The Third Quarter Quell

Chapter one - The Quarter Quell

Today is the reaping for the 75th Hunger Games, or in other words, the third quarter quell. Everything happened so quickly. After the 74th Hunger games, which Peeta and Katniss were the victors of, Katniss was executed for the stunt she tried to pull off, using nightlock; this was a warning to all the competitors of the next hunger games’, that trying to twist the rules, doesn’t work. About a week ago, the quarter quell was announced; all the children between 12 and 18 were placed in the same bowl, instead of gender bowls; which means in the end, the games could consist of just males, or just females.

I was nervous for whoever was reaped; this game could be a hard one if their all boys.

I walk to my section, in the 15 girls, and stand there, waiting.

Looking around I see scared faces, pale skin, sickly pale. I see dresses, and suites, they are trembling, and not good at hiding it. I understand why.

After Katniss died, everyone knows that district 12 is not liked by President Snow; everyone thinks district 12 is bad luck now. She pulled the stunt that affected the whole district; but it’s not like that.

 She gave people a hope, a hope that the capital doesn’t always have to win, they can be defeated, and when they lose the smallest of power, they resolve in doing bad things that draw their power back, if we keep doing it, they will collapse. She made me realize, if everyone stood up to the capital, we would overpower them. But of course, no-one is brave enough to do something like that, well except Katniss Everdeen.

We need someone to go into the games, and show all these children that we have not got bad luck, but we have the power to win. We need another victor, to show everyone that district 12 is not heading down like it was before the 74th games. We need someone as brave as Katniss, to continue to show the capitol that people have strong wills, and when you put a bunch of strong willed people together, you get a rebellion.

They need to see the light in the world, and realize, if they treated everyone how they deserve to be treated, they won’t be rebelled against.

“Welcome, welcome,” I hear Effie Trinkets voice whine through the microphone, waking me from my thoughts, “To the Annual Hunger Games.” I look up to see my drunken uncle, Haymitch Abernathy, sitting on the stage next to Peeta Mellark. I zone out, not listening to Effie’s droning voice as she says the same stuff which she says every year. Peeta Mellark is the living victor from last year’s hunger games. He has fair hair, and blue eyes, he has a fake leg, because of Cato, district 1’s male tribute. He was stabbed, and they couldn’t fix his leg, so he had to have his leg replaced. He looks out to the audience, scanning, looking for someone. His eyes stop, and I follow his gaze to Primrose Everdeen, Katniss’ sister. He must be hoping, begging for her not to be picked. He loved Katniss.

“Now, for our first tribute to be picked,” Effie’s loud voice booms in the microphone. She takes her green gloves off her pale green skin; it’s sickly. She places her hand in the fish bowl looking tribute holder, and picks up a small piece of paper. She pulls it out and opens it melodramatically.

“Crimson Jones,” She calls causing my heart to stop. I have just been picked to go into the 75th hunger games. Me? Well, I guess I did say we need someone to be brave for district 12, who better to do it then the girl who thought it.

I slowly walk out of the girl section, and onto the path. I see Peeta and Haymitch staring down at me. I quickly walk up the stairs and stand next to Effie, waiting for the next tribute to be selected.

Strangely enough, I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t afraid to die, and I wasn’t concerned about killing for my safety; though I would hate it, it’s the difference between life and death.

My only trouble is regret and sorrow; if I start to feel any of those feelings I will crumble.

I wait impatiently for the next tribute to be chosen. I start to fidget with my dress; my knee length crimson dress that Haymitch bought me for the reaping. He buys me a new one each year; but that’s pretty much all I get from him, which I completely appreciate, because they cost oodles.

Effie Trinket walks to the bowl again, to pick out the next tribute. She picks it out, a lot quicker, and less dramatically. She opens the card, and I swear her eyes nearly popped out.

“Prim,” She stops to clear her throat, “Primrose Everdeen,”

I search for her in the crowd, and see her straight away because I had seen her before. Then my eyes move to Peeta, whose eyes I’m pretty sure have popped out of his head, and I don’t blame his reaction. That was my reaction to, but I didn’t show it. My parents, and Haymitch, prepared me for the hunger games, teaching me to throw knives, a little bit of healing, like to fix a burn, or bite, and they taught me one of the most important, how to hide your feelings.

Prim walks to the stage, and stands next to me.

“Shake hands,” Effie suggests. Instead I open my arms, and Prim embraces me. I feel worse for her than I would for anyone else. This is her second time to be drawn from the bowl, and her last.

I don’t know what to do. I can’t win this if I’m in it with Prim. Her sister died for her, and I guess I will just have to do the same.

AN-

Picture of Crimson >>>>>>

I wrote this because I love reading Hunger Games fanfics, so I thought, I may as well try and write one. So, tell me what you think.

I will update for 10+ reads, 2 comments and 2 votes? :)

<3 Thanks for reading <3