The Hunger Games
Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her. But once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game.
- Voltaire
Chapter One
The horrifying images dart wildly in front of me, a hundred possibilities, a hundred different ways that I could die. Just as a blurry figure is about to strike a fatal blow to my chest I am struck back into reality in a pool of cool sweat and burning fear. Of course I was only dreaming, they have been plaguing me for about a week now and getting progressively terrifying. They are a constant reminder of an unwelcome tradition that is about to take place today. It is reaping day. After a quick glance around my small confines of my bedroom I am quick to realise that I am alone as the two other beds that accompany mine are empty. Great, I have slept in. Even though the room is as dark as if it were still night and the birds have not yet blessed us with their songs I am fully aware that I am going to be behind on today's work load. I work alongside my father and elder brothers at the bakery we own downstairs, baking various loaves and slaving over beautifully hand decorated cakes and treats has always seemed like a blessing to me, I love my job. However with the short amount of time that I can allocate to my work today, I am going to struggle to get anything done. Without wasting anymore time regretting my long yet restless sleep I rush to get dressed and eat before starting my dreaded day.
As I reach the kitchen door I am met with four faces of grief. They - like most families today - are convinced that their luck will have run out today and they will lose a child to the Capitol's cruel idea of justice, the Hunger Games. I take my place across from my father at the table, my breakfast already waiting for me. I'm surprised by how largely my plate had been filled today as we normally can only afford to eat the stale leftover loafs and treats that we can no longer sell at the bakery. However today I have been given fresh baked bread - still warm from the oven - and a stewed meat that I have grown to recognise as squirrel. The very fact that particular meat is on my plate reminds me yet again that I have one other person to worry about today, as well as myself and my remaining games eligible brother, Katniss Everdeen. Katniss is the girl that I have been longing for since I was five years old, she - like her father - has an amazingly natural skill for hunting and my father has become accustomed to trading with her over the years for her squirrel meat. She has an amazing shot, right in the eye. Before I have the chance to indulge in one of my regular daydreams about her my mother (in her usual screech-like voice) informs me that I have work to do today and so I make my way through to the bakery, pull on an apron and remove the cakes and various biscuits my father baked late last night out from the cooling cupboard and carry them carefully over to my work table. After what feels like hours of precise decorating, they are ready for sale and I am running out of time to prepare for the reaping. After I have finished up and tidied the worktop I return to my bedroom and find my reaping clothes already pressed and waiting for me at the end of my bed. I have just enough time to bathe and get dressed when I am being called down stairs to make our way to the square. We wait outside the bakery while my father locks up then we walk together in a painful silence. The small gathering point is hugely overcrowded and I have to push my way past people just to sign in my name before taking my place amongst my age group and none of my family seems to have any courage to say anymore to me or even look at my face. Even though I understand the reason for this, I can not help but feel stung by there actions, or I should say there lack of actions.
As I try to find a familiar face to stand beside I end up having to wedge myself in between people who's names I haven't even had the chance to learn. I can see Camera crews lining the rooftops trying to catch the whole event at every angle possible. Just as I turn to watch Mayor Undersee step up onto the shabby stage and approach the microphone I find myself making eye contact with her. Before I have the chance to register Katniss' glance her eyes dart back to the stage, however I keep my eyes on her face and ignore the mayor's speech about the history behind the Hunger Games and Panem. I have listened to this story so many times I swear I could recite it word for word from memory, it's the same speech every year. He tells of how Panem rose up out of the ashes of a place once called North America and then goes on to list the tragedies such as the droughts, the fires and of course the wars. I decide not to bother listening further as I know fine well what comes next, the story of how the Hunger Games was created by the Capital in order to constantly remind all 12 districts that we will forever pay for our uprisings and shall be kept in line.
Just as Mayor Undersee has finished his speech, Haymitch Abernathy - our only living victor of the Games - stumbles on stage drunk to finally take his seat next to Effie Trinket. Its no surprise he's drunk, that's just his usual self. After giving Effie Trinket a greeting that is rather inappropriate, and Effie having to push her way out of his grasp, she takes her place behind the microphone and suddenly has my undivided attention. Not her. Please not her. Before placing her hand into the glass reaping bowl she gives us all her well known, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!" Its not hard to miss the way her big pink mass of hair is swaying slightly too far to right after Haymitch's embrace therefore highlighting the fact she's wearing a wig. I ignore her speech about what an honour she feels it is to be here as its obvious that even though she is smiling from ear to ear that she in no way feels honoured to be in district 12. "Ladies first!" here we go. I watch her hand swirl slowly around the bowl and close around a name. Any name but hers. Please.
"Primrose Everdeen!"
Any name but hers and that one! I turn my head to catch a glimpse of Katniss but its too late, she is already screaming in an agonising attempt to get to her sister. "Prim!" as soon as the heartbreaking cry is released from her mouth the crowed around her starts to separate, giving her enough room to run to her. I know what she is about to say next before it has been voiced, and my heart has already began aching for her. "I volunteer as tribute!" those words ricochet inside my head making the pain all the more excruciating. No matter who is chosen as the male tribute I must volunteer. I must keep this girl alive. There's some clear confusion on the stage due to the fact that there hasn't been a volunteer in decades and the memory of the protocol has faded. "Lovely!" booms Effie Trinket "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…" The mayor clearly just wants for all this to end as soon as possible, "What does it matter? Let her come forward" he says with a pained expression aimed straight for Katniss. I can hear her sisters' hysterical cries as an older boy I believe to be called Gale pulls her off of her so she can step up onto the stage and give them her name. "Well, bravo! That's the spirit of the games!" The way Effie Trinket suggests that Katniss is doing this for pride sickens me. Had she not just witnessed what just happened? She is doing this out of love, to protect her family, not for the glory or the riches. I am going to make sure I protect her. But before I even have to think twice about volunteering my name is pulled out.
"Peeta Mellark!" I realise that even though it was my plan to save this girl, the girl I love, I did not expect to actually be chosen and I can tell by the way that Katniss is looking into my eyes right now, remembering my face and how I saved her life, that she wishes I hadn't been chosen. How do you consider killing someone who saved your life? How do you consider killing someone who risked a beating so he could make sure you didn't starve to death? Well I'm afraid she will have to do just that, no matter where her morals stand, as I don't plan on dying until there is no other possible victor of the games than her. I will die for her. I want to. I have to.