"And on the occasion of the 75th annual Hunger Games, the third Quarter Quell," President Snow reads, with a flourish bringing the untouched card for the new twisted horror he will reveal for the next Games on our dingy television screen in our tiny Seam home, the electricity crystal clear for once, "Because thirteen districts rebelled, all tributes will be the age of thirteen."

…what? I freeze in place, letting this sink in. Thirteen…oh my god, Prim. At thirteen years old she can far more easily be reaped in this horrible twist even with only two measly slips of paper. I at the age of seventeen won't be able to save her. I'm not allowed in these Games. And as she freezes in place too, realizing what this means, I hug her and push back my own fear; for her. Because she can't know that I fear for her so much and I could never do anything about it. It's horrible.

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"You saw the announcement for the Quarter Quell?" Gale asks me quietly on the very next day I see him, a few days after the reading of the card. I only get to see him on Sundays now; it's the only day he has off from those horrible mines. I've never told him that I have just as many nightmares about him having the same fate as both of our fathers did in that dark place because he probably has the same anyway.

"How could I not?" I grimace. After all, it was mandatory. Besides the fact that I've thought of very little else since. He just nods in response and stares out at the mountainous area that our rock allows us to see in silence and I follow his lead. I somehow yearn for his wildly ridiculous yet tempting offer from last year on reaping day to run away. I know we could do it, but I also know that it's an incredibly stupid idea still. Maybe when we're all out of reaping age it would work, but that's so far away. Posy's only five years old after all and I don't see Panem getting any better in the next thirteen years we would have to wait for her. But it's such a risk and Prim could die because we could get caught. Just like that couple we found a few years back, the boy being speared and the girl taken up by a hovercraft to some unknown fate. I wouldn't wish either of that on any of us.

"They'll be alright. They only have two slips and there is still probably hundreds." Gale predicts with a frown, clearly trying to convince himself just as much as me but not really doing a good job at either. It's horrible but it's at this point that I remember that Rory is thirteen too. And Gale at the age of nineteen and could never save him again even if he wanted to like I normally could save Prim must be draining on him. It's one thing for them to have two slips each in a bowl of thousands; it's quite another for it to be two in a bowl that could be little more than one hundred.

"Yeah." I decide to humor him, though it comes out flat and unhopeful. Well, neither of us are optimists anyway, so I guess it's unsurprising. All that's left to do is wait. Worry and wait.

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"It'll be fine little duck. Just like every other year." I promise Prim with a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. I'm trying so hard to keep her from worrying more than she already is but it's difficult. She knows the odds and she's growing up; I'm doing it as much for her as myself.

"I know." She claims but she doesn't seem to entirely believe it either. I need to do better.

"Hey, you were so worried last year and nothing happened, right?" I remind her and she nods. "Well it's all the same."

"Alright." Prim smiles a little, and with I take her hand in mine to lead her to the square. Our mother takes her other one and when we arrive we both hug her for dear life and find the Hawthornes minus Rory already waiting in the crowd. My mother goes to stand by Hazelle and I go right next to Gale. He automatically takes my hand in his with our eyes connected, the pain and worry matching in our similar grey eyes. While there's never been anything romantic between us I know that this is just what we both need and entwine our fingers together, squeezing his hand lightly.

As we hear a noise from the microphone to get everyone's attention we both turn our heads towards the stage and for the first time I physically see how incredibly wrong this is. With only thirteen year olds to be reaped, a group of no more than one hundred if that in each of the two roped off areas, one for boys and one for girls, you can easily sense the unease all around, not just in the pins for those poor barely teenagers awaiting their fate which is in the perfectly manicured hands of our escort, Effie Trinket.

As the mayor drones on with his first speech, I somehow with my hunter's sense feel eyes on me. Looking to my mother and the Hawthornes first, I can tell all of them are at least facing the stage even if they really aren't paying attention at all, more likely than not just praying or hoping that Prim and Rory will be safe. If it's not them then who is it? I know I can feel something looking at me, it's like a sixth sense. Subtly glancing around while appearing to be intently watching the stage and just fidgeting, I scan the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye I find someone looking at me but as soon as I glance that way their head turns, but not soon enough for me to not catch the blonde head that is now intently looking at the stage and listening to the mayor like it's their job, his muscles tense despite trying to look like he's relaxing.

Peeta Mellark was looking at me? And why is he listening so intently, he has no one to worry about; I know he's the youngest of the baker's children and Peeta is my age. I wonder what-

"Ladies first." Effie Trinket's voice in her ridiculous Capitol accent rings out cheerfully, effectively snapping me out of any thoughts I was having about Peeta Mellark and what on earth he was doing. Not Prim. Not Prim. Please not Prim. Believe in your own words Katniss; she only has two slips. There are hundreds in there after all.

"Primrose Everdeen."

…huh? But that…no. No. No! I scream inside my head but all that comes out is a choking sound as my mouth drops open. In my head I'm screaming that I volunteer for her, that I have to take her place, but I can't. I'm not thirteen years old in this horrible twist of a Quarter Quell and I can't save her. I can't…

As Prim steals herself to walk up to the stage I feel my knees collapsing in lost hope, but something catches me and holds me up though I'm nowhere near steady. He doesn't say anything because there's nothing to say; he knows how awful this is because he feels it to; after all, Prim is like a little sister to him just as much as Rory and Vick and little Posy are siblings to me. Instead of apologizing or shushing me before I scream out like I want to, he simply wraps his steady arms around my waist to keep me upright while I bury my head in my hands. But I can't cry; not yet anyway. Everyone is surly looking at me and my mother with pity, with horrible, horrible pity. So if Prim can steal herself to get up on that stage, I can at least look strong for her.

Glancing up to the stage I find her ascending the steps and I feel unsteady again but I know I can't fall with Gale holding me up. My hands are shaking though so I grip his arms that are already keeping me up and press my lips into a fine line, willing myself not to cry. Not yet.

I can cry when I'm all alone, drowning in my pain and misery that my little sister is being sent to her death.

So if you've read my AMN trilogy, you obviously can see where I got my inspiration for this QQ from. This will be a three or four shot, and I'll try to update every day until it's complete. Hope you like it so far!