AN: Okay so to start, this is made out of boredom and is probably crap, so I may or may not continue, depending on how it goes. But enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or the plot. Wish I did, but I don't.

Today is the day.

Today I am going to find out what poor District Twelve girl I will be mentoring in the upcoming Hunger Games. Then I get sent away on a train for an unknown amount of time, away from my family again. I shudder at the thought. Being a victor was one thing, but watching another innocent soul get sent into the arena, with no way to fight for them? No, I am not looking forward to this.

My life since I left the arena has been a daze. I find myself trapped in nightmares every night, flashing back to the faces of other tributes who I killed. Who I couldn't save. But no. I would not think of Peeta. I would not think of how the blood poisoning stole him from me before I could help him. I would not think about how it was my fault.

I pinch my wrist, a habit I'd developed to stop myself from thinking the bad thoughts. I finally pull myself from bed, careful not to wake my little sister. I remember then that I no longer share a room with Prim. When we moved into the Victor's Village, we got our own rooms. All the changes still swirl in my head, and I allow myself one moment to breathe before continuing downstairs.

My mother is making breakfast in the kitchen, though it is surely nearly noon by now. Our relationship has been so strange since my return from the tour the victor's must do. After my father's death, the bond we once shared was broken, and remained that way for years. But now, after nearly losing each other, the bond has been repaired. Not the same as before, but I can now truly understand how lucky I am to still be here, with her. I give her a kiss on the cheek before sitting at the kitchen table.

"Hungry?" she asks me without looking away from the sizzling bacon.

I shake my head though she can't see me. "Not really. I don't think my stomach can handle it."

There is a moment where my mother considers how to reply. She knows the thoughts going on in my head, but I can tell she doesn't know how to approach the topic. I'd been self sufficient for so many years now, both physically and emotionally, that she no longer knows how to comfort me. All she whispers is, "Just do your best."

We don't speak for a while before I excuse myself to go get ready. I'd been putting off picking what to wear, so I have a bit of a problem now. I look over my closet, which still isn't thoroughly impressive. I settle on nearly exactly what I wore last year to the reaping, a skirt and a blouse. I wonder if people would recognize me, if my face hadn't been shoved in their faces for the past year. I'd been lucky enough to get out of the arena with nearly no scars, but the difference in my face was unmistakable. Aged. I'm only seventeen, but the Games change people. Force things to happen to children that should not happen.

I wonder if people will stare at the reaping. But of course they will. I won't even be in the crowd this year. I will be on stage, sitting among the 'privileged'. That consists of the mayor, Effie, who is once again the planner for the tributes of Twelve, and Haymitch. Oh, Haymitch. When I was selected as a tribute last year, all I could think of Haymitch was that he was a drunk with no better way to spend his life than waiting to die. But now I understand. The drinking is only his escape from the terrors that never stop haunting the victors. Then there's the fact that every year, he has to try and keep two kids alive, and has watched them both die every year until last. No, I no longer hate Haymitch.

Once I'm dressed, I go to rouse Prim. I find her on her bed, curled in a ball while being protected by Buttercup. The ugly cat hisses at me while I cross the room. I hiss right back. I gently sit on the edge of my little sister's bed and shake her shoulder. "Prim," I whisper. "Prim, it's time to get up."

Her eyes flutter open, and she takes a few seconds to absorb the room around her before throwing her arms around my neck. Her sobs rack through her body before I can begin to comfort her. I wrap my arms protectively around her, and start patting her blonde hair. She cries into me for a while I whisper soothing words to her. Eventually, she calms down and pulls away.

"I don't want to do it again, Katniss," she says, her voice hoarse from crying.

Prim is now thirteen, which means her name should only be entered twice in the bowl. We have no need for the tessera anymore, because of the winnings from the last Hunger Games. Her odds should be pretty good, considering there will be thousands of papers in that bowl.

But this is a Quarter Quell. The seventy-fifth anniversary of the Games. The Capitol, of course, has to make these games worse than usual. I remember the night President Snow announced the rules for the upcoming Games as if it were yesterday. Then I remember, it had been just yesterday that I'd revisited that day in my nightmares.

We had gathered around the TV in our house, waiting to see what horrors awaited. I was more frightened than I was last year. It was no longer my own safety I was concerned for; it was Prim's. The Capitol's seal flashed, before the live feed of Snow in his mansion aired.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it. On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes. And now we honor our third Quarter Quell." He reaches into the little box brought on stage with him. He pulls out one card and studies it for what seems to be forever before reading it. "As a reminder to the rebels that even the smallest and weakest among them are dying, the younger the tribute, the more slips will be in the bowl with their name on it."

It had taken a moment to sink in. The youngest, the twelve year olds, would have twice as many slips as the eighteen year olds. Prim had broken into sobs while my mother sat in shock. The rules were very dodgy, but it was clear that Prim was in more danger this year.

So while Prim should normally only have been entered twice, she was to have seventeen slips with her name on it, just one less than the twelve year olds. Still, the odds were against her, but it was unnerving to imagine any young child being slaughtered in that arena. Just as Rue had been, so small and fragile.

I pinch my wrist to bring me back to the present. I stare into Prim's eyes for a long time. "You're going to be fine, Prim. I promise."

I help her up, and get her dressed. I tuck in her duck tail while she quacks, and a chuckle escapes my lips. My little sister has matured so much over the past year, but she was still just a silly little girl. I stand beside her as she gazes into the mirror. Prim has taken on most of my mother's physical qualities, while I'd taken on more from my father. But standing here, side by side, there was no doubt we were sisters. She was just a younger, prettier version of me. With soft eyes, and blonde locks, she was sure to have boys all over her when she gets older.

We hold hands as we walk downstairs, and we find Haymitch sitting at the table, looking only slightly drunk this year. Mother is serving him what is obviously not his first helping of breakfast. He stands when he sees me.

"Sweetheart! How good to see you!" He chucks his arms around me for a hug, and Prim ducks out before she is swallowed whole. "Ready to see what kid we're going to watch die this year?"

I shove him off of me, giving him a death glare as I hear Prim attempt to keep her breathing calm. He notices the reason for my defensive behavior, and turns to Prim. "Oh but don't you worry, cupcake, you're going to be fine." He breathes the last word as he nearly falls over. Sighing, I help him steady himself.

"Katniss, the mayor has requested you at the Square in fifteen minutes," my mother tells me. I know what this means. It's time to go.

I shove Haymitch off of me, and walk over to Prim, who is staring blankly at her food in front of her. I pull up a chair next to her. "Listen to me, ducky. You are not going to picked, you understand? You are completely safe, I promise." I pull her in for a hug. "You've got to trust me, Prim."

I feel a few tears re-dampen my shirt as she whispers, "I do trust you."

I pull back, kiss her forehead, and stand. I hug my mother goodbye, and head out the front door with Haymitch. We walk silently towards to center of District Twelve, though I am constantly steadying Haymitch. He's not completely wasted though, just enough that he doesn't know where to put his feet. Once we reach the square, Effie, sporting a neon blue wig, sighs and comes to my rescue.

"Katniss, how good to see you, dear," she says. Haymitch finds himself someone new to fling himself at, and so I trudge myself up the stairs to the stage.

I find the mayor, Madge's father, sitting patiently in one of the four seats set out. I sit on the chair farthest away from him, naturally out of habit to exclude myself from social events. But I have nothing against him. His daughter is one of my only friends. It was her who gave me the mockingjay pin as a token, which I have ever since kept as a good luck charm. Even now it is pinned to my blouse. I spend a lot of time at the mayor's house, so I know the man sitting two chairs over from me very well, but I still don't wish to have a conversation with him.

Time goes on, conversations buzz around me, and eventually the Square fills. Girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen file into one closed off area, and boys between the same ages file in another adjacent to it. Usually, the younger children are at the back of the cage, and older teens are at the front, but not this year. The Gamemakers have decided that since it is more likely for a younger child to be picked, it makes more sense to have them at the front.

I watch the families of the possible tributes cling to the side of the ropes. Looking over, I see my mother holding hands with Prim from across the rope. I glance to the boy's side, and see what I desperately wish not to see. Gale.

My best friend. From the moment I'd entered the arena, and I'd been playing the 'girl in love with Peeta' role, I thought for sure I'd lose everything I'd ever had with him. We were so perfect for each other, but it'd never occurred to us. Gale had been supportive when I first returned home, after all, I was so shattered from losing Peeta. But where did it leave our relationship? Were we to fall in love now? We'd spent what time we could together, and it usually involved holding hands or something of the such. We'd never kissed of course, but I couldn't help but wonder if we were ever going to be able to take on that relationship.

But Gale was safe now. He's nineteen, no longer able to be a tribute in the Hunger Games. Only one of his siblings is of the age that can be picked. Like Prim, Rory has better chances of being picked this year than any other year. I think about how it must be for Gale now, after everything that happened last year. I'm positive, had the situation been reversed, Gale would have volunteered to take Rory's place in the Games. But Gale was too old now. He couldn't volunteer if he wanted to. The thought alone gives me shudders.

Effie and Haymitch take their seats next to me and the mayor, waiting for the cue to begin the ceremony. We wait for the camera men to wave at us, and Mayor Undersee stands. I block out the words he says, just wanting this to be over. It's not until Effie stands to begin picking names that I pay attention.

She smiles at the cameras and says, "Shall we start with the boys this year?"

Effie walks over to the oversized bowl. My stomach begins to turn. It is much larger than it should be. It contains too many names of innocent children. Her fingers snake their way into the bowl and dance over the top of the slips before dipping into them, and surfacing with one paper in hand. There is pure silence before she reads out, "Rory Hawthorne."

My heart skips a beat. No. Not little Rory, who's only thirteen. I force my eyes to lift, to see Gale with no expression on his face as his brother steps out of the crowd. He looks terrified, and he has every right to be. But he keeps walking.

"Let's have a round of applause of our newest male tribute!" says Effie happily. There is a few scattered claps that die out quickly. Rory climbs the stairs to the stage, and stands next to Effie. "Now, are there any volunteers?"

Silence. No one will take his place. No one who wants to can. Rory will be entering the arena as District Twelve's boy tribute. I make eye contact with Gale, and say silently what cannot be said aloud. I promise I will do everything in my power to bring him home, Gale. I promise nothing can stop me from bringing him back to you. I see him give on tiny nod, his eyes locked on mine.

My promise becomes a lie as Primrose Everdeen's name is called as the female tribute.

AN: So please tell me what you guys think! If I should continue, if I should burn it and pretend I never wrote it...let me know. Any type of criticism is welcome, so please please please rate and review!