It's the day of the reaping. The most terrifying day of all the people of District 12. It used to be the most terrifying day for me. That was when my name was still in the reaping ball. Not anymore. My name's already been taken out, disposed of. I've been through hell. The worst hell you can imagine. And not just because I couldn't trust anyone. Not because I had to watch my back just in case someone was about to stick a dagger through it. No, those were all scary. The really painful and horrific factor was that I was supposed to kill someone I forever owed, and essentially loved. Emphasis on the ed. I'm not so sure about him anymore. Too bad I'll have to be working with him for the next month or two.
My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 17 years old. I live in the Victor's Village of District 12 in Panem. I won the Hunger Games, an annual fight to the death on live TV. It was not fun. Not fun at all.
But it's a year later from that, and now a new horror begins. I still have to watch my people fight to the death. The thing is, is that if they do die, it's my fault, because I'm in charge of keeping them alive. They die, I fail. That's how it works. And I hate it. At least I won't be alone.
I walk out the door to the porch, my shaking hands clutching my overcoat and hugging it tighter around me. The freezing wind blows across my face, sprinkling snow in my hair. My thirteen year old sister, Prim, follows me. She holds the hand of my mother, who is too holding her jacket for dear life, hoping that it won't be snatched by the fierce wind. Why did the reaping have to be on a day of a blizzard? Just tell me that… why? If you can tell me that, then I've got some other questions to ask you, too, but I'm sure you don't have the time.
I see Peeta dragging Haymitch along from his porch. I muffle a laugh as I walk over to him and ask if he needs any help. He just scowls at me. "I think I can handle him by myself, thank you very much." The rudeness in his tone startles me. It's not the Peeta I know; the Peeta that would hold me at night when I had nightmares. This was a Peeta who hadn't slept all night and now had to carry this old lump of drunkenness all the way to the square. After all the things he's done.
"No, I don't think you can. Let me take him. Trust me, you look like you need a break." He opens his mouth to say something but closes and lets go of Haymitch's arm. I pick the limp limb up off the ground and begin to haul it through the storm. I can see my mother and Prim's faint figure in the distance, holding onto each other to protect themselves against the cold. Peeta's soldiers are hunched over as well. This isn't going to work. I can't make Peeta help me, but then again I can't do this by myself.
I drop Haymitch to the ground and lean down until my face is almost touching his filthy face. Suddenly, I clap my hands together. I can barely hear the sound against the whir of the wind. He doesn't even flinch. I roll my eyes irritably and slap him. That wakes him up, but not for long. I help him to his feet and slap him again. His expression is growing angry now, and his mouth opens to yell something at me, but I cut him off.
"Reaping. Mentor. You. Me. Peeta. Come now." He scowls at how I treat him, but still stumbles along. He seems to be fine, but I stay close enough so that if he decides to suddenly take a nap, I can catch him in the act. Literally, catch him. I might need Peeta's help with that one no matter what.
It takes us about ten minutes to finally make it to the square. Everyone has already assembled. I almost find a spot in the crowd out of habit when I remember that I have a seat waiting for me on stage. I follow Haymitch and Peeta the podium and wave to my mother and Prim in the crowd.
I feel a soft squeeze around my hand and find that Effie Trinket's beaming in my direction. "Exciting, isn't it? Your first games has a mentor." Yes, that's definitely exciting. Helplessly trying to keep pathetic tributes from my district alive, and inevitably watching them die. Terrific.
As Mayor Undersee finishes his boring lecture on the history of the games, Effie stands up excitedly and gallops down to the reaping ball. "Ladies first!" she says with a grin in her usual manner and spins the ball around and around. She digs her hand into the ball and pulls out a name. Darby Harriman. A girl who seems to be about my age walks up, all the blood flushed from her pale face. I recognize her from the Hob, and her dark hair and eyes signal she must be from the Seam.
Effie beams at the pale girl. "Oh, how exciting! Aren't you pretty?" Then she walks over to the boy's ball and digs around. She twists her hand all around until she grabs onto one name and pulls it out. My heart nearly stops as her thrilled voice reads the name.
A single tear rolls down my cheek and curls down my neck as my lips form his name in a tormented cry. Gale.
