A cold winter's evening found Marco Ramirez hurrying home late, shoulders hunched, from his job at the stock yards. His wife Julia and their four children did not relax until he stepped through the door - last week Mr. DeStretti from down the street had been crushed to death by a steer half an hour before supper. You couldn't be sure that your daddy was safe until you saw him each night.
Once Marco had washed the animal-shed grime off his face and hands, the family sat down to a sparse dinner. Meat was expensive in District Ten, but Julia had spent a few carefully saved coins on beef scraps from the meat-market. Over bowls of stew, the Ramirezs celebrated the twelfth birthday of their younger daughter Rachel. Her brown eyes glowed with happiness as the family sang the Birthday Song.
After dinner, 16 year old Aaron, the oldest, bragged about his winning essay on sheep genetics to his dad as they worked together to set up the family television receiver on the table.
"That's my smart cowboy!" laughed Mr. Ramirez, as he fiddled with the dials. "You're going places, unlike your dead-end father." Mrs. Ramirez, listening as she cleaned the kitchen, rolled her eyes and smiled.
Finally, a fuzzy picture blipped into view. Panem's anthem played as the family settled into their chairs to watch the Capitol-required programming. When the usual preppy announcer began to ooze about that evening's coverage of the upcoming Victors' Wedding, Marco and his sons groaned in mock agony. Rachel and her big sister Anna, however, bounced with delight and interestedly examined each photograph of Katniss Everdeen in her rich gowns. Their parents sighed and looked at each other. They could never hope to give their girls such finery, even on their wedding days.
The sisters were still arguing over the relative merits of each gown when Caesar Flickerman instructed everyone to stay tuned for the following Quarter Quell announcement. Everyone looked at each other in surprise.
"The Quarter Quell." said Mrs. Ramirez, under her breath. Memories of the last Quell, twenty-five years before, flooded back to her. The flesh on her arms crawled.
"Of course," growled Mr. Ramirez, "They would announce it today." He glanced at Rachel, who had abruptly stopped talking about flounces and beading and looked rather pale. Anna hugged her.
"It's going to be fine, Rachel. I've been through two Reapings already, it's not so bad!" She couldn't quite manage to sound cheerful.
Ten-year-old Danny looked around with wide eyes.
"What's a Quarter Spell?"
"Shh! Can't you listen?!" Aaron was frowning hard at the tiny image of President Snow on the TV screen. A few months ago his teacher had explained all about the Quarter Quell. Since then, his mind had wandered back to the subject frequently, trying pointlessly to imagine what twist would mark the 75th Games. His worst ideas had been twelve-year-old tributes only, or maybe a Reaping of brother-sister pairs. Absurdly, he found himself wishing that he could take his little sisters upstairs and barricade himself and them into the bathroom until after the Reaping. The stupidity of this idea only made him angrier.
Despite her assurances to Rachel, tears quietly rolled down Anna's cheeks as she watched President Snow's continued explanation of the Quarter Quell. She had felt each year's anticipation of the Reaping grow harder to bear. This one must certainly be the worst yet.
Rachel, her eyes fastened on the screen, didn't notice her sister's growing emotion. Marco and Julia, holding hands desperately, noticed everything. They noticed Anna's tears, and Rachel's shaking hands entwined around her big sister's wrist. They noticed Aaron's fists tightly clenched in his lap. They noticed Danny taking all this in, too, curled in a little ball in his seat. Marco reached out a big, gentle hand to stroke his young son's hair and began to mutter to himself, disjointed bits of thought about mockingjays and the Capitol.
At last, the far-away buzz of President Snow's voice paused, as he reached into the box presented to him. All movement among the family ceased. Each person's eyes were staring, focused on the white envelope barely visible in the President's hand. With a flourish, he opened it and read:
"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."
For a moment, silence stretched to fill the room. Then Rachel laughed, a high, bright sound. Her eyes shone as she turned from the television to her family. Aaron inhaled deeply and gave her a wobbly grin. He felt as if he were about the slip out of his chair and puddle on the floor. Anna wiped her eyes on her sleeves and grabbed Danny for a hug as he passed on a wild romp around the room.
Julia Ramirez smiled at them all through her tears. As her husband's arms wrapped around her with the strength of joy, she whispered,
"One more year. Our kids are safe for one more year."