A lot of time passes in this chapter, a lot. But it's necessary. The story has changed so much from what I first intended to write. So I hope you like it.

On another note, there's been a lot going on in my life that I'm not going to talk about right now. Johanna should be updated tomorrow and I'll talk about it a bit more there.

The Revolution Begins at Midnight!

All bolded passages in the story are taken directly from the books and are not mine. I am not Suzanne Collins, to my everlasting shame. To explain further, the passages are used to show how this story is similar to the books but different. The passages often appear in places where they were not used in the books and at odd times to show the different contexts the passages can be taken in. In the end though, they're there to say something that I could not paraphrase as well.


The air is electric in District Twelve. It seems that everyone knows about our baby though no one talks about it. For the first time since I've been alive, there's a hanging. I don't want to go, but Haymitch makes us. The crowd parts for us, people touch my arm in compassion. Their coal stained fingernails grip my skin and their lined faces do not smile. They are seething in anger and I see now what Haymitch has told me has happened since the ba-beating.

The District is angry.

I can see my breath in the air as they lead up the boy-the man. He was as old as Gale, tall with seam grey eyes. And when he finds my eyes in the crowd, he does not turn away. Haymitch leans close, "He's dying for you. Get used to it sweetheart."

Because he knows what I was going to say before I could even say it. I don't want anyone to die for me. As he stands there and they put the rope around his neck I think of Rue with the way he balances on his feet-like a bird about to take flight.

I kiss the three middle fingers of my hand and I hold them out to him. I hear other arms moving, material gliding as arms are raised. The Peacekeeper's look uncomfortable, but the boy smiles right before they hang him.


We are not allowed to leave Victor's Village and there's not much we can do about it. Peeta and I move to my house to keep everyone in one spot, though if they came for Mom and Prim there isn't much we can do. Peeta worries about his family, but we don't talk about it. He's never been close to them as I was to my father or Prim and once even mom.

Out there in the village Gale is vulnerable. I want to pull him in, protect him and his family-but distance is safer. For both of us.

The phone rings but I refuse to answer it until a Peacekeeper comes barging in the door and tells me to take the call. My throat is raw when I answer, "Hello."

"You've been avoiding me Ms. Everdeen." Snow's voice is so clear, so visceral that I can almost feel his breath on me

"I didn't think there was anything left for us to say to each other." I pause for a moment and then shut my eyes. "I'm done with playing games." My hands are shaking and there is nothing but silence. I want to change my mind, pull Prim safe to me and do anything Snow asks. But I can't, nothing I do will keep her safe now. Nothing I did would have ever kept her safe, it had never been in my control after the berries.

"I decide when we are done playing games, Ms. Everdeen." The line goes dead and I hang the phone up on the wall, shaking.


Cinna comes with a camera crew to make up the photo shoot I missed while healing. There are crates of wedding dresses for me to try on and I refuse. I am tired of playing games. But it is Cinna who takes my hands in his as we sit on the bed in my room.

"What's wrong?" His brown eyes look up at me and I want to tell him everything. What I've done, what I couldn't do-but instead I tell him about the baby. I don't cry, but he does. The gold eyeliner smudging as tears roll down his cheek. "I'm so sorry," he says.

The words are simple, but from Cinna they mean more than anyone else's sorry's. We sit in silence together, until finally he chooses his words carefully. "I want to ask a favor of you Katniss. Promise me you'll do it?"

I nod.

"Try the dresses on, be charming."

"We both know I can't be charming."

He smiles at that, "But will you do it for me? It's important." I want to say no because it seems trivial to me-stupid. Yet, even if he hadn't made me promise my answer would have been the same.

"Yes," because he is Cinna. I try to fathom why he would ask me to do this like it's so important, but I come up with nothing as I breeze through dresses and dialogue. Then it's time for Cinna to leave and the world suddenly feels grey again, devoid of his brightness.


It's only the next day when we sit down for a Mandatory Viewing. I wonder what it could be about? Are they going to come and arrest me on live television? Beat me? Kill me? My family? The possibilities are endless.

Peeta sits beside me as they show footage of the wedding dresses that I'd tried on yesterday. Most of shots were pre-taped-the making of the dress, the interview with Cinna….They'd just added me in last minute to finish it off. Apparently, in the Capitol, there were opportunities to vote for your favorites at each stage.

It's more than I can take so I tune out Caesar, ignoring everything as I close my eyes to his irritatingly perky voice. It's some time later when his voice drops and I unwillingly open my eyes, my heart thudding so loud I feel sick.

"That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

Peeta and I will be mentors this year, forced to relive the horrors of our own games while trying to help some kids from our District. That is, if we are still alive by the Quell

The usual pagentry happens-Snow gives his speech about the rebellion that failed, reminding us that we are still paying for what our great grandparents did. When the Games had been created, it was decided that every twenty-five years the Games would be somewhat of a celebration- a Quarter Quell. The rules in game would be the same, with special ways of Reaping the tributes.

Snow's eyes flick up and I feel as though he can see me, as though he's sending me a message. I reach for Prim's hand dreading what he might say next.

President Snow goes on to tell us what happened in the previous Quarter Quells. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it."

How could anyone vote to send anyone's child to the game? How would it have felt to be the person sent? Randomly having a name picked out of a bowl didn't seem quite so bad anymore.

"On the fiftieth anniversary," the president continues, "as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

Haymitch won that year, facing down fourty-seven opponents. I can't imagine what that felt like. For the first time, I realize I haven't even seen his Games, even when they aired repeats.

My mother's face pales and she reaches to touch Prim absentmindedly.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," says the president. He runs his finger under the flap and pulls out a small square of paper. Without hesitation, he reads, "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."

Every muscle in my body tenses and I stare at the screen trying to process it. Existing victors? The words feel thick in my head. I say them again in my mind when it clicks.

There are only two male victors. Peeta might be going back. I reach for him beside me, but he's gone. Mother and Prim are sobbing, but I'm on my feet and through the open door.

I run not for Peeta, but for Haymitch. His door is open and I hear voices inside. I am the only living female victor in District 12. The thought jars me into remembering. I'm going back. I push it down or try to, the fear I feel. There's nothing I can do about that. No matter what I'm going. But Peeta…

I slip inside the door and down the hall. I press to the wall and listen.

"Let me go in with her. No matter what, Haymitch."

"Why?"

"Because I love her and you owe me. You helped her last time, now I want help."

"To die?" Haymitch's voice is rough but sober.

"To protect her," Peeta says simply. "That's it. Someone on her side until the end."

"And then what Peeta? They won't let two of you live again, not after what you did last time."

"Then she'll kill me, or I'll do it myself. She'll come home to Prim."

"She'll never come home again whether she dies in that arena or lives. She won't ever leave it."

Then they're quiet for a long time. I know that Peeta is looking at Haymitch with that quiet intensity that seems to ebb and flow out of him. I know that Haymitch won't be able to resist him. I know that he still feels guilty for having to choose me.

How badly we've failed, wanting to start a rebellion and in the end there wasn't enough time. It was too late now, too late for us to use what we had done to change the world. There were too many peacekeepers, too few of us. Now it was the three of us again and Haymitch's choice.

"Okay," Haymitch says, his voice cracking.

"Thank you." I dart into another room as Peeta leaves. When I hear the door shut, I step into the hallway. I know that he knows I'm there.

"Come in Sweetheart," Haymitch says as he opens a bottle. "How long were you listening?"

"The whole time."

He studies me. "You've changed."

"So have you Haymitch." How am I supposed to ask him to go back into the arena with me instead of Peeta? Haymitch sleeps with a knife and has remained drunk most of his life. "I want you to go back into the arena with me."

He laughs loudly, "So you're begging for the boy? And I'm to die so-"

"No," I say cutting in. "No. Snow isn't going to let me live, we both know that. I'm going to die in that arena Haymitch. It'll be you that's coming home."

"Suicide, just going to give up?"

"I'll fight. You know that, but he's not going to let me come out alive. If Peeta goes then he'll give up when Snow kills me. You can't save me Haymitch. Not this time."

He reaches out and touches my arm for a moment. "Changed alot." He downs a glass and then another. I can feel myself beginning to tremble. I'm going back. I'm going back. It seems to echo in my head louder and louder. I grab the bottle of Haymitch's liqour and take a gulp.

It burns my throat. My eyes well up with tears and I cough for several minutes. Inside though, I feel the knowledge of what's going to happen to me deadening. It's not so bad now. Not bad at all. I take another swig as warmth settles into my heavy limbs.

"I'll do it," he says. "If I can." He means if his name is called there's no way to stop Peeta from volunteering.

"If it's me and him in there," I choke for a moment. "Then it's him. Promise me."

His eyes are tortured, still much too sober for this. "Promise."

I put the bottle down and lay my head on my arms thinking of that boy that was hung. I think of Rue and Prim. I think of all the people I've killed because of that stupid handful of berries. It would have been better if I had died in that arena, better for everyone.

The hanged man looks at me with dead accusing eyes and I remember the song my father taught me. My mother had been pale when I repeated it to her and she had forbidden me to sing it again. One stanza comes up in the fog of my head before I pass out.

"Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."


We train like the careers do. All day long we work on what we can to gain strength and muscle and at night, I fall into bed with Peeta-hungry for every touch of his skin I can manage. Three months is all we have, and it goes far too quickly.

He talks of what we'll do when we go into the arena, of strategies and plans. I play along. I know by now he knows I've talked to Haymitch about going. In the end, it'll boil down to Haymitch and whether he's going to live up to his word or not. Or rather, whose promise he's going to keep.

The day dawns hot after a sleepless night. Peeta pulls me close to kiss me again. A kiss turns into a touch. A touch turns into fevered hands tugging and grasping to get to each other. We find comfort in our flesh as it slaps together. He moves inside me and my muscles convulse, quiver with that familiar feeling that I've grown to love.

It's over as quick as it started, but the after effects leave us both wanting to touch each other-to be close. It might be the last time we touch like that, if Haymitch betrays him instead of me.

It's hot in the square when they give the typical speech. Effie has lost all of her charm and her eyes are red rimmed as she tries to stop shaking, her hands clutching the paper at the bottom of the glass bowl. It's my name, because there's only me.

No one claps, or speaks. Effie lets out a little sob as she reaches into the other bowl. I close my eyes, afraid what's going to happen. Who will she call? Who will go?

"Peeta Mellark."

I open my eyes as Peeta yells, tries to fight but Haymitch says it anyways. Loud and surprisingly sober. "I volunteer as tribute."