Hi guys!

Decided to re-write a fanfic I half-made on my old account, as my laptop broke, I forgot my log in and it was rather rubbish! This chapter has been made from two smaller chapters which I've been editing so it's a pretty long one.

Hope you enjoy and happy new year!

D x

It always feels strange on reaping day - to me it does, anyway.

There is so little action in the district until the reaping itself: no one is out and about, not a single shop has an open window, and even the seagulls are keeping themselves to themselves. Perhaps they're scared of peacekeepers as much as we are - that they'll shoot them or something.

It'll get busier later though. The rest of the teens come out of their houses much later on, which is fine with me as it means I don't have to queue up to be registered for ages - if it's just as it was last year then I'll be waiting for five minutes at the most, but, then again, you have to wait in the square for an awfully long time.

I walk up the uneven cobblestone steps once again. There are several tables set up, each with a rope separating them and a white-clothed Capitol person stood behind, most of them flicking through the papers and looking bored and hot. Don't really blame them – standing there in one of Panem's warmest districts for hours on end can't be too exciting, especially in those skin-tight uniforms. Other than them, the dozens of peacekeepers and an elderly couple standing in the distance, we are the only ones here.

I take myself towards the sixteen-year-old's registration desk and suddenly remember the finger-prick we all have to go through every year as part of your registration. It doesn't hurt much, but your finger just bleeds for ages and you can't really do anything with it as they don't give you anything to staunch the blood flow (as small as it is), which is just a right pain.

The woman at my desk looks quite old (unless that's due to the plastic surgery and she's actually twenty or something like that) so I assume that she's done this in other districts. She doesn't talk much – she doesn't really need to talk to me, as I immediately offer her my index finger for her to puncture, completely used to the drill – and is a lot gentler than that grumpy old woman last year. I breathe a sigh of relief as I walk off through the black rope and into the square where I planned to meet my brothers. Niall had finished registering at around the same time as I had, and Jack looks like he's nearly done.

"Are you volunteering this year?" I ask Niall as we stand there. He shrugs, keeping a straight face and not really looking at me.

"Probably," he says. "I'm eighteen and I've been training forever, so why not?"

I don't know it that's a yes or a no.

"Are you?" I ask Jack when he comes over to see us. "Volunteering, I mean?"

"Are you?" he asks me. He's so good at dodging questions, especially ones like these about volunteering.

"Probably not," I reply. I don't really want to volunteer - not this year, anyway. "I might as well make the most of my last two years in the training centre - if I become victor then I can't train anymore."

"It would be great to live in one of those mansions in the Victor's Village—" Niall says. I know what's coming next. "—next to Finnick Odair, perhaps."

I roll my eyes. Honestly, I don't even find that funny anymore. He's a person, just like the rest of us, even if he is the Capitol daydream and I'm not.

"What's wrong with you, Annie?" Jack teases. "You used to be obsessed! It's all you ever used to talk about. Finnick, Finnick, Finn-" I move my hand just enough to stop the words coming out of his mouth and give him a red mark on his face, which may turn purple later on.

"I was eleven - I didn't know any better." I don't know if they were convinced. "I don't like him anymore!"

"Yeah, right," Niall says mockingly. I threaten him and he just laughs.

Over the next few hours the square fills up with people and is soon packed. It's getting hot now, and I can't help but notice that girl stood near to me is being cooked under that close-fitting turquoise dress she wears, and feel smug in my lighter cotton dress. She looks bored (and she's only been stood here for half and hour!), and I'm guessing that she's from a completely different zone as I haven't ever seen her around before.

I turn to look for Niall or Jack, but they're well hidden at the back and I can't see over the taller people. The girl stood to my right a neighbour; Casey Whyte. I see her around quite a bit, but we don't talk too often (whenever we do chat it's only really because we don't have anything better to do at that moment) and she's in a different class to me at school and she doesn't train. Her family aren't in the best of state at the moment, from what I've heard; her father was killed in a fishing accident two months ago and now they have no income and completely rely on her asking for terresae, resulting in her name in the glass reaping bowl more times than anyone else her age. I smile at her and she smiles back, but we say nothing.

I look around, giving a rough estimate to who'll volunteer this year. There's a few worthy contestants from what I can see, and it's pretty obvious that one of my brothers will be in the list. Depends who volunteers first and who gets reaped.

It turns out that I don't have to wait much longer to find out as I can hear the click-clack of stilettos on concrete. I look up at the stage (what I can see of the stage behind the number of heads in my way, anyway) to find that the reaping has eventually started. Behind the perfectly polished silver microphone stands Libby Mavros, our Capitol escort. She's completely over the top if you want to up short - she likes to match her clothing with our district industry so dresses in glittery blue outfit that is so hideous that I struggle to work out whether she's trying compliment or insult us. She looks like a doll – fake and ugly – and it hurts my eyes to look at her.

"Welcome District 4," her voice is twice as annoying as herself – all high pitched, making her sound excited all the time, or just very angry at something. "We have gathered here today in this District to commemorate seventy years of the Hunger Games. It is all very exciting, I know, I know, I know! Now, before we start with the reaping ceremony, we have a very special video which we like to watch." - actually, we don't like to watch this video - "It has come right from the Capitol and the quality is just amazing. It tells you everything you need to know about why we have the games, and it's very, very, very educational." That's what annoys me – why does she think we go to school?! To mess around? No! The video plays on. I exchange looks of boredom with everyone around me (everyone around me is so I might as well join in!). Libby looks engrossed in the bad-quality video, and I can't really see what makes it so interesting. Three minutes of my life wasted then and there.

Libby claps as the video comes to it's end, and I feel like clapping too. Not because it was a good video – it really wasn't – but because I'm so glad that it's over.

"And now it's time for us to choose our female and male tribute for this year's games!" I roll my eyes and fiddle with my hair. It's not that exciting. Libby's stilettos click-clack over the concrete to the first glass bowl, which is full right to the the top with slips of paper containing all of the girls in District 4's names, and takes the piece of paper right at the top.

I'm just surprised that no-one has volunteered yet.

"Annie Cresta."

It's me. I'm in the games. I feel shocked. I'm not scared – at least I don't think I'm scared – but I don't feel... actually, I don't know how I feel. I've been training for this moment for years, and now I'm going into the arena. I'm going to the land of crazy wigs. I'm going to be able to fight in a situation where my life is actually in the hands of myself. Hundreds of thousands of words pop into my head all at once - fight, death, allies, Career pack, mutations... I'm overwhelmed! I smile for the cameras and step out to the aisle - I don't need much encouragement. Quite a few kids clap, some cheer and some don't do anything. I make my way up and onto the stage. I still can't get over it - I'm going into the arena! How should I feel? Like I'm going to be first to die and will never, ever see my family and my home district again, or like I'm going to take this on like it's no big deal?

I stand beside Libby and shake her hand. She stinks of perfume – urgh.

"And now it's time to choose our male tribute!" she explains to the rest of the crowd like they're all babies and have never experienced a reaping before. She barely makes it to the glass bowl before there's a volunteer. A tall, muscular lad aged around eighteen or so strides down the centre aisle and onto the stage. I shake his hand, as does Libby. His hands are large and I guess that he's a combat fighter. He too must have inhaled the horrific stench of the perfume.

"What it's your name?" Libby questions him.

"Skye Jackman," he tells her proudly. "I'm eighteen." Libby smiles and nods.

"Our two District 4 victors!" she says like a proud mother would. Then it hits me; I'm going to have to put up with that smell of roses for another week: brilliant. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour. From the Capitol, goodbye!"

I then get herded into the Justice building by peacekeepers (what am I, a District 10 cow?) along with Skye and Libby, and then shut in a large and luxuriously furnished room.

Thanks for reading!