I see Katniss run into the woods. Briefly, I think about following her, but I don't. Being the mayor's daughter, that would land me a one way ticket to becoming an Avox, if I got caught. I can't risk it. Especially on reaping day.

"Madge, do come down for breakfast, dear," my father calls. He always makes it a point that I eat, even when I don't want to. Be thankful we have plenty of food to eat, he says. I am. I always have been. People have starved to death on our doorstep, begging for bread, berries, tea even, just to fill their swollen stomachs. Hell, Katniss has almost starved. Beautiful, resourceful, fierce Katniss Everdeen.

I walk down the stairs carefully as I always do, making sure not to fall. My father would have my head if I did. As usual, breakfast looks superb. Some sort of fresh meat, berries, and loaves on top of loaves of bread. I take a small slice out of a slightly burnt loaf and spread it with a thin layer of butter and strawberries. I never have a large appetite, but today, it's even tinier than usual. Always is on reaping day.

A knock sounds on the back door. As I stand up, I flatten my dress in case it is someone important. Gale, Katniss's best friend, stands at the door. Katniss slips around him, cradling a large bag of strawberries, Gale's muscular frame hiding her slim one.

"Pretty dress," Gale says. I shoot him a look. Is he being genuine? I mean, my dress is pretty nice. It's white, with cut off sleeves and it goes down to my knees. It's modest, but paired with a pink bow in my hair, I look amazing.

"Well, if I end up going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?" Gale looks bewildered.

"You won't be going to the Capitol," he says cooly. "What can you have, five entries? I had six when I was just twelve years old." I grimace. I don't like being reminded that in their eyes, I am rich.

"That's not her fault," Katniss pipes up. I shoot her a quick smile, which she doesn't return.

"No, it's no one's fault. Just the way it is," Gale says. My face falls. Why does he have to be so aggressive? I push money into Katniss's hand.

"Good luck, Katniss," I say with a glare in Gale's direction.

"You too," she answers, handing me the berries. The pair turns around and walks toward the local black market, which we call the Hob. I think about what Gale said. The reaping system is unfair, sure, favoring the rich over the poor and starving. I hate it. But there's nothing I can do. Especially as a girl from District 12. The Capitol listens to us about as much as I listen to the ground; that is to say not at all.

I walk to the square, where the reaping is taking place. For most things, I like to be early, but for this, I can't be. All the terrified twelve year olds, the starving older ones who gave up their tesserae for their younger siblings, the hardened parents trying so hard to be strong, they just break my heart. I can't stand it. We stand in an apprehensive silence for what seems like hours, staring at the temporary stage, complete with three rickety chairs and two large glass vases standing on a table, filled with thousands of paper slips. Five of them hold my name. Twenty hold Katniss's, and Gale probably has around forty. My father and a pink and green clad woman from the Capitol, Effie Trinket, whisper to each other, probably saying how disgraceful 12's only living victor, Haymitch, is. He's supposed to be here, but he's not. Right as I think this, the tall clock strikes two, and my father stands up to the podium and begins to speak. He drones on about how the Capitol conquered all 13 districts, creating a country called Panem. The 13th district rebelled, and were promptly blown off the map by force of a nuclear weapon, yadda yadda yadda. It's the same story we hear every year, and I hear at home at least once a week. I look over at Katniss, rolling my eyes, but she is looking down at her little sister, Primrose, who must be twelve this reaping. Newly eligible. She won't get picked, though. Katniss wouldn't let her put in for any tesserae. My father continues, now talking about the Hunger Games. After 13 was demolished, the Capitol had to do something to let the districts know they were in charge. Two teenagers from each of the twelve districts, a boy and a girl, forced into a televised fight to the death. We are forced to watch it, and if someone from our district wins, we get loads of food that we don't normally have, like extra grain and even sugar. Who wouldn't love that?

When he finishes, the Effie stands up to draw the names. At the same moment, the former victor turned permanent drunk stumbles forward into her. I feel sorry for whoever is chosen, because they have to deal with king alcoholic Haymitch, up until their death. He then takes a diving header off the stage, the people in the front letting him fall. I try not to laugh, as do several other people. The woman stealthily adjusts her bright pink wig, and makes her way to the ball on the right.

"Ladies first," she says in her sickly sweet accent. She reaches a delicate hand into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. It's not me. It's not Katniss. The name she reads is Primrose Everdeen.