Chapter 4! And just to say, I know it isn't long, like, at all. But with any luck there'll be another chapter to follow either today or tomorrow so yeah. Thanks to fools and worthless liars for reviewing! And I'll continue this message at the bottom because there's something I need to say.

But for now, have fun reading!

I can hear the buzz of the crowd, they don't sound as tense a usual because there is only one person being reaped as usual. But the depression they are feeling also comes through in their voices, their sadness at loosing Katniss again, at losing either Peeta or Haymitch. Peeta or Haymitch. Katniss and Haymitch were close, they had probably worked out a way that would involve Haymitch being the tribute. In that case, I would have to kill him. And I could never kill Haymitch Abernathy.

But, if Haymitch's name was pulled then surely Peeta would volunteer for him? And I couldn't deal with that either. I can't kill people I know, people I like. And I know alot of the old victors from various parties, meet ups and forced appearances.

Someone taps me on the shoulder and I spin defensively. I was just thinking about the best way to go about murdering someone you like, probably from afar, would be the best way.

It was Effie.

"So," she began, in her usual hurried style, "all you need to do is just walk –like I taught you - to the middle of the stage, reach into the ball, grab a piece of paper and read in to the microphone ok?"

My smile, that I usually use to greet her, drops and my face turns stony. "What." I say. It's not a question as such because I fully understand what she has just told me. It's more of an exclamation of complete numbness and disbelief that I am going to be reaping someone.

This was surely Snow's idea. To get me disliked, even by my own district, before the games. To ensure that I will not get a single sponsor.

"You're going to be reaping your partner my dear," Effie exclaims, she doesn't sound happy, almost sorrowful. But I know this has nothing to do with me. It's because, secretly, she was very fond of Katniss and Peeta, even Haymitch. And she can't bear to think that this year, will probably be their last. "Reaping the male tribute."

And with that she walks off. And I want the ground to swallow me up. Kill me now, before I meet my end in the arena.

Before I can even think of what I could do to avoid it, avoid condemning some poor child to almost certain death. I am being shoved, by peacekeepers, towards the right hand side of the stage. Apparently I am late, and that is confirmed by the start of Mayor Undersee's recital of Panem's history. I peer round at the stage and see that Effie has already taken her seat and that there is one spare one for me. My stomach flips as I realise that this is Haymitch's usual seat and that I am expected to fill it. As I am looking around, I have been instructed not to enter until the Mayor is done, my eyes lock onto the three people who this must be terrible for. Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch.

Katniss doesn't see me, she is determined looking, and staring directly at the stage, not wavering. She knows what is coming and I wish they would just get it over with. For her sake.

Peeta also does not notice me, he looks concerned. He knows that if his name is drawn, then he will be becoming a mentor this year, if Haymitch is drawn, then he will be back in the arena. Either way, he will be trying to keep Katniss alive for a second year.

Haymitch is the only one who takes note of my existence. We make eye contact and it is in that moment that I am sure that if he is in the arena, it will all be ok.

He isn't drunk, for once, and he looks alot thinner, better kept and fitter than the last time I saw him. He has almost lost his belly, the product of so many years of drinking, and the look he has about him is actually quite approachable. He winks at me, but barely masks the sullen expression on his face. I grin back, and have to hold myself up, because I am about to cry. And I don't want anyone, especially Haymitch, thinking that I can't handle this.

The Mayor finishes and I snap back into the moment, I see Effie's expectant glare as I am supposed to be walking up onto the stage and I kick myself into motion. When I reach the chair I do not sit down. I find myself unable to do it, unable to fill Haymitch's place. So I simply stand beside the chair, my long arms falling limply at my sides, whilst I watch Effie totter forwards and begin the Reaping process.

She pulls Katniss' name first after much flailing inside the ball, attempting to catch the scrap of paper, and Katniss slowly trudges up onto the stage and gives me a withering smile, which I attempt to return. We would probably end up trying to kill each other soon.

The next name pulled is Haymitch's and I let out an audible sigh, luckily not heard by anyone but Katniss, because Peeta volunteers almost immediately and strides up to the stage to meet us, with a no-nonsense look cast upon his features.

Effie falls silent and walks behind me and I wonder what is next. Then I feel a poke in my back from a manicured nail and I realise, with a dreadful fall in my stomach, that it is me.

I slowly approach the microphone and the full ball of boys' names and cough.

"Er..." I begin, slowly, "I'll just do this quickly then." I have never noticed before, how frail my voice sounds. But following Effie's chirpy tone I sound positively ill. I can see Mothers in the crowd, adjacent to the pen, with shocked and sorrowful expressions and I try and search for my own, but cannot find her.

I approach the ball and look at it as if it is a wild animal, ready to attack me. I don't want to put my hand inside. Don't want to take a piece of paper. And I don't want to condemn a child to almost certain death. But I do.

The paper I pick out was right at the bottom of the bowl and I don't open it until I arrive back at the microphone.

I feel as though I should say something before reading so I look out to the crowd and try to say something inspiring or memorable but all that I manage is, "I'm sorry."

Then I open the paper and frown. This can't be happening. I begin to panic at the same time as I begin to question how this is even possible. I step backwards, as if I am refusing to read. But before I can make a break for it I crash into someone. Peeta has come forward and is guiding me back towards the microphone. I hide the paper from him and he whispers "Just do it, or whoever it is will probably die anyway." This is true. He will be punished because I failed to do something. So I breath.

Steady myself.

And read with a wavering voice, the name that I was dead certain wouldn't be coming out.

"Gale Hawthorne."

What I needed to say was that, yes, I know Gale is too old to have been reaped for the Quarter Quell but it's all going to make sense sooner or later:) Adios