District 12 sinks into chaos, frantic movements and cries of panic replacing the previous sense of order, when a gurgle erupts from Cinder Fawn's throat.

As I glance over, her eyes roll back revealing two bloodshot white orbs, and her legs give out from under her. Maysilee Donner and I scramble to hold her up, a reflex we'll have to ignore once we're trapped inside the arena.

"What should we do?" Maysilee says over the girl's head.

I readjust my grip. "Let's lay her down."

Like frightened puppies, Belladonna and Effie Trinket cling to each other offstage as we position Cinder's limp body across the floor. At least she's still breathing, which is more than I can say for Strayer.

I peer into the square. Two Peacekeepers grip the mammoth teen beneath his arms and drag him through the hordes of onlookers until they disappear inside the Justice Building. Not one person steps forward to claim him. No family or friends. They're too afraid to admit responsibility. Can't say I blame them. On the rare occasion someone challenges the rules, they risk not only their life, but the lives of every person they know and love.

The message is clear: President Snow always wins, and he'll destroy your entire world making sure you don't forget it.

"You're okay. Haymitch and I are here with you." Maysilee's voice is soothing as if she's comforting a small child. With long strokes, her fingertips caress Cinder's eyebrows, following the delicate arches until they trail off and then starting over from the beginning.

I don't know why she's troubling herself. In a few days, she'll be expected to kill this girl if the opportunity arises. If Cinder's mental health is this fragile, her very existence is a threat to every person around her.

"What are you doing?"

Maysilee looks up at me. "My mama does this every time my younger siblings wake up from a nightmare. Why—you think I should let her suffer? Turn my back as she loses her mind before the Games even start?"

"Sounds like a solid strategy."

Nothing says "teamwork" like ensuring your fellow Tribute gets a front row seat to their own demise. Maybe if Cinder's sanity checks out early, she won't even realize when she's faced with certain death. A small kindness, if you ask me.

Cinder's eyes move beneath their lids. When they flutter open, she bolts up to a sitting position, her lungs gasping as if she just emerged from underwater.

Maysilee grasps her hand. "Shhh. You're alright."

"What happened?" Cinder's eyes rise to meet mine.

"You nailed your audition for Sleeping Beauty," I tell her, referring to a well-known fable passed down from the Old World.

Maysilee lifts a disapproving eyebrow in my direction. "I thought Belladonna said you were funny."

Despite the obvious dig, I can't hide my amusement. "Sorry to disappoint. Hopefully my knack for survival outshines my underwhelming comedic skills."

When the square calms, Belladonna plants a kiss on Effie's head and makes her way back to the podium. "Well, then. What an unexpected display of...showmanship." She glances around with uncertainty. "I'm not sure what the protocol is for this type of, uh, situation, but I suppose I should choose another Tribute."

As Maysilee and I help Cinder to her feet, Belladonna prances toward the glass bowl and plucks out another name, unfolding the paper once she returns to the mic.

She clears her throat. "Let's try this again, shall we? Tribute number four to represent District 12 in the Second Quarter Quell is...Thorne Ravenshaw!" She takes a deep breath and smiles, an obvious effort to regain her former enthusiasm. "Come, come, come—our day is just beginning!"

An expressionless boy emerges from the 17-year-old section, his straw-colored hair jutting out in every direction. Unlike Strayer, he doesn't resist when the Peacekeepers herd him toward the stage. He shakes Belladonna's hand before joining the rest of us, briefly glancing in our direction as he takes his place.

We stand in a single line and face the masses as Belladonna wraps up the event. The crowd is still tense, but underneath the surface is an evident sense of relief. They're safe, if just for another year—assuming they make it that long. In District 12, we're never far from the next lean month. Where there's not enough money or provisions to fill our bellies; or a lack of supplies to fix our ailments and wounds. Our fates are as unpredictable as the summer storms in the valley.

"In closing," Belladonna continues with a look of eagerness and pride, "let us remember that these young men and women represent not only a life, but a symbol of resilience and solidarity. May their journey be a reminder that our sacrifices today pave the way for a better tomorrow."

She turns to us and smiles. "And to this year's Tributes, may the Reaping strengthen your resolve and deepen your understanding of the offerings required for the greater good. Together, we are Panem, and together, we shall endure. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Peacekeepers leave their posts to drive citizens out of the square, while Belladonna and Effie usher us inside the Justice Building. It's a gray stone structure with a somber facade and minimalistic design, similar in tone to the rest of our district. As we pass the simple furnishings, dim lights shine down on us from hanging lamps overhead.

Belladonna glances over her shoulder as her heels clink against the floor. "You'll each be taken to an area where you'll visit with your families in private. After that, we'll board the train. Just wait until you see the feast we have prepared for you! Brace yourselves for extravagant flavors and colors that shouldn't exist in nature!" she gushes.

"There's even a snack bar," Effie joins in. "Some of the districts aren't allowed to have desserts because it could slow them down in training. So be careful or you could get fat."

Maysilee and I exchange a glance. Of all the Tributes, she's the one who's most observant. She catches things the others overlook. I saw the way her eyes moved over the crowd, how they're taking in every aspect of the Justice Building. Both Cinder and Thorne stare off, unseeing.

"Manners, Effie!" Belladonna gives her daughter a stern stare.

"Well, it's true."

"Fat can always be removed before they're sent into the arena," she says, fluffing her purple updo. "Let them enjoy the extravagances while they can and we'll worry about inconveniences later. But I surely doubt it will be an issue," she says, skimming over Cinder's slight build.

These two are unbelievable.

As promised, they deliver each of us to our own room and close the doors behind us. My room is small, with stark white walls and a narrow window. Gray light filters through the sheer curtains making everything feel cold, even though it's summer.

Before I'm able to consider my circumstances, the door opens and my mother, brother, and girlfriend file in. Slate and Laurel are crying, but my mother is, as always, the picture of strength.

She's on me in an instant, her leathered arms folding around me, bringing me close. "I don't want you to worry about us while you're in the Games. Focus on what you're doing. Don't let what's happening here distract you."

"I won't," I mumble into the crook of her neck. Subtle hints of wood and herbs rise from her skin.

"You're strong, Haymitch. And you're smart—so much smarter than the halfwits around here. Use your head to stay alive."

I nod and pull away, needing to share the vital information that will help keep the people I love alive. "When you sell game in the Hob, go to Maven Flint first. He'll offer more than the others. He also likes mulberries—Slate knows where to find them. And make sure Silas Herring gets—"

Mom shakes her head, cutting me off. "Don't do this. You're coming home. I've seen it."

I swallow so hard it hurts. She's always had premonitions, even as a small child. Things she sees before they actually happen. Though frequently accurate, her visions are unpredictable, coming and going at will. Sometimes they pour out in waves. Other times, they're dried up like a drought. Right now, I'm not sure what to believe. It wouldn't be unlike her to lie, an effort made on my behalf to keep my spirits from sinking.

"Can I sleep with your knife so I can protect us?" Slate asks.

"It's yours." I try to smile as I pull him in, letting him know I'm not afraid. That I'll be home soon enough to get another one for myself.

Not that I believe it.

Surviving a typical Hunger Games is no easy feat. And with twice the number of Tributes going into the arena, the Quarter Quell is anything but typical. The odds aren't in anyone's favor yet someone has to win. Chances are, it won't be me—the scrawny kid from District 12.

"Think you can handle the snares?" I ask my brother after a quick embrace.

"Yeah. The katniss roots, too."

"Good." I ruffle his hair and try to get a smile. "But maybe leave the cooking up to Mom. Last time you tried, the house stank for a week."

The corner of his lips curl up, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Laurel sniffles when I turn to her next. Before I can say a word, she falls into my arms. "You can win this, Haymitch. I know you can."

"I'll do my best," I tell her, resting my chin on top of her head.

When she finally steps back, she stuffs something scratchy into my palm and closes my fingers around it. It's a hand-sewn pouch, the same shade of green as the woods surrounding District 12.

"It's the first piece I made on my own," she proudly says. "I was going to give it to you tonight as a gift for making it through the Reaping. But now..." Her voice trails off in a sob.

The threading is crooked, but each beige stitch is a testament of her love.

I fight to keep my voice from cracking. "I don't have anything for you."

"You've already given me something." A single tear slides down her cheek. "Promise you'll come home to us," she whispers, discreetly grabbing my free hand and pressing it to her stomach.

The lump swells in my throat. "I will. I promise."

The door groans against its hinges and a Peacekeeper barges in. "Time's up."

Laurel throws her arms around my neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I say, holding her tightly to me. My mother and brother join in for one final hug.

Before the Peacekeeper pulls them away, Mom grabs my arm. "Remember, Haymitch—the stage may seem fixed, but the spotlight can be redirected. Aim for the clouds and you might find a way to change the script."

My brows pinch together. "What does that mean?"

"The sky," she says. "It's not what it—"

"That's enough." The Peacekeeper forces them out the door and down the hall.

My voice rises above their gasps and cries. "I'll see you soon!" But they've already disappeared around a corner.

It's not until I'm all alone that I finally break down and cry.

Approximate chapter word count: 1915
Approximate total word count: 4725

Thank you for coming back for chapter two!

I don't think Catching Fire shared much about Maysilee's personality, but judging from what little we do know, I think she's smart and resourceful. I also believe she has a heart—as much as one can in this situation.

Having said that, this chapter came from my imagination, but there may be a couple hints at what's to come!