Gale's POV
"Peeta Mellark." A boy walks out. Strong built, blonde hair that falls naturally over his forehead. Peeta Mellark. He's good natured, and with him being the baker's son and all, he's very popular with girls. But you'll never know what the games can turn you into.

That is, if you survive.

I've seen past victors on television. Some dwindle into a pile of skin and bones. Some, hallucinate till they can't tell what's true or not. Some, of course, lead life normally, but then again there is only a handful. I'd heard the memories of the games haunt you in your dreams.

Now Katniss is going to be in it.

What are the odds of her winning? If she can lay her hands on a bow and arrow victory would be hers. If she doesn't, well then no one can be certain. The other tributes might over-power her. But of course we don't even know who they are, what they do. Right now the only one that poses a certain direct threat is Peeta Mellark. I remember he won in a wrestling match. All those years of handling the heavy trays of bread. If he were to ever challenge Katniss, chances of her winning would be down to almost zero. But usually tributes from the same district don't spar—they wait for the others to finish them off. It's better this way. No feelings involved. But as I said, you never know what the games turn you into.

Peeta Mellark. I watch him as he steps onto the stage. Is that fear I see in his eyes? Weird. I thought he would have tried to conceal it. Because being scared only gets you marked as a weak target. Or is it one if his tactics? A girl named Johanna Mason from District 7 once won because of this. She cried so much everyone just dismissed her as a snivelling speck. It turned out she was quite the killer. Smart. I look at Peeta and see the muscles in his hand. No one would probably be convinced if he did that though. His best bet would be to engage in combat with the other tributes. One of them Katniss.

Almost zero.

A foreboding feeling comes over me. My palms begin to sweat. I seldom do that—in fact, only once; when Rory had fallen so sick I thought he was going to die. What's wrong with me? I frantically wipe it off my shirt. But no matter what I do I just can't shake the feeling off. "Volunteers anyone?" Effie questions. She is met with silence. "No? Well then... It looks like our reaping here is over." Effie finally gains control over her hair and shifts it back into place with relief.

"Wait!" the word slips out of my mouth before I know it. "Wait!" I yell. "I volunteer!" the words spill from my tongue.

A hush settles over everyone. District 12's first 2 volunteers. All in one game.

"GALE!" a gasp comes from the spectators' direction. From the sound of it I know its mum. Don't look back, I tell myself. Don't.

"Well!"Effie looks a little surprised. "It's good to know the people of District 12 are still excited for the Hunger Games!" But you can tell she's pleased to finally have some action in our district. "Come on then!" she ushers me impatiently. "Don't want to keep the rest of us waiting!"

I step hesitantly onto the platform. Effie beckons to me, "Stand right here... Yes. Now let's introduce ourselves!"

I swallow hard, "Gale Hawthorne."

"Well! Looks like we have a different situation here. Why did you volunteer then? You're not even related. Or," she adds slyly, "Are you trying to save your girlfriend?" Effie winks at Katniss. I feel blood pooling at my face. Shit. The cameras are trained on our faces. I glance up at the screen which is divided into two, my face taking up half, Katniss's the other. Fortunately, our faces are unreadable.

"Of course I was kidding!" Effie laughs lightly. "Well everyone," she comes in between Katniss and I, placing her hands on our shoulders, "the reapings are officially over, and these are our girl and boy tributes of District 12. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!" She announces with none of the happiness we feel.

I steal a glance at Katniss. Her face is a mask of indifference, but I know better. Deep down inside, it's obvious she's blaming me. Because if we both don't make it out, who would take care of her mother and Prim? And if she leaves Prim like she did last time...

I turn to whisper her name, to tell her I'm so sorry, to explain everything. But before I can utter a word, we are surrounded by Peacekeepers. They escort us down the stage. Out of the square. Into the Justice Building.

To our doom.