against thousands. You have less chance of being picked than the-"

I didn't finish that sentence. I was about to say the older kids, but I didn't want him to start worrying about me. I patted him on the shoulders.

"Just promise me one thing. If my name is called out, if, and I'm not saying it will, but if my name is called out, don't volunteer for me, okay? Cos I have a better chance of surviving than you."

Larie nodded. Of course, we'd have equal chance of surviving, but I'll be able to survive longer than him, to be less afraid.

I got ready. Ma came in, telling us it was time to go. I was careful not to look directly at her, putting my hands in my pockets.

"Whatever."

We went to the town square, boys divided from girls, organised by age. Mel and me stood next to each other. I noticed how everyone around us were giving us odd looks, which they always do when people see us together. No one could understand how we were friends, let alone that I was his best friend compared to the others he had. See, Mel was popular at school, at least among the Seam kids. It's hard not to see why, the guy was very likeable. Whereas I – not so much. My interaction with others tended to be rather aggressive. I liked to keep to myself, and for everyone to stay out of my way. Well. Nearly everyone. It also didn't help that I had a reputation for being dangerous. Probably because I had a tendency of getting into fights with other kids. Funnily enough, that's how me and Mel became friends. It was during recess some years back, and I was in a particularly bad mood. Mel had come over, asking me what was wrong. I told him to leave me alone. He wasn't getting the message, telling me that I shouldn't be so mean to everyone. I pushed him for saying that. He pushed me back, which later led to fists being exchanged. By the time a teacher came to break us up we were wrestling on the ground, later sent to the principal's office. We were sitting in silence next to each other, with cuts and bruises, before I spoke.

"Nice punch," I told him.

"You too," He replied.

We looked at each other, before breaking down into laughter.

After that we became friends. Mel told me that whenever I felt like hitting someone, I could hit him. I laughed when he said that to me, telling him that it was no fun when the other wanted to be hit! Even so, we reached an agreement; whenever I felt angry we would fight each other, if he would leave me alone when I told him to. So we became unofficial sparring partners, mostly it was just play fighting, but sometimes, when I was really angry, it got serious. I'd feel guilty, Mel would try to tell me it was alright, I'd find this irritating, tell him to leave me alone, he would, and he would come back after I cooled off. That was the most annoying thing about him, how he was able to keep a promise no matter how many times I broke my end of the bargain (Even though I didn't get into as many fights with others as I used to). There wasn't much of that in the last several years.

There was another reason why people tended to avoid me. It was a few years back when there was an incident. No one knew the whole truth, but that didn't stop rumours spreading. Soon everyone started to move out of my way, or whisper behind my back. Apparently, me being seemingly dangerous is what attracted Rachelle to me, despite everyone telling her to stay away from that criminal Haymitch Abernathy, son of the town drunk. Later, she told me that she eventually saw through what she called my facade, but what she found inside made her love me even more, although I'd deny what she found.

The escort started to read out the name taken out. Ever since we became boyfriend and girlfriend, I could feel my heart racing every time they called out the name of the girl tribute, frightened that it would be Rachelle's name. At least every time before I let out a sigh of relief when it was someone else's name. Now, this year, my heart was going to race again before I had a chance to recover.

The escort read out the name.

"Primrose Everdeen."

I almost fell out of my chair, because that's not what was said 25 years ago. I became aware of my surroundings, that I was no longer a teenager participating in the Hunger Games, but a middle aged, balding, pudgy, grizzled victor. A girl of 12 emerged from the crowd. Her skin, hair and eye colour suggested she was townfolk, but she was seam. Her mom, who was from the town, eloped with a coal miner of the Seam. If anyone had noticed my reaction, they would likely just put it down to me being drunk as opposed to being shocked. It wasn't just that 12 year olds were sure to die in the Hunger Games. Whenever a new pair is chosen, I try not to remember their names. It made it that much easier when they died. I just thought of them as the boy and the girl. Which was going to be a problem with this girl, as I recognised the name Everdeen. Everyone did. Officially just another coal miner, but unofficially, he was the district's poacher, venturing into the woods every day and selling his finds in the Hob, the black market. Of course I say unofficially, because poaching was illegal, attached with the highest penalties. I remember he was caught once, and whipped for everyone to see. He recovered, though, but whereas most people would have probably given up after that he kept on going. When he first started to explore the woods, going through a hole in the fence, I thought he was crazy. The fact that he continued after that incident made me certain that he was insane. Course, he never got caught again. The peacekeepers even became his customers (Although they already were, but even more so afterwards). Mind you it had to be done secretly rather than out in the open despite that. Then came that day. When he was blown up. It was a dark time for the district. Who else were people supposed to get the food and other resources that you could only find in the woods? But it was more than that. Everdeen was a well-respected man in the district. Even loved. However, that void left in the district by his death was soon filled by his daughter. Not the one coming up now, who I would see now and again in the Hob with her little goat in tow, but his older daughter, who had the skin colour, eyes and hair of someone from the seam. Katherine I think her name was.

"Prim!"

And there she was, now running out in front of her sister, trying to protect her, as if she could stop the peacekeepers from taking her, even though it was futile. This tends to happens, when family members will try to save their siblings, older ones would try to shield them, younger ones would try to pull them back, to stop them from going up to the stage. But whatever they did, it was pointless. They were always completely powerless to stop their loved ones from being taken, and there was nothing they could do to save them.

Nothing-

"I volunteer!" She shouted, "I volunteer as tribute!"

There was silence. Then there was confusion. As for me, I was befuddled. Huh. That had never happened before. You'd think it would, that siblings would be more than willing to sacrifice themselves to save those they loved. And yet, for as long as I can remember, this is the first time in my lifetime that anyone has. It disgusted me, that there are those who value their own worthless hides more than that of their younger siblings, who they were supposed to help raise and protect, even at the cost of their own life! Had it been my brother whose name had been called out, I would have volunteered in an instant, just like what this girl had done. Although a part of me couldn't help but wonder. Would I have volunteered? Yes, I would've. I would have done anything to protect my little brother, even kill for him. Which I did.

For this girl to volunteer herself, she must care a great deal for her sister, so much that she would rather die than lose her. The words of a rather morbid song came to mind. She came up to the stage. When Effie asked everyone to give her an applause, everyone had the decency to not do so. Instead something unexpected happened. I don't know who started it, but someone made this gesture at funerals where they press their fingers to their lips and raise them up for everyone to see. I'm sure they did it at her dad's. And now they were doing it for her.

I had often seen this girl at the hob, and what I noticed was how unreadable she was. That is to say, it was impossible to know what she was thinking, as her face always had that same, blank expression devoid of emotion. At first, I wondered if it was because she lacked emotion, until later I realised the reason. It was a mask. I myself wear a mask. When I was young, I wore the mask of young, arrogant guy who didn't take anything seriously. Now I wore the mask of a drunken fool. This girl's mask was one that showed no emotion at all, to hide what she was really thinking and feeling.

For a moment, it looked like her mask was about to crack.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had got out of my seat and walked towards her, as if to congratulate her.

"I like her!" I shouted loud enough for everyone to hear, which I did, "Lot's of..."

I struggled to think of the right word.

"Spunk!"

I turned towards the cameras.

"More than you."

I advanced towards them, my finger pointing at one of them. I was addressing the capitol, but I was also talking to the crowd, to all the men and women who were still alive, who should have taken the place of their younger siblings like this girl had done.

"More than you!"

I really should have paid attention to where I was walking, because next thing I knew I had fallen off the edge of the stage, and the last thing I remember was impacting the ground.