"Well then! Let's have a final round of applause for this year's tributes from district 12, Madge Undersee and Gale Hawthorne!"

This isn't real. This isn't happening. Not one, but two people that I care for have been issued a death sentence.

I feel as though I am suffocating. My legs are threatening to buckle underneath me, but I force myself to remain steady. My gaze travels upwards and I make myself take in each of their faces, knowing that this is one of the last chances that I have to see them.

Madge is trying so desperately not to tremble on the gaping stage, but the tears have already spilled down her face in her attempt to remain impassive for the cameras.
Gale's reaction is what sends me over the edge. He seems almost complacent; his eyes are looking beyond the crowd, beyond the square. Perhaps he is back at our spot in the woods. Imagining our last moments together before the inconceivable happened.

I have to stay strong for them. When we say our goodbyes, it is of absolute importance to show them that I will be okay. That I believe in their ability to return to me.

But it is so difficult to have faith when the odds are most definitely not in their favors.

As much effort as Prim and my mother put into trying to make me eat, my stomach won't hold anything down. In previous years, I've tuned out the TV screen, pretending that the games don't affect me. But now I can't help but watch. Every glimpse that I see of them alive and unhurt gives me the reassurance I need to get through the next hour.

I've seen the recaps of the other reapings, subconsciously considering how they size up in comparison to my loved ones. The careers are strong, well-prepared, and eager. Nothing out of the ordinary. With his snares and handiness with a bow, I have no doubt that Gale could take out every one of them.

There's a few others from outlying districts that have a cunning air about them- they are aware of their intelligence. But Madge is at the top of our class, and her memory is impeccable. I know that she will absorb every bit of information that she learns during training. She has an advantage.

During the tribute parade, they stand out considerably. Decked in black, head to toe, alight with flames that burn brighter than any fire that I've ever seen before. Gale's prominent bone structure seems unusually noticeable, and Madge's long blonde hair is braided with strands of gold. They do not look like themselves, tainted with the adornments of the capitol. They hold hands.

Greasy Sae is the first person that I suggest starting a sponsoring fund for our tributes to. In no time every regular at the Hob is in on the project. The money gathered is minimal, but the amount of support is massive.

If only my longing was enough to bring them home.

Despite my loss of appetite, I refuse to let any of this keep me from hunting. If anything, I have more of a reason to bring food home because of Hazelle and the kids. Upon slipping into my father's jacket, I experience the first feeling of something resembling comfort for the first time since the reaping. But this pleasant sensation disappears as quickly as it came when I stumble across a beautiful flowering shrub bordering the woods. A strawberry bush.

Tears spring to my eyes as I imagine her face lighting up when I'd bring them to school as a surprise treat for us to have during lunch. Madge had shared with me that her favorite color was red; a result from an appreciation for the sweetness of the bright scarlet fruit. Was she able to indulge in the food that was beloved to her, eating them frequently and as she pleased? The thought manages to bring me a small semblance of happiness, but the feeling is immediately chased away by the realization that she could easily be dead within a week.

I continue along the path into the woods.

This morning they will enter the arena. I will not watch the bloodbath. Instead, I head to the woods and seat myself in our place overlooking the valley. If I close my eyes and push all of my muddled thoughts from my mind, I can almost feel Gale's warmth beside me. I can hear the fluctuation in the tone of his voice as he switches from discussing the deer that we had recently come across to the atrocities of the capitol. I am able to picture his well-worn boots and his strong hands and his grey eyes that have a vibrancy to them not unlike the stormy clouds seen just before lightening streaks across the sky.

His fighting spirit will keep him alive. It has to.

I've only just realized that the idea of going through life without Gale is unthinkable.