Chapter One: The Odds

"Welcome, welcome," Effie Trinket chirps, her bright orange heels clicking as she walks towards the front of the stage. "I'm simply honored to be serving District 12 this year. Let's go on with this reaping, shall we? Ladies first, as always."

My throat tightens. I have sixteen slips in the bowl. Maybe it's not a huge number, but each means one more chance to be lead to slaughter. Even with my hunting skills, I'm a fool to think I'd have any chance against the careers. Briefly I regret signing up for so much tessarae, but the image of a starving Prim flashes by and I want to slap myself for being so selfish. Maybe I'm not safe with so many slips, but I could never live with myself if I let my family down. I desperately need to keep collected, so I put on a face of stony indifference as Effie digs deep to pull out a name.

"Asby Herriot," Effie calls out, and a town girl shuffles to the stage with her head to the ground. I hear the shrieks of an old woman in the background, calling for her baby girl, and I don't dare look back as the peacekeepers drag her grandmother away from the family section and into the Justice Building, presumably for the administration of disciplinary action before her good-bye visit . Haymitch guffaws and mutters something about a good show before collapsing on the mayor's lap. Asby bursts into tears and hugs a shocked Effie, who cautiously pats her shoulder.

The ensuing ruckus of camera crews and laughter from the visiting Capitol officials, not to mention the relief of not being picked, breaks my unfeeling mask. Prim, luckily, is not eligible for another year and is probably nestled deep in the crowd with my mother. Still, there's no way I can forget Gale's 36 slips. I catch a glance with him in the seventeens section, and he doesn't seem too amused by the spectacle. I have a sudden desire to tell him everything's okay, but of course it isn't. There's nothing funny about being forced to be entered in a lottery for your life, or the pain of a loved one mourning for their kin's certain death. Gale clenches his fists and stares at me, and the mix of sadness and animosity in his deep gray eyes is all too familiar to me.

Eventually, the cameras seem to have gotten enough of the little show, and a band of Peacekeepers march to the stage with their guns raised. District 12's reaping may be the laughingstock of Panem right now, but that doesn't change the fact that it's a brutal reminder of the Capitol's power. A slightly shaken Effie Trinket icily lets go of Asby and walks toward the other bowl. The tension builds up again, but without my iminent death in the future, I have less of a reason to hide my fear. The thought of him being forced to kill other tributes, and risking death himself, makes me ill. Neither of us would go down without a fight. My stomach drops and I don't think I really breathe until Effie calls out, "Otto Hayes,"

A dark haired boy from the eighteens emerges from the crowd after a few awkward moments. He stiffly walks to the stage and shakes Asby's hand without prompting. The crowd claps on command, as always, and the peacekeepers stop looking like they could shoot one of us on sight The tributes and their families are escorted. I hear a few muffled sobs in the background, but the sickening relief I'm feeling prevents me from paying too much attention. Otto and Asby are doomed, but I will live another year.

"We're safe," I call to Gale. In the end, isn't that all that matters?

A/N: Thank you for reading, and I welcome concrit. I know thus far the story is pretty unexciting, but I'll try to have the next chapter up soon. If you have any questions, message me here or at my tumblr, catniphatesbuttercup.