I wrote this in my free time. I've been thinking about this for a while and I just now wroteit. I hope you all like it. Note: this is all from Maysilee Donners's perspective unless otherwise stated

President Snow steps up onto the stage. There is a little boy following behind him in a white suit holding a wooden box. Caesar Flickerman steps onto the stage. He is wearing his usual midnight blue suit with glowing light bulbs. His powder white skin is glowing in the darkness. He is exactly the same as he has been for the last 20 years except for his hair, lips, and eyelids that he changes the color of for each of the Hunger Games. This year, they are lavender. He announces that this year is a Quarter Quell. That means that it's time for the reading of the card.

The president stands up. He says "When the Hunger Games were founded, a rule was set in place. Every twenty-five years would call for a glorified Hunger Games to celebrate the anniversary of the Capitol's defeat over the districts. Now for the reading of the past Quell. On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, each district was made to hold an election to vote for the tributes who would represent it." That would probably be the worst Quarter Quell because your neighbors would be voting for your death. I would rather have my name pulled from the reaping ball.

The little boy then steps forward. He holds up the box for Snow. Snow reaches inside and pulls out the envelope marked 50. He opens the envelope, pulls out a card and reads "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that two of rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes." His news sunk in. That means that twice as many people will die. All I can hope for is that I'm not one of them.

My mother pulls me and my twin sister Kelsey into her arms. "Never leave me."

My brother Harper walks into the room. Seeing us, he tries to walk out, but my mom says "Harper, get over here." My brother smiles and walks over to the hug.

Morning of the reaping

"Maysilee, let's go!" mother called from downstairs. She's trying to be strong. She's saying that we won't get picked. However, there will be twice as many tributes. That means twice as many chances to get chosen. I put on my mockingjay in and walk downstairs. I'm in an ivory silk dress that comes down to my knees.

I walk down and see my mother and twin Kelsey sitting at the table. When we run out the door, I grab a mint from the counter. My family owning the sweetshop is always a good thing. I get to steal snacks every once in a while. We walk the 5 steps from the front of our store to the square. When we are there, we go to sign in. Then, we walk over to a group of 16-year-olds. The mayor steps up and welcomes us all too the reaping. He lists all of the disasters that led up to Panem. He then lists all of the past victors. In 50 years, we have had exactly 1. The victor of the 1st quarter quell, Clarissa Devour. When they say her name, she steps up. She can't be a very good mentor. In 25 years, she hasn't been able to bring anyone else home. I pity the tributes that get stuck with her as their mentor. At that moment, our escort Reyna Forefront steps up. She says "Happy Hunger Games District Twelve! May the odds be ever in your favor. Ladies First!" She walks over to the reaping ball with all of the girls' names in it. She pulls out two and walks back over to the podium. She opens the first one and reads. Lola Cloister. A 15-year-old from the Seam comes forward. She walks over to the stage. Reyna asks if there are any volunteers. No one comes forward so she reads the second slip of paper. "Maysilee Donner." Of course, I've never been exactly lucky. I walk up to the stage. Reyna asks for volunteers, but no one comes forward. "Alright then, let's get our boy tributes." She walks over to the reaping ball filled with the boys' names. She once again pulls out 2 slips.

Then, she walks back to the podium and reads. Devon Bricker. The son of the butcher steps forward. Reyna asks for volunteers and, once again, no one steps forward. She reads the final slip. It says Haymich Abernathy. A kid from the Seam comes forward. I can tell that he's dangerous. It's in his eyes. No one volunteers for him either.

We all shake hands before being taken to the Justice Building to say goodbye. However, when we get in there, Head Peacekeeper Marks tells us "Due to the number of tributes, the goodbyes have been removed from the schedule." He smiles sinisterly before ushering us to the back. In the back, there is a car waiting to take us to the train. From there, we will head to the Capitol.

The Train Station

When we first get on the train, I am shocked by two things, the train is beautiful. There is not a speck of dust anywhere on the train. Second, the train goes fast. I can tell that if we keep this speed, we'll reach the Capitol by morning. We go into the Dining Room to have dinner. We all sit down and wait for Clarissa to join us.

Clarissa Devour is a middle aged woman. She has rich brown hair that looks like it could be beautiful, but after years of disregard it has become straggly. Her face is scrunched up in a permanent scowl. She has an aura about her of an irritable old woman who would be caught yelling "get off my lawn you crazy kids!"

She has yet to bring home a tribute, but with double that chance, she might be successful this year. However, with double the competition, she probably will not be successful.

Clarissa sits down and immediately snaps her fingers. This must be a regular occurrence because the Capitol attendants don't hesitate when they come forward with a glass of white wine, filled to the top. Great, I think, my mentor is useless and a drunk. I'm proven right when she gulps down the entire glass in one try. Then, the attendant refills the glass.

Haymich leans forward on the table. "Hey, you're our mentor. Isn't it your job to give advice?"

Clarissa laughs a croaky, sardonic laugh. "Here's some advice, stay alive."

I am absolutely affronted. My eyebrows shoot up and my mouth hangs slightly. Here she is, the only like we have to the outside world, and she's telling us nothing.

I glare at her. "Why don't you give us some advice?"

"I did."

Devon breaks in. "You didn't tell us anything!"

Reyna is watching on in silence. She's eyeing us warily, trying to decide if she should intervene, I suppose.

Clarissa sighs. "Fine, fine, I'll help you." Then, in a false chipper voice, muddled with intoxication, she says "That okay with you?"

Haymich laughs darkly. "Just super."

Clarissa puts her tongue in between her teeth and starts going na, na, na. she turns to a Capitol attendant and says with her eyelids hanging "Get me something a little stronger." The attendant nods and walks out of the room.

Lola sputters. "What! I thought you said you're going to help us! How can you do that drunk?"

Clarissa raises an eyebrow. "I do it every year. Those times worked out fine."

Haymich scoffs. "Yeah, so where are all the other victors from District Twelve? Oh, that's right, there are none! Being drunk really helped keep them alive. No wonder everyone's dead." He spits the last part out through gritted teeth.

The affect on Clarissa is instantaneous. She sits up straight, sobering up in a heartbeat. In a false calm voice, cover pure fury, she says "Their deaths weren't my fault."

Haymich laughed mockingly. "Then why did they die? They were all doomed the minute you won your Games." Once again, the last part was said through gritted teeth. Clarissa lets out a shriek of rage. She lunges across the table, tackling Haymich to the floor. She begins to punch him incessantly in the gut. Then she claws at his face. Two Capitol Attendants come forward, trying to restrain her. She throws their arms off of her and continues clawing at him. Three more Capitol Attendants assist the first two and they successfully pull Clarissa away and restrain her. However, she is still shrieking unintelligibly trying to shake them off and get to Haymich.

In there, I change into pajamas. I lay on my bed for hours before I fall asleep. Who knows what'll happen in the arena. All I know is that I probably won't be going back to District 12. The thought of it makes me sad. Even though I might stand a chance, the competition is too large. I keep thinking about the arena until the tendrils of sleep engulf me.

In my dream, I'm standing in a clearing in the middle of a forest. Dim light filters through the branches, filling the air with an ominous feeling. It's deathly quiet. Not so much as a leaf sways or a wind blows.

Then, Clarissa walks through the shrubbery about ten feet in front of me. Her gray eyes are alight and fierce. She lets out a feral snarl and begins to morph.

Her fingers elongate into thick, gray-blue talons. Her gray eyes start glowing, shifting from gray to a wolfish yellow. Dark brown fur bursts from her skin. Her nose elongates into a snout. Finally the transformations finished.

She's a werewolf.

I let out a blood curling scream as she leaps at me. He claws rake through my face, and then…

I snap into a sitting position. Sweat coats my whole body, making my pajamas cling to my skin. I pant as if I have just finished a mile long run, trying to tell myself that it wasn't real.

Realizing that I won't be able to fall asleep, I slide out from under the comforter and onto the hard floor. I walk out of the bedroom slowly, trying to slow my breathing. I just can't get that image out of my head. I know that it could happen. Or at least some form of it, in the Games. I've seen them use wolfish mutts before. My pace slows as I near the living room. There is a light on, probably from the TV. It illuminates the whole hallway, making everything clearly visible. There are voices inside. When I reach the side of the doorway, I recognize one of the voices as Clarissa's.

"I don't want it!" Even without seeing her face, I can tell that she's tired of saying this; sure that she's been saying it for a long time.

"But Ms. Devour–" a man asks.

"No!"

"Listen, Ms. Devour. You have a tumor in your brain! It affects you and it's killing you, now faster than ever."

Clarissa scoffs. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't even need a test to tell that it's gotten bigger! Today you attacked a tribute, something you've never done before. The mood swings were the first signs. Now, you don't even act like you used to. Your personality completely changed. It's starting to affect your anger management. The most amount of time you have would be about three years. After that, you're dead."

"I know. It's what I've been waiting for." What, Clarissa wants to die? I can't even fathom the reason.

"Your drinking problems aren't helping you at all. You might have had more time." The man continues as if Clarissa hadn't even spoken.

"Why do you think that I've been drinking so much more? I want this thing to just kill me already."

"Listen Clarissa, there is a surgery that can be done. I can have the tumor removed. You'll be back to your old self. Then, you'll just have to go through some treatments and you'll be good as new."

"No," her voice makes it clear that she isn't changing her mind.

I back away slowly, not wanting to reveal my position and that I've heard anything. When I'm a safe distance back, I turn and walk back to my bedroom.

I lie in bed. Clarissa's voice when she said she wanted it to be over was so desperate. Whatever caused her to be like this is clearly tormenting her. And I have a good feeling that I'm going being sent right to them.

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