Thank you for clicking on this story! This is my first FF for the Hunger Games, and I don't read Hunger Games fanfiction, so if this is similar to any story out there, it is purely coincidental. Forgive me for any factual mistakes, I'm only halfway through Catching Fire, but I have read the wikipedia entries for all the books, so I'm set up enough! Please review and tell me what you think and give me some constructive critisism. Like, for instance if you think I used the word "and" too much throughout, or even something deeper. All reviews are welcome and appreciated (even mean, nasty ones, but I will get extremely sad if you're overly harsh). Also, need suggestions on a title. This one is pretty lame.
I do not own the Hunger Games or anything to do with it. I don't own it so much, that you can take my story and I won't fight back! If that makes sense. But I REALLY don't own the Hunger Games, I do not intend to make any money off of it.

Required to Watch

My fingers interlock with Prim's as we walk down the cobbled street, I in my best clothes. My outfit is slightly loose and a tiny bit stained, but like I said, it is the best I have. My mother had tried to do my hair, but I waved her away somewhat rudely. I now think that I could have been a bit nicer, especially if today is the day I get whisked away for the Hunger Games, in which case I'll never come back and make things right.

Needless to say, today is the reaping.

I'm just about to gather my courage, bury my anger and ask forgiveness, when we reach the square, and I get whisked into the crowd, being shoved somewhat harshly in with the other fourteen year olds of District 12. It's still only 1:48, but the square is almost full, and I feel trapped, claustrophobic, as people squash in from every direction.

After several minutes of this, the clock strikes the hour and the mayor gives the mandatory speech. Haymitch Abernathy, our only living victor, stumbles in halfway through this speech, burping out sarcastic apologies, and a few people in the crowd laugh. But most of us are too subdued and anxious to find anything really amusing. I look through the crowd, locating the sixteen year old's pen, and see Gale, staring back at me. This calms me a mite, and I look back towards the front as Effie Trinket, with her curly scarlet and sapphire hair and bubbly, obnoxious mannerisms, bounds towards the front of the stage.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" And she sets off on a long-winded speech about who-knows-what, and before I know it, she's reaching for the big glass ball containing all the girl's names.

My heart stops, and I think, Please not me, please not Katniss Everdeen, please not me! Over and over until Effie's fingers close around a slip of paper, at which time my mind stops working completely. I don't hear who was chosen, but I do register that the name called was not Katniss Everdeen. I let out a sigh of relief, and it seems most people are doing the same. And then I see who is making their way to the stage, a tall girl with dark blonde hair and tanned skin wearing a simple, but classy, white dress. I recognize her to be Gladys Reger, the daughter of District 12's primary cloth weaver and a coal miner, her dad is always reliable to buy most of the game I bring back to trade. She's Gale's age, I've seen them coming out of the same classroom.

I feel horrible that she has to go into the arena, that anybody has to go, but I am so undeniably and inconceivably happy that it's not me, that those feelings are almost blotted out. I don't know if that makes me an awful person, but I can't spare enough energy to care much right now. My relief is short lived, however, when Effie Trinket reaches into the boy's wheel, and I start to worry about Gale. If Gale leaves, his family will surely starve. I'll try to help, but I can only bring in so much food in on my own.

I listen to the name being called, now, and it's obvious it isn't Gale. It is, however, a 12 year named Ben Abby, a small boy with dark hair and silver eyes (like so many of us in District 12) who lives just a few doors down and across the road from our house in the Seam. His parents are both coal miners. Effie calls for applause, but no one does. They're too shocked at seeing such a small child being called to fight to the death against assuredly bigger and more skilled opponents.

Effie tugs at her collar nervously as Haymitch Abernathy wakes up from his drunken stupor (I hadn't noticed him pass out), and he registers the two tributes standing on the stage. He stands up and claps his hands wildly, hollering like a madman, but soon he loses his breath and slumps back into his chair. This arouses a few more giggles and chuckles, but most of us are still upset about Ben Abby being chosen. Effie urges Gladys and Ben to shake hands, and then they are scooped into custody by the Peacekeepers.

Realizing the ceremony is over, the crowd starts to disperse, and I find my mother and Prim and we embrace, all three of us. It's been a long time since I've hugged my mom, but we're all so happy to not be apart, that, for a moment, I forget my mother ever went into her depressive, deadened state, and let us fend for ourselves. And then the moment passes and I straighten up again, keeping a grip on Prim's hand.

We turn to walk back to the Seam when we see the Regers being escorted by some rough Peacekeepers towards the Justice Building. Gladys' small sister is being carried by her father, whose face is stony and unreadable, whereas his wife is already bawling into a piece of cloth. Gladys' older brother Dane has an arm around his mother, whispering words of comfort to her as sobs rack her body. The crowd parts to let them pass, then they are swallowed up again, and I can't see them anymore.

I stare after them for a while, until Prim tugs on my hand, and I start moving, though with slower, more thoughtful steps.

When we get home, my brain is still full with pictures of Effie Trinket reaching into the glass balls, fishing out Ben and Gladys' names, Gladys being called on stage, Ben seeming so small as he nervously shuffled up the steps, Gladys' family so torn up at the prospect of her going to the Games, where there's a terrifically small chance she'll survive.

I don't talk much during dinner.