Disclaimer: Even though I'd love it, I don't own the Hunger Games or any of these characters. The genius Suzanne Collins does.

A/n: I know a lot of Gadge fictions start with the so-famous dress comment, but I really wanted to get into Gale's shoes before anything else. So I already apologize if this chapter is kind of boring! Bear with me!

The Reaping

The music, the drinks, the girls, the laughter, more drinks. A completely wasted Thom at my right, slow-dancing against a wall with an unidentified long black haired girl. A furious Bristel at my left, trying her hardest to avoid gazing at this entwined and drunk couple. It was a little party held in Greasy's gloomy pub the night before the inescapable Reaping day. A simple rally for those who have taken so much tessera that they stopped counting how many times their names will appear in this damn glass bowl. Of course, the only missing person was Katniss Everdeen. I quickly realized that my dear best friend prefers trees' company instead of people. She was probably in the woods with her bow in hand and arrows in her back. I should have joined her. I wouldn't feel my brain boiling and banging in my head. Why did I take so many drinks?

All I want is to lie here and melt in my cold, hard mattress until tomorrow morning when everything will be over. However, I get myself up, spray water over my face, and brush my teeth to hide any alcohol smell. After putting my hunting boots on, I sneak out of my house without making any sound that could wake up my family. Outside, the air still feels fresh from the night and the sun is not completely up in the sky. Unlike every Saturday mornings, I don't see a soul on my way to the fence. It's only five minutes before I crawl under the little aperture down the district gate I widened for myself last year. When I'm finally outside, I inhale deeply, and the soothing smell of pine cone and wet grass welcomes me. I walk between the tall trees that surround me until I reach the small crystal-blue river, our favorite meeting place. I sit on the ground against a big rock, and I finally let this shaking sigh I was holding.

I know I shouldn't be too nervous. After all, it's been seven fucking years. I should get used to it, right? I should get over the sick feeling of fear that overwhelms me every year at the Square. The fear of leaving my lousy district and my family for the Capitol. The fear of dying in the arena or coming out as a monster. But then, the moment another name is called out and that you're relieved to see a twelve year old brat being taken away from his mother instead of you, you soon realize that you are already one. This is how the Capitol is so good at manipulating people, turning them filthily, selfish, and insensitive. After watching the games for ten years now, I don't even blink an eye while watching a beheaded teenage girl on screen. "Fucking Capitol…," I mutter between my teeth.

"Gale…," says a deep feminine voice behind me. Her almost-inaudible steps are getting closer, and soon, her slender shape causes a shadow above me. "When are you going to stop badmouthing the Capitol?"

"Ask me this when every kid will get to sleep with a bellyful" I retort. Her disapproving tone irritates me. Why can't I badmouth the Capitol here? On the most horrible day moreover? What's the point of coming here and pretending to be free if we have to shut our mouths like inside the fences?

I'm about to reproach (as always) her blatant lack of animosity against our filthy Government when her face softens. "Here" She takes a loaf of bread from her leather bag and tosses it gently on my outstretched legs.

"Whoa! What do we have here?" I mutter playfully. I bring the loaf to my nostrils. Still warm. "How many?"

A real baker's bread that wets your appetite just by looking at it's not easy to get.

"Just a squirrel," she tells me, sitting next to me in the grass. "Old Mellark looked sentimental today. He even wished me good luck."

I see. Pity.

"At least he knows that none of his precious well-fed sons would ever have to leave him…"

"Can't you just shut up for once and eat?"

I can help but heave an exasperated sigh. I want to shout to her that no, I can't just shut up and eat because I am not one hundred percent sure to do it tomorrow, while old folks chunk bread out of the window by mere pity. I don't say anything though, because Katniss hates when I rail about the Capitol, the town or the Hunger Games, and today's the Reaping day. I don't want to fight over this. I finally cut a piece of the warm bread and the moment it gets down to my mouth, I have to force myself from groaning. I may criticize the old Mellark, but his breads are always wonderfully good, and I'm starving.

"Look what Prim gave us. Lady's fresh cheese," she says while getting out the said cheese that is wrapped in a white hanky.

I smile at her but only because I know it's her way of burying the hatchet. Like me with my silences.

"Well thanks, Prim…Oh I almost forget." Then I take this horrible made-in-Capitol accent that we hear whenever Effie Trinket gets on stage. "Happy Hunger Games, dear! And may the odds…"

She gives me a very Trinket grin, showing all of her thirty–two teeth. "Be ever in your favor!"

Katniss is like me. She prefers to joke about it, rather than showing her anxiety, like everyone else does.

We eat the cheese with the bread while she tells me about her getaway in the woods last night. When there's no more trace of cheese on my fingers, I start playing with the wetted grass underneath my palms.

Katniss pushes her head backwards and closes her eyes, sighing deeply. I watch how her olive complexion seems to shine with the sun. Her thin lips are lifted up in an almost-smile that she only lets appear here, or whenever Prim's around. I can help but smile as well.

This girl is nothing normal. She's definitely not the type to wear dresses or make-up, and I don't even remember the last time I saw her shoulder length hair out of those abiding braids of hers. It's probably the reason why it took me so long to notice all those little things that make her so much interesting and desirable. Six months ago, I had never paid much attention to her precious smiles, to the way her slender body moves while tracking a prey or to her dazzling almond shaped eyes. But after the day Darius leaned his face so close to hers that I already felt my fist crushing against his nose, I realized that she wasn't just my hunting partner. She is so much more than that. She is my Catnip, and no one else's. I guess I have to thank that ginger shithead, for helping me figure it out.

I don't really know what exactly I feel for her, though. Even with all my experiences with girls, I'm definitely not a feelings expert. Plus, Katniss is nothing like any of the girls I've dated. She's not really pretty. Not really charming either. But she's strong, determined and courageous. She's a survivor. And that's what makes her truly beautiful.

Everyone assume we're dating, or at least that we will marry one day. And when I say everyone, I mean it: my mother, Rory, Thom, Bristel, the entire Hob, half of the school…and the list goes on. Only five years old Posy and eight years old Vick don't agree with that. According to Pose, "Katniss never plays with me! You can't marry her!" And Vick still believes that, I quote: "Girls are some boring, flowers-stinking creatures that can't even play kickball."

What is certainly certain is that there nothing romantic going on between me and her. Not that I wouldn't want it (would I?), but Katniss isn't looking forward to getting in a relationship, or having a family. And I understand her. But what if we didn't have to face the Hunger Games? What if we could be free like we are here, in the woods?

"We could make it, you know," I say softly, gazing at the distant trees in front of me. "Running away in the woods, together." I am completely aware that it's a silly idea, but I just want her to consider this possibility. The possibility that there could be another path for us than just sitting here and waiting for the annual doomsday. But then I feel her eyes on me, so I quickly add: "If there weren't the kids, of course. Just you and me…"

She mimics my posture and her frown deepens. After several minutes, she finally speaks again. Only, it is not what I was waiting for. "I'll never have kids." There. Done.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I don't really know what I expected from her. But I feel awfully unsatisfied. Even frustrated.

"I would want to. If I didn't live here…"

Will she bit the bait? Will she understand the insinuation? My way of asking if there is somehow a future for us aside being hunting mates?

"Well, you do live here."

"Fine. Forget it."

Better talk about romance to a brick wall.

….

"Pretty dress."

Have you ever experienced this? When you make a small comment in your head, safe from the world, but then you realize that your treacherous lips actually let it fly outside. Well, I'd never. Until today.

She's standing in her doorway, dressed in a splendid sleeveless white dress that waves around her lean legs, her hip length golden curls held back in a pink ribbon and oceanic blue narrowed eyes on me.

Thank God this almost-hateful tone never leaves my voice whenever I'm speaking to her.

"Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

"Huh?" Does she really think she has a single chance to be reaped? I've never seen any reaped children wearing a golden pin that could feed a family for months. "You'll never go the Capitol, Undersee! What do you have? Five entries?" Maybe less considering she's the mayor's kid. "I had six at twelve."

She pinches her full pink lips in a forced smile. "You better take a shower, then. For the cameras," she replies with a sugary tone. Ouch! Good one, Undersee.

I hear Katniss snort at this, but the daggers I glare at her manage to quiet her down.

Undersee drops some shinny coins in Katniss' hand, and as she grabs the bag of strawberries I take a look at her fingers. Her once light pink nails are now covered with a deep varnished black that contrasts with her porcelain skin. Is this some kind of new Reaping day fashion? White dress and black nails? "I wish you good luck, Katniss."

"You too, Madge."

And she closes the door, without another glance for me.

Katniss doesn't talk on the way back home. I know she's tired of telling me to be nicer to her townie friend, because that's something I can't afford. I simply hate Madge Undersee. And who can blame me? She's the mayor daughter. She's rich, she'll never have to worry about food, she thinks she's better than me, and she basically is as she lives in a mansion. In short, she's the "towniest" townie of town. And what is more infuriating with her is that I can't help but coming back every Saturday to watch her gorgeous heart shaped face and hourglass figure in those ten thousand dollars dresses that only the Mayor's brat can wear. I keep coming to see her long brown eyelashes fluttering to me for a half second and her cute shy smiles that are never directed to me.

And if the only way of keeping those damn sea blue eyes a bit longer on me is to snap nasty comments at her face, I'll take the risk. I always do.

…

"Happy Hunger Games, District 12. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

How many entries do I have again? Forty-two? Well, the odds are certainly not in my favor. What if one of them comes out of this bowl? What is going to happen to mum and the kids? My last year. Whatever happens today, I won't be standing here anymore. And my mother won't ever have this anxious feeling that overtakes her on Reaping days because as long as I'm living, none of the kids will ever take tesserae.

I turned my head to glance at Katniss. She tries to give me a reassuring smile, but I can see her lips trembling. Just like my hands. I can feel them shaking against my lap despite the bored-looking mask on my face.

"As always, ladies first." Effie Trinket walks to the glass bowl, more Capitolized than ever with her bright pink curls and apple green tailored suit. She dives her hand in with a bright smile. If you only look at her, you can easily start believing that all of this is just a draw for some exciting trip to a Caribbean island.

She walks back to the microphone with a little white paper in hand.

Please not Catnip. Please not Catnip. Not her. Please…

"Primrose Everdeen!"

I feel like all the air is gone from my lungs. It's not Katniss. It's ten times worse.

I see little Prim, her face as white as a sheet, walking towards the stage. How can that be possible? Which kind of fucking odds is this? One entry. One single entry among hundreds other.

I hear Katniss screaming her name. And as I was expecting …

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Prim's arms are clenched around her waist, while Katniss tries to get free from this heartbreaking grip. My feet move by themselves towards them, and I manage to take Prim off of her.

"Go ahead, Catnip." I try to control the tremors in my voice.

I bring a screaming and fussing Prim to her mum without trying to calm her because I want to do the same. I want to scream until my voice breaks and my ear-drums explode. I want to grab Katniss and take her away from this stage, Trinket and those cameras.

But I don't. I stand here. I watch as Peeta Mellark's name echoes across the square, one of the well-fed baker's sons with five entries. I don't move when they shake hands or when they're brought to the Justice Building. I don't move when the crowd dispels around me. I vaguely hear Thom's voice. I feel his arm around mine. I let him taking me to whatever places in the world, because I feel like I've fallen into another damn dimension.

A/n: So you probably have already noticed it, but I will say it anyway. English's not my first language. I started learning it about two years ago, and writing this fiction is an exercise given by my English teacher. So I'm really sorry if this was kind of lame or cheap :S ! I'm actually searching for a Beta reader to help me!

I truly hope you enjoy it though.

Thanks for reading.

Alanys.