So, this is an experiment written by me and my friend. If you like it, there's plenty more to come. If not, well, it was worth a shot. Hahaha. Let us know what you think!

Remember the Day

Madge

The morning of the reaping dawned the same way it always did. For four years I had experienced it. Soon to be five. Even if I've never needed tesserae, I still feel the cold, tense prickles at the back of my neck on reaping days. Even I'm not safe from being thrown into the games... and even if I was, I'd probably still feel the same. Losing friends and relatives is almost as bad as losing yourself, isn't it?

Last year was the hardest. The games were only a few days in when we watched Peeta die. Burned to death in the fire that chased Katniss from her hideout. He had been looking for her, I remember it as clear as day. He must have really loved her.
Only a few days after that, Katniss was caught by the tributes from District 1. The cannon sounded for her, too, just a few minutes after they caught her. She was wearing my pin when she died.
It seemed like all of District 12 was in mourning after they passed. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen were barely seen around town for a few months after the games. Whenever I did get a glimpse of Prim, she looked swallow and paler than usual, heading toward the dangerous side of emaciated.
I used to sneak by whenever Gale wasn't around and drop off a few tokens. A ball of yarn. A few vials of morphling that I'd dug out of my mother's medicine case. Maybe even a loaf of bread here and there. It didn't seem to be enough. Even with Gale's constant struggle, food had become scarce for them.

My father doesn't talk about the games much. I think it's because of Aunt Maysilee. I get chills every time I think of her. Of course, I wasn't even born then, but my mother keeps a photograph of the two of them hidden away in her chest of drawers. When I was a child, I used to sneak into her room to look at it, wondering who the double copy of my mother was. Once, my father told me it was her sister, and then dropped the conversation there.

By the time I'm ready to get out of bed, I can already hear the quiet settling over the town. Usually, I can hear at least some commotion going on, but today, like all reapings, the shutters are drawn closed and families are trying to get just one last moment with each other before things head south. It's a reality for two families, but the others will breathe easier after the reaping is over.
I make my way to the bathroom and draw a bath. Our tub is communal, though it's still much nicer than what most people in District 12 can afford. I think it may be porcelain. It's missing one clawed foot, but has been propped up on a stack of old books, which makes it slightly wobbly though still usable. Things like this aren't often wasted.
The water that comes out is tepid at best, but I slip in and scrub my body down, trying my best to ignore the scratching of the brush against my skin. I wash my hair - something I barely get to do once a week now - and wring it out as I get out, draining the water from the bath.
Once I'm dry, I give attention to my hair. It's growing long now, and blonde as my mother's once was. My father often tells me I resemble my mother more and more each day.
I comb my hair straight and let it dry as I dress. A white dress and a frock have been selected for me today. First, I put on my undergarments and then the frock, wiggling the dress on afterward. It's a nice fit, but I think the color washes out my face.

I am slipping on my shoes when my father knocks on my door. In a moment, I answer it, after I've gotten my other shoe on. He greets me with a one-armed hug and a warm smile. I can see he's hiding something behind his back.

"Good afternoon my daughter." He says with another smile.

I peer around his broad shoulder. "What have you got behind your back?"

He chuckles and brings his arm forward, showing me a small basket full of fresh strawberries. "Just a token of good luck for you today," he admits, offering them up for my selection.

I can feel my mouth watering. They look delicious. As rare as they are, I know exactly where they've come from. I'm not sure I want to even touch them, let alone eat them. "I'm not hungry," I lie.

"Come on, Madge. You've only had your name entered six times now." My father says with a slight frown.

At least he's not picked up on the real reason I don't want to eat the strawberries. I clasp my hands in my lap. "I know. I'm still nervous."
He sighs and takes my hands in his, pushing the berries into my palm. "Everything is going to be fine."

I give him a weak smile, which is enough for him, and he turns to leave. I watch him as he disappears down the hall, and take the strawberries back into my room, closing the door behind me.

I sit on my bed, staring at the pot of strawberries that have my stomach rumbling. Gale's face appears in my mind as I pick one up by the stem and give it a sniff. It's sweet fragrance hits me like a wall of bricks, and I give a soft groan. It's all I can do to avoid eating them. I hate knowing that these berries have been picked by his hands. I hate knowing that I will see him in an hour and will have to thank him for the food that should be going to Prim. Guilt shakes through my limbs as I stare at the fruits. Of course, my father has probably paid more than what they are worth, but I still feel awful, taking the fruit from stomachs that need it more than mine.

After some time of staring at the ripe, red berries I finally give in. I eat half of the pot and set it aside, not wanting to waste them. Fruit like this is hard to come by, especially on days like today. Maybe, if I make it back, I'll eat them later as a celebratory snack that I have survived yet another year of reapings.

Two o'clock dawns on me too fast. I'm being summoned down to the foyer by my father.

Too soon, I'm in the square in front of the Justice Building. An orderly line of possible tributes has formed in front of the stage to be archived. I take my place in line, just as the previous years before. I see people from my class, people from our town and even children I don't recognize. An air of silence falls over us as we file in, one by one being archived by peacekeepers.
My turn comes and my finger is pricked, a drop of my blood bubbling up on the pad of my index finger. The woman at the desk presses my finger onto a piece of paper with my name and photo on it, and my blood smears on a square box on the page. She waves me off and calls for the next person.

I file into the crowd of girls on the right side. I exchange a few words with a few girls I know, but ultimately fall silent as I watch the others slowly trickle in. Maybe this year will be another year free from the terror of dying.

As the rest of the girls and boys are filed in, I catch a glimpse of Prim. She's a few rows ahead of me, her hair tied into the braid that Katniss wore last year. I remember thinking that it suited her, but on Prim, it looks bulky and too big for her tiny head. Her cheekbones stick out like sore thumbs. Almost without thinking, my eyes drift toward the sea of boys. I can see Peeta's brother in the crowd; it will be the last year he's in the reaping.
At least he looks better than Prim.

While I let my eye wander over the crowd, waiting for my father to take the stage, I find Gale's face. And he's looking back at me.
My heart does a flip in my chest. I've been trying to avoid him, and he's been staring at me. I can still feel his gaze fixed on me as my father ascends the steps to give his speech.
I look up at the stage, suddenly transfixed by the fascinating routine up there. There could be nothing up there and I'd still watch with interest. Anything to get me out of looking at Gale again.
Shame runs up my spine as I watch, my father's repetitive words slurring out in what seems to be one breath. I've given up on listening. It's not like it matters much anyway.
During this time, Effie and Haymitch have already taken the stage as well, and have sat down while my father speaks. Once he is done, Effie stands, seemingly happy to be rid of sitting next to Haymitch.
She crosses the stage to the podium and begins her blathering about the Capitol, though her words seem more hollow than last year. Perhaps she remembers Katniss and Peeta the same way we all do.

I watch the video about the uprising and keep my eyes glued to the screen while I let my mind wander. No one speaks, but none of us are really watching. We all know what is coming next.
The two glass bowls that hold our names and our possible doom are the same ones from last year. This year, two new names will be added to gravestones, most likely, and there won't be any bodies to bury.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" Effie asks rhetorically as she strides toward the boys' bowl. A small murmur runs through the crowd as she does this. Her usual role is selecting the females first, though this year she has chosen to select the boys first. Perhaps it is out of respect for Katniss' family. She puts her hand in the bowl and draws a name as a hush falls over the rest of us. All of us are secretly praying, hoping that it's not someone we hold close.

Gale

I hate this day.

I hate a lot of days, but this one packs a particular punch. It is on this day a year ago, after all, that I lost her. I lost my best friend. I'd like to think that we were more than that; that she knew that I loved her. I loved that she was different; how she refused to bend. I'll never forget, watching her as she volunteered herself to take her sister's place in the Games. I'll never forget the feeling as my heart fell to the pit of my stomach, knowing that on the small chance that she returned, my life with her would never be the same again.

I spent a lot of time preparing for her return. I'd broached the subject before the Games, but she'd refused. This time, I wasn't taking 'no' for an answer. Us and our families, we were going into the forest. I'd done a lot of trading in the Hob, making sure that we got things that we needed.

But Katniss never came back.

I didn't cry when I saw her die. All I felt was cold, sick. A numbness spread through my body and I don't think it's left me. I knew what I had to do. I knew what this would do to Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. I knew I had to take care of them, because Katniss couldn't anymore. I knew it would be difficult, but there's no helping it. No going back now.

I wake up and no one talks to me; my mother loved Katniss too, and she knows that this day is hard for me. Not that other days aren't, but she doesn't say anything. Instead she silently offers me a bowl of meal and nuts, but I shake my head. I am not hungry today. She doesn't insist.

It is early morning, too early for the reaping to begin. I revel in the quiet; today the miners won't be trudging to work. The people of the Seam are particularly nervous, as they are every year, because here our names are in there the most. Here we have everything to lose, and have done it time and time again. This year it is the Quarter Quell; I know that we will be losing much more than usual.

My morning is spent in the forest. I do not hunt; instead I just sit. I do not want to go. I want to stay here forever, in a place where things aren't so bad. In this place Katniss is alive. I can pretend that I am waiting for her to join me, that she is stalking a deer or a rabbit somewhere in the woods. She will emerge any minute now, and she will have with her her prize. Together we will go down to the Hob, and we will get our earnings. Our families will be proud of us. In this place it is not reaping day, just another, normal one.

All too soon my fantasy comes crashing down. None of this is happening. Katniss is not stalking a deer or even a rabbit. She is not setting traps. She has not gotten caught up in trying to leave the Seam. She merely does not exist in this world anymore. The knowledge knocks the air out of me, strangely enough; it's not like I haven't thought about it before. Maybe it's because it's that day, the day that is significant only because it led to her death. In a few weeks time, we will be forced to relive all of it over again. The Capitol will enjoy it as they rub it in our faces, how we lost our precious Katniss, the Girl on Fire. How we lost her pretend lover, how he had worked to save her. If only he had.

Despite everything in me that tells me to run, I make my way back to the District. I put away Katniss' bow; I'm not nearly as good as she is, but I've been practising. I am not dressed up this year; not like all the others. I can't do it. I don't care. My name is in there a staggering forty-eight times, but it doesn't matter. Not this year. This year my results are fixed, and that isn't going to change.

This year, I am going to volunteer.

My family doesn't know. I know that if I had told them they would have protested. I know they will, but it will be too late. I know it will hurt them, but they will understand. They see how much losing Katniss has hurt me, even if I have yet to shed even a single tear. More than that, I have a burning hatred for the Capitol. I always have, but this has made it worse. There have been rumours, uprisings in other Districts; Katniss had captures the heart of many people, and the Capitol was paying for its mistakes. Small fires were cropping up, starting in District 11. Things are getting worse, I'm hoping they'll reach a boiling point. I want to be there when it does.

I go by my house to pick up my siblings, and I take a moment to kiss my mother's cheek. They are all dressed in their finest, their faces grave.
"Gale," my mother calls, and I pause to look back at her. I see it in her eyes; she knows that I am going to do something.
She sighs, suddenly looking much older than she should. The Seam does this to everyone, but days like today especially. "I love you, all of you," she says then, seemingly resigning herself and us to this fate.

I also go to get Prim; I do not want her walking to the square by herself. Even if I cannot stand with her, I know that she feels a horrible guilt. It should have been her, not Katniss.

As I am filed into line with the others I go through the motions. I can see the fear on everyone's faces, but I know that the boys are safe. I want to tell them so; I want to tell them that they have nothing to fear this year. That they can go home safe tonight because it is me that will be taking that dreaded spot. They can live to see another year...more, if I can help it. This year is going to be different. I am not stopping until the Capitol has at least learned a lesson.

I do not even flinch when they prick my finger. I look up and see a familiar face, though I cannot say that I am fond of it. Madge is dressed in a pretty white dress, more expensive than anything my entire family could ever own. She is perhaps the only person without any tesserae; she doesn't need it. I don't know much about her, only that I do not like her just on principle. Madge will never understand what it is like to live like us. She doesn't belong here. I realise that I've been staring, and I turn away to go and join the other boys my age.

There are no smiles in this crowd, not even a murmur as people discussed what they were doing here. No polite hellos and how are yous...just sombre, ashen faces. They all know the odds; if Katniss Everdeen couldn't survive, what hope did they have? I watch and I wait, my eyes fixed on the platform in front of the Justice Building as I wait for the Capitol filth to come and ruin our lives. If I have anything to say about it, and I have plenty, this will be the last time.

The mayor offers his speech, but I am not listening. No one is. I cast a glance over at Madge...she is standing in my line of sight in exactly the same place that Katniss was last year. Or at least, that's what it seems. Resentment burns in my gut, I know that out of everyone, Madge is one of the safest. I wish Katniss were here. I wish I could look over and see her, grey eyes fixed on the front, worry etched onto her features as she thought about her sister. I tear my eyes away and find Prim, she is focused. Her face mirrors that of everyone else.

There is nothing worse than standing here, being forced to watch the propaganda that the Capitol feeds us. I am interested to note, however, that Effie doesn't seem quite as enthusiastic as last year. It's almost as if there is a light gone from her eyes; that maybe the magic of the Capitol is slowly giving way to reality for her. Oh, she'd never give up her fancy house and clothes, but maybe she's beginning to see that things aren't what she thought. I still hate her. That won't change.

I watch as Effie makes her way over to the boy's bowl. This sends a slight shock through the crowd around me; they are not expecting this. Honestly I am surprised; they are so set in their ways that even a minor deviation like this is a big deal. It doesn't matter; it means that these boys will be put to ease sooner than later.

My heart is drumming in my ears and I clench my fists at my side. I want to do this. My body is trembling and there is something coursing through my veins that I do not understand. Is it fear? Maybe. Some fear is good, but I'll save it for the arena. A healthy dose of it might keep me alive. It will keep me cautious.

Effie reaches her delicate, manicured hand into the bowl and fishes around, plucking out a single, folded piece of paper. The way they do this here is arcane, and I can't help but wonder if the richer districts have it different. The crowd collectively holds its breath as she unfolds the paper; it seems to take hours, everything is in slow motion. I am simply waiting for my opportunity to speak.