I OWN NOTHING. THIS ONE ISN'T A DREAM. I DON'T KNOW ELIZABETH WELL ENOUGH TO KNOW HOW SHE DREAMS, OR THINKS, FOR THAT MATTER. BUT I FELT LIKE I NEEDED TO WRITE ONE FOR HER. IT'S MORE LIKE THE REAPING FROM HER PONIT OF VIEW. GET ME? HERE YA GO. ELIZABETH'S "SPARK":

It's every mother's worst nightmare, their child being chosen for the reaping. What words of comfort can be offered when a child is tossed into an arena to fight for their lives? I can only pray that neither of my daughters is ever chosen, like I do every year. I can only hope that he is watching out for them…

I don't know why I try to fool myself though, considering Katniss has put her name into the reaping more times this year than I want to know about. I don't know what I would do without her, and I thank my stars that Prim has only put her name in once. I look around me at all of the other parents of potential tributes, my heart going out to each of them. It won't be one of my girls. It can't be. Whoever it is that gave me my family has already taken my husband. They wouldn't dare take my child.

These are the lies I tell myself every year to keep from falling apart; to keep from going back to the moment where I gave up. I fear that Katniss will never forgive me for the way I…shut down. I close my eyes and hope against the odds that she will have all the time in the world to forgive me. Finally, the murmuring crowd quiets and Effie Trinket takes the stand. She is babbling on, repeating the same but slightly-varied speech that she gives every year. May the odds be in your favor… This is meant to punish you…Aren't you excited? I scan the crowd for my daughters, and find Prim, her head turned towards me, her eyes wide. She's scared. I give her a weak smile; try to force it to reach my eyes.

But I can't. Why can't I? Every year Prim looks to me for comfort, to reassure her that everything will be fine, that our small family will not become smaller. Every year I fulfill this one motherly task perfectly, but this year…Why can't I? A spark of fear ignites in my heart. My motherly intuition, neglected as it may be, has me itching to snatch Prim up and flee with her. But it's nothing. Her name is one of thousands. My baby is safe. My girls are going to come home with me twenty minutes from now. We will give a moment of silent good wishes for those chosen and we will eat the meal that Katniss has provided. Then Katniss will go off to celebrate the rest of the night with Gale, and Prim will stay home with me.

She will help me clean up dinner. She will help me turn down the beds. She will sit with me by the fire and I will braid her hair for tomorrow's school day. We will talk about the reaping, and about how Gale and Katniss would make a lovely couple. We will discuss life and life's lessons, and for a moment I will feel like a mother. Those moments are rare and fleeting, but I live fore them. Effie Trinket reaches into the bowl with the girls names in it, and Prim looks back at me again. This time I can smile at her with confidence. It's not her, it's not Katniss. It can't be, because today I feel like a mother. Today I feel—

"Primrose Everdeen!"

1…2…3…the seconds tick by as I assess the situation. Breath in…breath out…breath in…and scream. A strangled cry leaves my lips as the spark in my heart turns into a full fledged flame, eating away at me from the inside. No one hears my scream though, because someone else has caused a commotion. Someone is crying out Prim's name. The crowd parts as a figure runs to the stage. I can only see the top of a head; a head that has an artistic braid masterfully knotted at the top. Katniss.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

This is every mothers worst nightmare, even if the mother is me and I'm not very good at it. I daftly say Katniss's name, releasing a breath I had not purposely held. Black spots blur my vision, and the baker catches me as I fall to the ground.

OKAY SO IT WASN'T A DREAM, AND I DON'T KNOW ELIZABETH WELL ENOUGH TO KNOW HOW SHE WOULD TRULY HANDLE THE SITUATION, BUT I FEEL RIGHT ABOUT THIS, SO HERE IT IS. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (I KNOW THAT BEGGING IS AN UNATTRACTIVE QUALITY, BUT I'M NOT A VERY ATTRACTIVE PERSON, SO THERE YA GO…) REVIEW. IT'S THE ONLY WAY THAT I KNOW WEATHER OR NOT TO KEEP WRITING-WEATHER OR NOT I'M ACCOMPLISHING MY GOALS.