I wake up to the feeling of Sam kicking in his sleep and crying. He did this last year as well, when he was twelve. He must have been having a nightmare. Of course he was. This was the day of the Reaping. I roll over and prop myself up on my elbow, looking at my little brother, only thirteen, cry in his sleep.

'Sam,' I say, shaking him gently 'Sammy wake up.' His eyes flash open and he jumps awake. He grabs onto me, a habit he has when he gets scared. I hold onto him, trying to reassure him, and failing.

'Dean,' he whispers 'it's me, it's going to be me, they'll pick me!' We had this conversation last year, only now, since his name is in the ball more times since he took the Tessare behind my back, he is more afraid. Still, I do my big brother duty and calm him down.

'Hey, hey, Sammy. How many times is your name in there, huh? Eight times, OK?' Sam nods, following along with me 'Eight slips in thousands. They won't pick you, OK?' Sam nods. I forbade Sam to take the Tessare, but when does he ever listen to me?

'I've got to go out, OK? You get a few more hours shut-eye, and I'll be back real soon, got it?' With that, Sam gets back into bed and I get dressed into my hunting clothes, grab my bag on weapons from under my bed, and slip out the door.

The air is quiet, but nowhere near peaceful. Instead it is terrifying and makes me want to puke. As I cross our part of District 12, the Seam, I can't help but think about how many times my name is in the bowl. Since I'm sixteen, it was already in five times, but after taking the Tessare for me, my dad and Sam, it went up to twenty times. Guess the odds aren't in my favour. I get to the fence and stop listening for the hum of electricity, which isn't there. Not that it ever is. I slip through the fence quietly and into the woods, where I'm finally free. According to Charlie, I'm always happiest in the woods.

A squirrel scurries up a tree trunk and I take out my knife, creeping closer to it. When I'm close enough, I get the little sucker right in the back of his neck. Feeling satisfied, I shove him into my bag and sling it on my shoulder.

'Nice work,' a voice calls out from behind me. If I didn't know that voice, I would be terrified, but since I know that voice like the back of my hand, I relax, and turn round to see Charlie Bradbury.

I met Charlie when I was 12, out on a hunt alone; I had gotten a rabbit right in the back of the neck. I went to pick it up, when Charlie swooped in and lifted it. She waved it above me, teasing. I scaled the tree and told her to give it back. When she refused, I knocked her out of the tree with a simple kick, but had grabbed her wrist just as she fell. Ever since that, she and I had become best friends; she is practically my sister, although she is also a real pain in the ass.

We are sitting on a hill, overlooking the valley, our spoils from the hunt beside us. It seems even the animals are being generous.

I can feel how nervous Charlie is. At fourteen, her name is in the ball fifteen times, after taking the Tessare for herself, her two brothers and her sister, who aren't old enough for the Games yet. Ever since Charlie's parents died, she was left to raise them on her own. She's done a good job, although I'd never say that to her face.

'Hey,' Charlie nudges my knee with her foot, a faint smile on her face, 'check it out.' She produces a loaf of bread, real stuff, not the dense loaves we have to make.

'Holy shit,' I laugh, 'Charlie where the hell?' Charlie just shakes her head at me and hands me over a half.

'Happy Hunger Games!' she mimics the voice of Gabriel, the man who comes every year for the Reaping.

'And may the odds be ever in your favour!' I say back to her in the same tone. We feel the need to joke, because isn't it better than being scared out of your wits? And besides, the Capitol accent is too funny to not mock.

Charlie's gaze is focused out on the horizon, on the world beyond District 12. 'What if we did?' she asks me. I don't even need to ask what, because I know what she is saying. And I can't. She's asking what if we left District 12.

'We can't,' I reply, pretending to be more interested in my bread. I find the idea of leaving amazing, but I can't. Where the hell would we go? We'd be found by the Capitol and punished. And even if that wasn't a possibility, how could I leave Sam, who is the only person I am certain I love? And Charlie devotes herself to her siblings.

'Yeah. I know,' Charlie sighs. I shake her shoulder gently, to show no hard feelings.

'Come on.' We slip back into District 12 silently and get our trading at the black market, the Hob, done well, people are more generous than usual, and I get 'good lucks' from near enough everyone.

'See you later, then,' Charlie says when we have to go our separate ways.

'See you,' I say with a smile.

'Wear something pretty,' she says, playful as always.

When I get home, Sam is sitting at the table, already in his Reaping clothes. My dad is there too, looking better than usual. Ever since our mother got killed when Sam was a baby, he had never been his usual self, and obsessed over finding what had killed her.

'Hey, short stuff,' I say, ruffling Sam's hair. He just laughs and fixes it. The 'short stuff' isn't fair, considering Sam's height.

'I got some hot water ready, and laid your clothes out,' my dad tells me. I look up and give him a grateful nod.

When I've cleaned all the woods off and dressed in my Reaping clothes, I go back into the kitchen and see Sam's outfit fully. Both are hand-me-downs, the trousers are nearly long enough, but the shirt hangs off him. I laugh and bean down in front of him, tucking it in.

'You've got to look smart, Sammy,' I tell him, and he gives me a small smile. I protect Sam in every way that I can, but I'm powerless against the Reaping.

'I made breakfast,' he tells me, nodding in the direction of the table, where he's laid out a bowl of stew next to his empty bowl.

'Cool. We can have the fish and berries tonight, yeah,' I ask, keeping the mood light. Sam nods in agreement.

'Yeah,' he says. Although we both can cook, Sam is better, so I let him do it as I hunt.

When it's time, Sam, my dad and I make our way to the square. The sunlight is shining and the air is warm, there are cameras set up and the stage is all set. I wonder how it is for the Capitol children, to watch with great excitement instead of fear, to marvel at the Reaping balls instead of fear them. As we near the stage, Sam's grip on my arm tightens.

'Hey, hey, you'll be fine. I promise,' I tell him. Dad has gone off to the perimeters, but he's still watching us.

'I know. So will you. I'll see you after,' he says, which is exactly what I said a year ago. I ruffle his hair as he goes off to stand with the other kids his age, and I stand with the kids my age. On stage, there is the Mayor, Gabriel and District 12's only surviving mentor, Bobby Singer.

Eventually, the Mayor gets up and begins repeating what we have heard several times before. The Treaty of Treason.

'Blah bla war blah bla repentance blah bla all hail the Capitol, we get it,' I mutter, with a few giggles from around me. Now, Gabriel takes his place at the podium.

'Hello, hello,' he says into the microphone 'and welcome to this year's Reaping, where we will choose on courageous young man and woman, for the honour of representing your fine District,' when he says that, you can practically see him shudder, we all know he wants a better District 'in the 72nd annual Hunger Games. Now, ladies first.' He reaches the ball in double quick time and plucks a name out, and I have just enough time to pray for Charlie before he's back at the podium.

'Joanna Harvelle.' I feel relief for about a second, because it isn't Charlie, followed by a feeling of guilt like I'm being punched in the stomach. I know Joanna or Jo as she is known, from school, but I don't talk with her much. I know that she lives alone with her single mother and her family friend, Ash, but that's about it. I can see her now in a blue knee length dress, especially for the Reaping I'm guessing, making her way towards the stage at a normal walking pace, but her steps at stiff and her hands are curled into fists.

'No!' a cry can be heard from the back, it must be her mother 'Jo, no!' At that moment, Jo looks around and we can see the tears in her eyes, and she runs a little and mounts the stage, Gabriel taking her hand as she mounts the steps.

'Well, nice to meet you, Joanna,' Gabriel chuckles, patting her lightly on the shoulder 'now for the boys.' He seems to be taking it slow now, the opposite of how he picked Jo. His finger traces the rim of the glass bowl and he gently slips him hand inside. The arm moves into the centre of the bowl and drags a name out. The pace is torture, and all the while I am hoping it's not me, it's not me, it's not me.

Gabriel moves to the podium and unfolds the paper. The silence is broken. The name is read out. And it's not me.

'Sam Winchester.'