The Mockingjay Died: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Reapings: District 10

(Ava Smith's POV)

"Ava! Be quiet!" my twin sister, Emma, hisses. I ignore her and continue slamming drawers on our old dresser shut. It's safe to say Im in a bad mood.

"Ava?" Emma walks over to me. "You're going to get us in trouble."

I frown. "I don't care." That's not exactly true. I'm really just upset about the reaping. I stop slamming the drawers anyway.

Content that I'm done, Emma stares at her reflection in the little mirror above the dresser. I glance up too, and run my fingers through my hair. Emma rolls her eyes and hands me a comb. I smile at her in the mirror.

We used to be almost identical, but over the past year, I've gotten almost three inches taller than my sister. My hair is a bit shorter, because a few years ago I gave myself a haircut in the bathroom at school. Mom wasn't happy about that.

I frown. Thinking about Mom reminds me of the day she and Dad were executed for breaking the law. They'd been caught stealing food. Emma and I had been sent to live with another family, because the Children's Homes in District 10 are all overcrowded. Soon, however, I proved to be "too rowdy," and we got sent to a home anyway.

It's safe to say that Emma and I don't get along, but when it comes down to it, we love each other a lot. We always end up confiding things to each other, and she's probably the best friend I have, which says a lot about my friends.

Emma frowns at me. "Want me to braid your hair?" I shrug. She smiles and pulls me over to our bed. "Sit still." I obey as she combs out my long hair, and begins to braid it. When she's done, she loops it back up and pins it, so the braid runs across the back of my head.

Im about to thank her when the bell rings. Time to eat. I jump up and scamper down the hall. Emma, always the more graceful one, walks more slowly.

Emma's friend Charity sits next to her. I don't like Charity, I think she's a stuck-up brat, so I go sit by myself in a corner. Soon the dining room fills up, though no one pays attention to me.

The bell rings again after about twenty minutes, and the older kids all get up and head to the doors. Once outside, we form three lines and start marching to the Reaping. Most kids don't have to worry about the Reaping this year, because most of them don't have eligible siblings. Still, they're required to go. District 10's population has dropped considerably in the past twenty years, or so I've been told. A pox epidemic swept through fifteen years ago, and since then there have been numerous shortages of food and most of the people not live in poverty, the population is still shrinking.

Emma stands behind me in the line, and for the first time she looks worried. She reaches out for my hand, and I don't stop her. It's our first Reaping, and our chances of being picked are higher than they should be this year, and Im worried too.

~~~~

(Evergreen Mock's POV)

I would like to say I would sacrifice myself for Lark, but honestly, I don't want to die. Really, I know I couldn't. Four years ago, at our first Reaping, Lark's name was called, and I didn't volunteer for her. Our triplet Robin did. And she died.

Of course, Robin and Lark were always the closest. I've been more independent since I was a baby, and could only sleep if I was in a bed by myself. Don't get me wrong, I love Lark, and I always protect her, but she and Robin were the closest.

Lark seems to sense my worry, and loops her arm through mine as we walk. "Everything will be just fine," she says with a smile.

"I know," I say, and force a laugh. I don't see where she gets all this optimism, but she's always looking on the bright side. Of everything. Her boyfriend could break up with her; she says they weren't meant to be anyway. She could break her leg; she says she'll have more time to read. How does she do it? Funny how someone who looks so much like me could be so different.

Even though we're technically "identical," Lark looks much frailer than I do. She's what my mother calls "sickly," and has always been the baby. Robin and I always protected her...but I don't know if I could do what Robin did.

When we reach the square, we stand side-by-side in the 16-year-old section. Lark smiles and encourages all the girls around us. Soon, everyone in our section is talking in laughing, the worry all gone.

All of it returns once our escort, Jemima Rundlemon, takes the stage. She's perky and happy and excited and fake, from her hot pink hair (a wig) to her neon yellow makeup (garish). She's decidedly younger than all the other escorts I've seen on TV, though. She gushes about honor and glory and excitement before finally choosing a slip.

"Our first pair of tributes," she trills, "are... Emma and Ava Smith!"

After a moment, a pale, dazed little girl in the very front makes her way to the aisle. She turns around and beckons to someone else, probably her sister. Nothing happens. Eventually, peacekeepers have to come in and drag the girl on stage. The second they touch, she starts screaming and kicking and hitting everything in sight. It doesn't affect the peacekeepers much, but a lot of the girls surrounding her either get knocked over or knock others over trying to get away.

The second she's deposited on the stage next to Jemima, who looks disgusted, the girl seems to calm down. Her sister is crying, so she takes the microphone to introduce herself.

"My name is Ava Smith, and this is my twin Emma," she gestures to her sister, "and we're twelve." Jemima reaches for the microphone, but Ava isn't done. "You hear that? Twelve! You are sending children to their death!" She's yelling by now, straight into a camera. "The Capitol is full of bloodthirsty monsters! The President is evil! You can't let her get away with this! You have to stop her!"

A few peacekeepers grab her and drag her into the Justice Building. She yells like a lunatic until the doors close. Her sister is sobbing, and the mayor gives up his chair for the girl to sit down.

By now, though, Ava has succeeded in caused a riot. Adults in the back are pushing against the line of peacekeepers, trying to get to their children. The littler kids are crying, and the whole ones are yelling and shaking their fists, and basically causing an uproar.

Jemima sets to work immediately. She grabs the microphone and starts yelling for everyone to calm down. When that doesn't work, she motions for a peacekeeper and tells him something. He walks over and drags a twelve-year-old boy out in front of the stage. And points his gun at him.

A shot rings out, and the square goes deathly silent, except one girl who runs out, crying, and hugs the boy, who's lying on the ground, his blood staining the pavement. I recognize them: Jenny and Harry Peters. I used to babysit them. And now I'm watching Harry bleed out on the ground. And I can't handle it.

I pull on Lark's arm. "Come on!" I whisper.

"Where?" She looks scared, and I don't blame her, but I drag her out to the aisle, then run to Harry and Jenny. Jenny collapses in my arms, crying. Harry weakly lefts his hand, and Lark, who came up behind me, takes it. "It'll be ok," she whispers. He smiles, then stares up at the sky. The life quietly drains out of him.

After a few moments, I remember where we are, and look around. The first thing I see is Jemima, staring down at us, a cold, angry glint in her eyes. I see peacekeepers dragging several people away, and many people crying.

I can't take it all in, so I looks back up at Jemima. Her cold stare slowly turns into a sadistic smile, and grabs the microphone. "Well, it looks like we have a pair of volunteers!" I can feel the blood drain from face. A peacekeeper comes and roughly pulls me to my feet, shoving Jenny away with the butt of his gun. Lark quickly gets up on her own.

I wrestle my arm out of his grasp and walk up the steps, head held high. Lark looks a bit frightened, but she's doing a good job of trying to hide it.

Jemima holds out the microphone to me, but before I can grab it, she whispers, "Do not try anything, or the little girl will die as well." I smile and nod, as if she'd only wished me good luck, then introduce myself and my sister.

You'd think, since I just unfairly got thrust into these Games, I'd feel outraged, or scared. Actually, I feel a sense of pride. I don't know if I'll be able to sacrifice myself for Lark, but what I just did was incredibly selfless. Who says I won't do it for Lark, if she's in trouble?