Hello again!

Thanks for reading! I hope you are enjoying the story so far! Oh man! Things are about to get cray…

Disclaimer: HG is SC's property.

My nightmares are interrupted suddenly by a piercing scream. Not just any scream, I know that voice.

"Prim!" I yell. I don't know what's happening to her, but if that scream is any sign, it can't be good. I jump out of bed and search the early-morning darkness for her blond hair, ready to attack whatever it is that is provoking her screams.

"Prim!" I yell again, but this time, I have oriented myself enough to see that we are alone in our house. Prim is lying in bed with my mother, and she's thrashing around, still trapped in a nightmare. My mother is trying to wake her, but Prim's arms are flailing, throwing off any attempt my mother makes to comfort her. I try to calm her myself, but she pushes me away as well. I do the only thing I can think of: I sing.

"Deep in the meadow
Under the willow
A bed of grass
A soft green pillow
Lay down your head
And close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open
The sun will rise..."

As I sing, she calms enough for my mother to pull her into her arms gently and stroke her hair until she slips back into a peaceful sleep.

Part of me wants to wake her up, but she seems fine now. She needs to sleep for the remaining few hours of the morning; today will be a long day.

As for me, I won't be sleeping any time soon. My heart is still pounding inside my chest. Since my mother is still awake and watching, I climb back into bed and pretend to be asleep. All the while, the pressure in my chest is intensifying rather than dissipating. I can't believe it's today. In a few short hours, I, along everyone I love, will be offered up as potential tributes to die a bloody death for the amusement of the Capitol citizens. I need something to take my mind off of the coming events.

A little while later, I peak over the blanket to check on Prim and my mother; they are both asleep. I get up, throw on my father's hunting jacket, and head to the Meadow for an early-morning walk.

As I approach my usual spot in the Meadow, I notice the lovely twittering of several mockingjays. Instinctively, I look down at the gold pin fastened to my father's jacket, and I smile. I take a deep breath, inhale the smells of the earth: moist dirt, dewy grass, and a subtle, sweet smell of wildflowers. The sky has changed even from just a few minutes ago when I left my house in the Seam. It was a purplish color, but now it's a pinky orange. I wish Peeta was here with me. Since he isn't, I decide to distract myself by imagining what we'd be doing if he was. He'd probably bring a blanket, and we'd talk for a bit, but then, he would wrap his arms around me and pull me close. Then we'd kiss until we tired and fall asleep in each other's arms. I always feel safer when I'm nestled up next to him. It makes me wish I could afford to dream of days spent next to each other, where we are free to love and be loved without the fear of the Capitol ruining everything, of a day when I could take his name and give him everything I have. But I can't. And I hate the fact that I'm not even sure I ever will get a chance.

I startle as I feel a hand rest on my shoulder. I quickly turn to see who has ambushed my daydreams, and I am pleasantly surprised to find Peeta.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks.

"Nope. Prim was having nightmares."

"I was too, and laying in bed made everything worse, so I needed a distraction. A walk sounded lovely, but I have to admit that the thought that I might find you here had a significant appeal that, ultimately, made the decision to come here for me," he explains, teasing.

I embrace him and kiss him, but I soon realize that the stress of the day has stirred up a desperation within me, so I deepen the kiss and pull myself even closer to him.

"Katniss..." he says between breaths. "Katniss, it's okay... I'm here."

I keep kissing him until he kisses me back. Soon, we are totally united in our movements, and I never want to stop. I never want this feeling to go away, this hunger that cannot be put to words. Then, the tears begin to fall, slowly. Peeta notices and pulls back to take me in. I notice that even this early, he smells like bread, cinnamon bread. He gently caresses my face with his hands, and gives me a questioning look, unsure of what to make of my emotional state.

"I can't lose you or anyone," I cry, trying to explain.

"You won't. There are too many people in the Reaping this year. The odds are most definitely in our favor, even more than usual," he says, trying to ease the anxiety that's threatening to strangle me.

I nod. I know what he is saying is true, but I also know that there is still a chance; all of our names will be in the Reaping bowls, so regardless of the odds, they are still only that: odds.

Every year, without fail, this day, Reaping day, is the most anxiety-filled of the entire year, and the fact that I have been having reoccurring dreams of my future children being chosen as tributes doesn't alleviate the stress by any means. Sometimes they are so real that I wake up believing they really happened, that I really am a mother suffering emotionally as I learn to cope with the imminent death of my child, but when I realize that I'm only seventeen, I'm not married, and I'm living at home with my mother and Prim, I finally accept that the dreams aren't real. I think Peeta understands that it's more than just the Reaping that's bothering me. This is the first Reaping I've been a part of since Peeta and I started dating, and he has been aware of my fears about loving a man from the very beginning. Needless to say, my worries about the future remain unspoken, yet I know that Peeta is aware of the full extent of my anxiety and that he will always be here for me, to comfort me and wait for me to work things out in my heart. He is so patient with me.

"I have to head back to the bakery pretty soon to prepare for all the celebratory meals that will happen after the Reaping, but I'm happy I got to be with you, if only for a little while," he says apologetically. He kisses me again. "Try to rest, Katniss. No matter what, it's gonna be okay. Hopefully, we won't have to deal with all this next year," he says, hinting at our plans to escape Twelve, if they actually happen.

We still haven't convinced everyone. The Hawthorne family will come (only if Gale does), but as for Peeta's family, I don't think Peeta's mother will ever agree, and I don't really want her to. I would be perfectly okay leaving her behind to rot in this hell hole, but Mr. Mellark wouldn't leave her behind, I don't think. I don't know what Peeta will do if they won't come. I don't know what I will do if my mother won't come; she would never let me take Prim. She thinks we are overreacting and that things will settle down again, but if settling down means children will still be forced to die in the Hunger Games, then it's not settled enough for me to enjoy a life here.

Peeta kisses me goodbye before he leaves to distract himself with baking bread. I pass the next several hours walking around the Meadow and dreaming of being in the woods. Even though my imagination helps distract me somewhat, the reminder of what awaits me in a few short hours remains very real and unconcealed in my mind, always ready to take its place at the forefront of my thoughts as soon as I drift back into reality for even a split second.

I don't really have an appetite for breakfast or lunch, so I skip them both. At this point, with all the nervousness that is plaguing me, I'm pretty sure I would probably puke up anything I consumed anyways. Only when I absolutely have to, I head home to clean up before the gathering at the Justice Building. Every year it's the same: a bath, a dress, and braided hair. It's the most put together I will ever be.

When we are all ready, including my mother who is also eligible to be chosen as tribute this year, we begin the walk to town. Prim's hair is in two braids. My mom is wearing one of her dresses that she saved from before she married my dad, when she lived in town. I have on my usual blue dress with a fabric belt of the same color and fabric tied at the waist. The only difference this year is Peeta's mockingjay pin fastened to the front.

We arrive and say worthless words of comfort to each other before going to our designated sections which are divided by age and gender. Capitol officials take a sample of my blood by pricking my finger. I notice that Peacekeepers are everywhere, and I don't like the feeling of being so trapped. There's no escaping this.

I walk to the place where I will watch the events of the day play out before me, that is, if I'm not selected to become an active participant. I search for Peeta and find him already looking at me a few rows over. He nods and smiles at me, reassuring me that it will all be okay. I search for Prim and find her standing closer to the front with all the other girls her age; she looks terrified. Gale, on the other hand, looks absolutely defiant; he is a few rows behind Peeta, and his expression is one of resentment and disgust. He hates the Capitol, and I know this Quarter Quell crap has him all riled up. Part of me fears that it will build until it explodes, but Gale is smart. He will hold it all in until he gets an opportune moment to strike, just like a true hunter.

Finally, Effie Trinket begins the usual routine of welcoming us, wishing us a "Happy Hunger Games" and that "the odds be ever in our favor." After the mayor speaks a few words and the video of Panem's history and the reason for the Hunger Games is shown once again, Effie, with her usual enthusiastic tone, exclaims, "As always, ladies first!" She draws a name, and I am praying that it's no one that I know. "Iris Helmsworth!" she calls out.

I watch as a little girl with dark curly hair walks toward the stage. She couldn't be more than eight or nine years old. I look up on the big screen that shows the footage being shown all over Panem, and I notice the color of the little girl's eyes: blue.

Immediately, I am flashing back to dream memories stored in my head. Memories of a little girl with blue eyes and black, curly hair learning to walk for the first time, baking bread with Peeta, dancing in the rain. My mind is unable to separate dreams from reality. All I know is my daughter is going to die.

I have to do something.

I turn and meet Peeta's gaze once more, and he must see the fire that is catching in my eyes and spreading all over me because his face turns as pale as a ghost. He is shaking his head at me, trying to hold me together with his unspoken words. I can't just stand here while our daughter walks to her death. Maybe I'm crazy. I definitely feel like I am right now.

I turn to face the screen again. She's still there. It's all so blurry. Next thing I know, I am hurtling myself at the stage. I don't make it as far as I would have liked before a Peacekeeper, no two Peacekeepers have me trapped by both arms. I'm crying and screaming, "No! No! You can't do this! You can't do this! This is wrong! You are so wrong for this!"

I'm thrashing my arms, and I feel my elbow make contact with some part of a Peacekeeper. Everything is happening so fast that I can't tell where my hits make their mark. One of the Peacekeepers uses his gun to knock me in the jaw, to shut me up and to keep me from resisting. Lights twinkle across my vision, and it takes me several seconds to reorient myself. All I can register is a flash of blond hair and the deep, angry yell of a familiar voice, "Stop it! She doesn't know what's happening. She's confused! Leave her alone!"

I refocus enough to find Peeta being held back by another couple Peacekeepers, and the one that was on my right, that hit me, is lying on the ground with a bloody nose. Peeta must've struck him to protect me. As my mind finally begins to start distinguishing reality from my imagination, I am able to register the gravity of our situation. I just blatantly acted out against the government, and Peeta injured a government official, and all of it was on live TV for the entirety of Panem to see. Crap. I don't understand what happened. I don't know why my brain went haywire on me, but I think that Peeta and I will be lucky if we can escape this predicament with a flogging. My heart drops in my chest. Am I going crazy? I know fear can make people do crazy things, but I never imagined I would do something so stupid, so dangerous, even if I was just imagining things. I mean, what was I going to do? Grab the little girl and run? To where? We are trapped. There is no escape.

We don't get to stay to find out who the male tribute is. The Peacekeepers escort us immediately to a cell to await the verdict. I assume the boy tribute is not Peeta because he isn't taken away from me. Instead, he sits in a jail cell across the walkway from me, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands curled in his hair. I hope our male tribute isn't Gale or any of the Hawthornes.

I turn to face Peeta. "I'm sorry," is all I can think to say at first, but then a few more words come: "I don't know what happened. Everything was so real to me."

"It doesn't matter now, Katniss," he says tiredly. "All that matters is I love you, and I'm with you no matter what. Do you understand that?" He asks, desperately searching my eyes to see if I truly believe that he is with me.

I nod. Next, my mind is assaulted by "what ifs." What if they kill us for this? What if we are made into Avoxes to work in the Capitol forever? What if we can never be together because of my stupidity? What if they hurt our families? I don't know what to expect, but I feel so stupid, so guilty. Whatever happens is my fault.

Just as I am beginning to confront these thoughts in my head, the door opens at the end of the hall, and I see an older man, a Seam native by the looks of his hair and eyes, rush towards us. "What the hell is wrong with you two idiots?!" he exclaims. I recognize that voice and the subtle yet characteristic slur of his words as belonging to none other than the drunken District Twelve mentor, our district's only living victor of the Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy.

Why on earth is he here?