Hey everyone! Here's the next chapter, going to see if I get some review this time. If I don't, I'll probably discontinue the story and start a new one. But for now enjoy chapter two! I'll enter chapter 3 later this week, then decide where it's going from there, but for now the story continues. This chapter is short, but it had to be to correspond with chapter two in the book. Post more later! Please tell me what you think!

Chapter Two –

"I volunteer! I volunteer as a tribute!" Katiness screams. She is desperately rushes up to the stage in front of Prim, like she is worried they won't hear her and they'll take Prim away. But they do. Confusion breaks out on stage; no one has volunteered to go in someone's place in many years, not in District 12. Effie says something about introducing the other tribute before asking for volunteers, but the mayor stops her. "What does it matter?" he grumbles, letting Katiness come forth. Prim is hysterical. She is screaming and wrapping her arms around her sister. "NO! You can't go!" Prim wails. A boy steps up behind her. I recognize him immediately; it's Gale, katiness's friend. My father often trades with him. He pulls the child off of Katiness and gives her a small sad nudge forward. "We'll bravo! That' the spirit of the games! Don't want your sister stealing all the glory, do you? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute." Effie chirps enthusiastically. But no one does, no one makes a sound. Instead, everyone reaches their three fingers to their lips and holds them out to her. A sign of thanks and admiration, a sign of goodbye to someone you love. I do it too, hoping that at least it will bring her some strength, something worth fighting for.

Just as she looks as she is about to cry, Haymitch stumbles up to her, drunk as usual. "I like you!" he said," you've got spunk! More than you, more than you!" he screams at the camera. Then he does his famous head plunge off the stage and knocks himself out. I return my gaze to Katiness. Her face is cold, stone cold. Any signs of earlier emotion have been wiped away. She will not cry, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. My heart is pounding against my chest as Effie reaches her hand into the glass globe for the boy tribute. Only 4 slips have Peeta Mellark written on them. I hope it isn't me, it can't be me. Not now that she is going, I couldn't bear it, I couldn't kill her; but then again hope hasn't really been in my favor lately. Effie finally catches a slip and pulls it out. Clearing her throat, I brace myself as she read the name. "Peeta Mellark," she announces clearly. Me, it's me.

It feels as though someone has just punched me in the stomach. I am shaking, still in shock, but I try to keep my emotions from showing. It doesn't work too well. I slowly walk up to the stage, clenching my fists together and grinding my teeth. Why me? Why did they have to pick me this year? When I would have to go against her? I still remember, on our first day of school 11 years ago. "Look there," my father had told me, pointing to a little girl with brown hair pulled back in two braids that came down almost to her waist. She had on a little red plaid dress, and was cheerfully singing with her friend. "I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran away with a coal miner." "But why did she pick him, papa?" I had asked. "Because when he sings, even the birds fall silent to listen." He replied sadly. And when I sat to listen to her singing, I knew. I knew I would be a goner, just like my father. Walking over to her, we are asked to shake hands. Steadily, I reach my hand out to meet hers, glancing up in her eyes. As I take her hand, I give it a slight squeeze. I am on her side. And even if it kills me, I will make sure she is the one that will come home. She will be the victor, I will make sure of it.