It was that time of year again. The time of year that most of the population of Panem dreaded. The excitement was already evident in the Capitol but, for the Districts, there was a definite sense of dread.

Because it was Reaping Day. The Tributes would be chosen today, and within only a few weeks, twenty-three children would be dead. For the children at risk of that, that prospect was hardly anything to be excited about.

Especially for the children in the outer Districts. They were more at risk, after all. The odds were hardly ever in their favour.


Alexandria Christine Anderson lived in District Twelve. She had never been out of District Twelve. Then again, leaving your District usually meant that you had been chosen for the Hunger Games, so maybe that was no real loss.

Alex had a moderate life, especially when compared to the poor people who lived in the Seam. Her father was one of the mayor's advisors, meaning that her family were not hopelessly poor (though, they were hardly wealthy), and they lived in a fairly decent house. Alex even had her own room. If you could call the attic that she slept in a room.

But, despite her mostly stable living situation, Alex was rarely happy. Her father, Michael Anderson, had always had problems with his temper. He controlled it at work and in public, but that only made it all the worse when he was at home. And it was usually Alex who received the worst of it. She knew it was her own fault, she could never keep quiet, couldn't just shut up and let him yell at her. She always had to say something back. That was when he would hit her. And it always worked, it always shut her up.

And so, Alex spent as much time as possible out of her house. Near the Hob was a gap under the fence around the District. She knew of several people her own age who would use the woods for hunting. But Alex had a different purpose in going there each day. If you walked the path that Alex walked each day, you would eventually, after about an hour of walking, come across a secluded area of grass and wildflowers. The small meadow was sheltered by trees, making it perfectly private.

Every day after school, Alex would sneak under the fence to get to her meadow. Ever since she was a child, she had loved to dance. She'd seen pictures of a ballerina in an old book in the mayor's house, and become fascinated with the skill. She had had no teacher, after all, dancing was hardly useful in a mine. But Alex had found the skill within herself, had discovered for herself how to move her legs, her torso, her arms. And, ten years later, it was still what made her happy. Her only real talent.


Alex was sat at the edge of her meadow. Usually, when she was this nervous about something, she would dance to channel the adrenaline. But she felt too sick. She was tapping her foot up and down on the grass, practically able to hear the seconds tick down to the Reaping.

She was well aware of how many times her name was in the bowl. Given that she was signed up for two portions of Tesserae each year, there would be eighteen little slips of paper with her name in that glass sphere. There were people worse off than her, of course, but the odds were hardly in her favour.

"Scared?"

The voice behind her made Alex jump, but she didn't need to look around to know who it was. "Yeah. I think I'm allowed to be, Harry."

Harold Theopolis Osborn, the mayor's son, walked over to his best friend and sat next to her. They had met when they were seven years old, the neglected children of the mayor and his advisor who had been left alone in the living room while their fathers worked. Perhaps it had been the shared 'daddy issues', a kindred spirit. Or perhaps it was meant to be. Or, maybe, it had simply been out of boredom.

Whatever had caused it, the two had quickly and easily formed a bond, and had been best friends ever since. To Alex, Harry was like a brother, a twin that she couldn't imagine ever being without. Outside of her household, Harry was the only person who knew of her father's temper. He could read Alex like a book, and often knew what she was thinking about before even she did.

"I never said you weren't allowed to be," Harry sighed sympathetically, putting his arm around Alex and holding her tight. He was far more worried about her than he was about himself. After all, he'd never needed Tesserae, his name was only in the Reaping pool five times. He had the odds on his side. Unlike Alex.

Letting out the shaky breath that she had been holding, Alex rested her head on Harry's shoulder. "We'll be fine. I'm sure we'll be fine. I have a good feeling about this year," she lied. "And, just think, after this, we'll only have to go through one more."

"Yay, freedom," Harry replied. His tone of voice didn't match his words.

For almost twenty minutes, the two of them sat in silence. Alex had put her arms around Harry, and they just held each other. This was almost a tradition of theirs, to just be there for each other before the worst moment of every year. But, eventually, Harry looked at his watch. "We should go back. It's two hours until the Reaping."

Whatever blood was left in Alex's face drained away in terror. But she swallowed, and nodded.

Falling silent once more, Harry got to his feet and pulled Alex to hers. They walked back to the fence with their hands linked. When they got back to the District, Harry walked Alex to her door. He hugged her tightly, and kissed the top of her head. "It'll be okay, Allie," he mumbled into her hair, though his voice cracked as he spoke. "We'll be fine. I'll find you after, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. We'll be fine," Alex repeated, sniffing as she tried desperately not to cry. She knew Harry would be fine. But she might not be.

Getting dressed for the Reaping was hardly a fun event. Given that she had been out all morning, the other four members of Alex's family had already bathed. Which meant that there was only cold, grubby water left in the basin. After washing herself as best she could, Alex put on the navy blue plain dress that hung at the back of her wardrobe, only ever used on this day. It had been her mothers, and then her sisters. Cara was nineteen, and so was completely safe from the Reaping.

There was a knock on Alex's door, and Cara herself walked in. "Let me do your hair," she mumbled, taking the hairbrush from her younger sister. Her strokes were soft and gentle.

Alex was closer to Cara that she was to any other member of her family. They weren't, perhaps, as close as typical sisters would be, but they were definitely friends. As she ran the brush through Alex's curly brown hair, Cara sighed. "You'll be okay. You and Matthew."

Matthew was the youngest in the family. At thirteen years old, his name was in the Reaping pool four times. As cruel as it seemed, Alex wasn't worried about Matthew. He was so unlikely to get chosen, after all. And they didn't exactly like each other. Of course, Alex would be horrified if her younger brother did end up in the Games, but the concern wasn't weighing heavily on her mind.

"Yeah. I'm sure we will," Alex replied, her voice barely rising about a whisper.

When Cara had finished brushing Alex's hair, she took a grey ribbon out of her pocket and tied Alex's hair up in it. "You look nice," she said softly, stroking her hands through her hair. That was one thing Cara had always marvelled at; despite how little soap and water they had available for bathing in, Alex's hair always seemed to be soft and sleek.

"Thanks." Alex's voice was still so quiet that it was barely audible. They fell quiet, and a tiny smile flickered on Alex's lips as she felt Cara's arms around her.

"We have to go. You can't be late," Cara mumbled. "I'm sorry, Alex. We have to go."


The square was packed with people. All of the children aged between twelve and seventeen were sectioned off into sex and age groups. Alex was stood with two of her friends, Mary Jane Watson and Gwendoline Stacy. She could see Harry stood with Peter Parker, another of their friends, in the boy's section of the sixteen year olds. All five of them were wearing similar expressions on their faces, a mixture of fear, trepidation, and expectation.

Virginia Potts took to the stage, her pink hair all piled on top of her head and her make-up so exaggerated that it was possible to see her lips move from far away without looking at the cameras. "Welcome, everyone, to the Sixtieth Hunger Games!" she called into the microphone. "Now, we've brought you a special treat today, a film that comes all the way from the Capitol!"

Alex tuned out the Capitol's propaganda film. She'd seen it enough times to know what it was going to tell her. About the war. About the reason and need for the Hunger Games. She no longer cared about what it had to say. She just wanted this to be over.

Virginia beamed her usual painted smile at them all. "Wasn't that wonderful? Now, it's time to choose our gallant tributes! As always, we choose our young man first."

After walking over to the bowl on the left of the stage, Virginia stuck a gloved hand into it and dug around in the sea of little white envelopes. It only took five seconds for her to grab hold of one. She held it up high and proud, moving back to centre stage. Still smiling, she flicked it open, and read the name printed on it.

"Harold Osborn."


For those of you who aren't aware, Alex is my OC muse whom I roleplay as on Tumblr with the url alex-andxrson. Updates should hopefully be once a week, but I'm really busy with drama school so they may go off schedule sometimes. Also, I know that in 'The Hunger Games' the female tributes are reaped first, but I switched it for this fic. Please leave a review, it would mean a lot to me :) xxx