Author's Note: I've always wanted to write this one. And now that I've been thinking about writing a new fanfiction, I think it's finally time. I don't know if I'll get around to finishing it or not, I don't even know who Katniss is going to choose at this point. I just know I really want to try out this idea. Hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I think y'all know I'm not genius enough to have written the Hunger Games.
Chapter One
Katniss POV
We were sitting on the couch. Prim, my mother, and I, that is. My wedding dresses were plastered on the screen, each one more extravagant and un-Katniss-like as the last. Still, Prim gushed at each picture, saying how beautiful I was, how she wished she could be that pretty and more lies of that sort.
My mother sat in silence, watching each picture with a sadness in her eyes I knew all too well. It was the same sadness that had plagued her everyday for months after my father's death. The sadness that said she wasn't happy with what was going on, the sadness that said she wished things could be different. It wasn't like my mother didn't like Peeta. If I had been in love with him, she would be over the moon, I know she would. But I wasn't in love with Peeta. At least, not like that. My love for Peeta was confusing. As was my love for Gale, my best friend.
The wedding dresses suddenly disappear off the screen, and Caesar Flickerman appears on screen, informing Panem to stay tuned in for an announcement from the president. I turn to my mother. "What do you think that's about?"
"Probably the reading of the card," my mother says.
"The reading of the what?" I ask.
"You'll see," my mother says. I shift my position on the couch, confused about my mother's vagueness. Usually, it's me keeping things from her, not the other way around.
But then President Snow is on the screen, and he is explaining the importance of the Quarter Quell and what it symbolizes. I only half-listen. Everyone knows the Quarter Quell is a special Hunger Games that happens every 25 years. Usually, it has some sort of twist. In the first Quarter Quell, districts had to vote on their tribute. I couldn't imagine going into the Hunger Games knowing you were chosen by your friends and family to die. The second Quarter Quell, the one my mentor Haymitch Abernathy won, had double the amount of tributes from each district. Sometimes I wonder how Haymitch managed to kill off 47 other tributes. The usual 23, or 22 in my case, is way too many already.
President Snow takes an envelope from someone off-camera, and I force myself to focus as he pulls a card out of it. Clearing his throat, he says, "On the 75th Hunger Games, to show that nobody is ever really free from the wrath of the Capitol, the tributes will be reaped from people ages 19 to 30."