The 100th Quarter Quell

[Katniss and Peeta never happened in this story, life continued on like normal]

Chapter 1-Reaped

Oh, how my life would change on this horrible, horrible day.

It was my seventeenth Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV. What district was I in, you ask? 7. My whole life, I had been raised in this place. Really, my life wasn't as bad as many others. My family usually got a meager meal each night, even if it didn't fill us up as much as we would like. Every once and a while we'd even have enough food to give out to some kids.

My name was Tivra Lurain. I stood around 5.1 and had black hair and blue eyes. My dad said my hair looked like the night itself. My dad worked like anyone else in my district, with the lumber. He had been allowed to choose between doing wood work or working with the paper, but he had made the decision to work with wood. So had I.

Most of the other girls worked in the many shops we had. Though we can't usually afford anything out of them. I'd never been like that. My whole life I had only wanted to work with lumber. I had always been strong in the arms, so when I had become thirteen I had started going with my dad to the work area. At first, I had only carried the wood to the wagon, but by the time I was fifteen I was chopping wood just like anyone else.

My mom had tried to stop me at first, she didn't think that it was a lady like job. I had been forced to listen to her rant and rave from the time I was thirteen to the time I was fifteen. Yet, it stopped suddenly then, when a mass explosion in one of the buildings killed her, along with my sister, Mash. I'd been shocked and horrified.

My dad had went into the daze for a his whole life He didn't show emotions. He worked on automatic. He barely even noticed when my brother, Keeble, who was thirteen at the time, was called to go to the arena. I had screamed, tried to volunteer, but of course I couldn't volunteer to go in as the boy tribute. Even when I tried to volunteer for the girl tribute, someone else had volunteered for me. They wouldn't let me go. I'd never know why.

I forced myself not to go into a daze like my dad as I watched my brother fight. He had been working with axes for the last two years and gored a guy through the head once. I had cheered when I saw that, causing my dad to start.

Shockingly, against all odds, it came down to him and the girl tribute from district three. My brother was wounded, face a mess of blood from a gash on his forehead and he was losing blood quickly. It was horrible, when the girl from District two showed up, he managed to get up to his feet. He would have won to if it hadn't been for him not being able to kill her.

She gored him through the stomach with a spear.

He died in three minutes.

The girl won.

I would never forget her face. His face. Never, ever.

As the years passed, I never had to sign up for tessarea, which was lucky for me. My dad never really came out of his mental state, though he did enough to take care of himself when he came home. I didn't let myself get into any relationships with the guys at my school. I would wait until I was nineteen and didn't have to worry about losing him to the reaping.

Blinking into the morning sunlight, I prepared my self to the following day. The day of the reaping. This year was my second last reaping. I was pretty sure I was safe once again, since I wasn't in the drawing for the girls many time. Still, I had my fingers crossed.

I lugged myself to my feet, peeking outside to look out into the street. No one was outside, all the shutters pulled closed except for a few houses. Brown grass waved slowly in the breeze. Pulling away from the window, I pulled my own shutters closed, leaning against the wall weakly and after a moment my knee's gave way. Instead of sliding slowly to the ground. I went crashing down with a resounding bang. I closed my eyes, ignoring the throbbing pain in my tailbone, trying to keep myself from hyperventilating.

I seemed to lay their for hours, but after a while I dragged myself to my feet. I trudged across the room, yanking the door open with a resounding screech. I walked slowly down the hall, each step pain searingly slow. Every step lead me to the event today that I wish I could prolong for another year. No, not another year. Forever.

My dad was in the kitchen, his blond hair sparkling in the light spilling through the window. He had the same colored eyes as me. Dark blue, almost black. He turned, barely acknowledging me before setting two bowels of porridge onto the table. He sat down, eating slowly. I stared at the food, it had been a long time since my dad had cooked for me, but after a moment I shrugged and sat down, taking a bite of the dry grainy meal.

I only ate about half of the bowel before my food started coming back up. I turned, knocking the chair open to rush to the bathroom where I vomited into the makeshift toilet, little more then a hole in the ground. For many minutes I dry heaved, head spinning, but it was finally over. No, today would not be fun.

Leaning back, I took in the sounds of my dad cleaning up. No, he never came to check on me anymore. I rubbed my fingers, the creases caused my years of hard labor so familiar, so permanent. It was something that would never go away.

I stepped out of the bathroom, walking down to my room, where I pulled open the closet. I needed to find something to wear for the reaping. Pushing aside rack after rack of clothing, I became more and more annoyed. I was just about the fling the doors closed again when a glint of sparkly blue caught my eyes.

I'd never noticed it before, who knows why, but in the back of my closet sat a elegantly wrapped box. I reached inside, taking it out and running my fingers over the silk ribbon that must have cost a month of food. It was the writing on the note that caught my eye, though.

Dear Tivra.

You are my daughter. Nothing can change that. I wrapped this a month ago, but just now have put it in your closet. I hope you wear it someday.

You mother, Cash.
September 4th.

I choked on my own saliva as I saw the date. The day before my mom had died. Oh my god! How did I never notice this.

I set it down on the bed, reaching forward to start pulling the ribbon, when a loud beeping began in the kitchen, obviously coming from the TV.

It was time to find out about the Quarter Quell.

It was the one hundredth Hunger Games, a Quarter Quell, meaning that their would be some new twist to the games. I had heard once that they had sent in twice as many tributes, where a boy from District twelve had came in. The Quarter Quells only became more and more gruesome each time.

I turned slowly, making my way back to the hall, before turning into the kitchen. My dad was sitting on the couch, watching the screen intently. I'd never seen him look so intense since the days before my mom died. He'd always been a very intense man. Many people said I'd obtained that from him. I wasn't sure if it was true, but who knew.

For a second, the only thing you could see on the old, dusty screen was static, until suddenly a grey and white picture appeared. President Snow, who was looking very old, was walking up the stage. His white hair glinted unnaturally on the black and grey screen. He reached a table, opened a small box, before pulling out a small, grey card. When he spoke, his voice was almost inaudible with are TV.

"For the one hundredth Quarter Quell, each tribute will be paired up with a tribute from another district,"

His voice had barely ended before the screen went black.

I blinked, staring at the screen in confusion. What was the big deal about that? They would have some pretty hard times keeping us together. My dad was leaning back on the couch, head dipped back and lolling against the cushions. His eyes stared open at the ceiling, only the rise and fall of his chest showing that he was still alive.

Turning my gaze away from my father, I stood up, remembering the box I had left on the bed. I rushed down the hall, sudden excitement rising up my throat. Reaching my room, I carefully pulled the silk ribbon apart, careful not to rip it. Who knows how much money this would sell for.

I wasn't so careful on the sparkly paper. It was just something my mom would pick out and I was already growing to detest it. After all the paper was removed, there was only a plain white box before me. It was a rectangle, stretching almost to the other side of my bed, which was made for one person. I carefully lifted it up and couldn't help the small gasp of shock that came from my throat.

Inside the box was probably the prettiest dress I'd ever seen. Reaching my hands in carefully, I took hold of the silky material carefully, as though it might rip. I pulled it out of the box, taking in the lush red color, the silky shine and the design. It was strapless, with slight creases around the top. Below the waste, it fell down in literal waves. It wasn't puffy, by thin and would probably fall just to the top of my ankles. It was obviously made for someone my age.

I would wear it to the Quarter Quell, of course.

I quickly undressed, slipping the dress over my shoulder. It caught for a moment, but I was able to pull it down without ripping the fine material. It fell over my body, light as a feather and sat so finely on my that I didn't even have to worry about the no straps. Turning towards the dusty old mirror in the corner of the room, I took in my body. It gave me curves I'd never even knew I'd had. Gave me an elegance that shocked even me.

I turned back to the box, reaching in to find that there was still a pare of matching high heel shoes. I slipped my feet into them, breathing a sigh of relief that they still fit me. My feet were pretty small, shockingly.

A smaller box sat inside and I soon found that it contained makeup. I rushed to the bathroom, excited to apply it. I couldn't help feeling like it was Christmas, and for a moment I forgot about the Quarter Quell. The danger I was in.

My mom had taught me how to apply makeup before she had died. I applied light mascara and a bit of pink eye shadow, plus dark red lip stick that shockingly made my mouth look extremely nice. After a moment, I dug out my hair equipment, getting to work on that.

Before long, my hair fell over my shoulders in twirls, the black absolutely shining. I'd had a shower the night before so I hadn't had to worry about that, luckily. I turned towards another larger, cleaner mirror, taking in my appearance slowly, before a clock on the wall reminded me that I needed to make my way out to the reaping.

I paused as my hand touched the door knob, before I opened it up and stepped outside, wobbly on the high heels that added a few extra inches to my height. I walked down the hall quickly, anxiety falling over me only again like a dark cloud. My dad wasn't in the kitchen anymore, probably already in the crowd for the Reaping. He always came now, even though he didn't seem to have a reason to.

It shocked me when his voice stopped me in my tracked, the front door open in front of me, "You look... beautiful,"

My father hadn't talked in four years, other then murmurs and grunts.

I turned my head to look at him, taking in the alertness in his eyes, the way his slump had been replaced by the amazing posture he'd had years before. I stared at him in shock, fighting down rising anger that shocked me even more. How could he be coming to now? Why not years ago?

I muttered a 'thank you', unable to say more with out unleashing the anger that was coiled up inside me, before I swept out the door. People were leaving their houses, mostly the kids that would be reaped. Most of the guys looked at me in shock. I wasn't usually noticed. I was the quite kid with spunk. The tough girl that you barely noticed.

I picked up the pace, suddenly wishing that I had at least one friend to face the day with. But not, there was no one else.

The Reaping happened in front of an old, rusted down fountain we had. It was so moss covered that you could barely tell what it was anymore, but I'd been told that it used to be are first winner of the games, a women that had found a great use in the animals in the arena.

The clearing was already filled up with people. Peace Keepers were directing the tributes towards the place the would stand. I was ushered in the seventeen year olds crowd, right behind the eighteen year olds. We had a big district, but we were almost always able to fit everyone in.

Many of the people gave me fleeting glances before returning to staring at the ground. My knee's were shaking hard now, my hands clenched into fists at my side. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate, a reaction I had just about every time. I took note of my father arrive, walking with a new confidence before disappearing into the crowd. For a moment I glared after him, before looking at my feet.

There was a sudden commotion up front and I looked up to see are Mayor walk onto stage. He was a chunky, cruel man that really didn't care about us. He stood in front of a stand, while the women who called out the names of the Tributes, Vase Gewel walked onto the staged, fell by the mentor of this year, a man named Gregor Maccartigan. He was around thirty five and had won when he was eighteen.

The mayor introduces Vase, who skips up to the podium and trills out in her high pitched voice, "I hope you all are very excited and have the best of luck!" Before she bobbed over to the two large dishes, which contain thousands of names. Vase takes a stand behind the females dish. Grinning, she calls out cheerfully, "Ladies first!"

She digs around the dish for a while, obviously unable to grab a onto a paper that she feels right. I can feel the tension in my shoulders that had been replaced for a few moments creeping back in, my teeth gritting together in anticipation. Why will it be? Who will I watch die this time?

Then, in a clear, calm voice, she calls out the name.

Tivra Lurain.