Author's note: Before you begin reading this story (for which I am eternally grateful) I feel obliged to warn you that English is not my first language and it is far from perfect. However, I hope you will enjoy the words and sentences as poor as some of them might be. Thank you.
Prologue
Sometimes I wonder if there's anyone—beside most of the families in all twelve districts, that is—who'd care. I'm not exactly convinced that even those care truly anymore and that was something I've always strongly believed in. Because, as I stand here with a clear view of everyone, all I see is expressions of relief. I instantly know what's going through each and every one of their heads. It's not me, it's not me, it's not me. Guilt mixed with relief on the faces of those who know me. I was exactly the same when I was standing among them. But this time I'm not, and this time different thoughts wander through my brain. It is me, I think and I'm certain this is not a dream. But then again, it wouldn't be much of a dream, would it? A most horrible, heartbreaking, life-sucking nightmare is what it would be, what it is. And, I know my nightmares as well as I know my sister's best efforts to lie. Her eyes slip slowly down my face, all the way to my feet and hurry back up to stare at mine without blinking. I've seen this day in my nightmares too many times. The truth slides through me just like my sister's eyes do. At the point when it stares right in my eyes, I know that it's over. My world's over. I wake up screaming.
This time the screaming is real. My family screams for me and my thoughts scream even louder. A tear rolls all the way to my mouth and I realize my jaw is dropped, but I'm not even breathing. My heart is beating to its maximum and I feel like my chest is going to explode any minute now.
Who could have known that out of hundreds, thousands other kids it'd be me the one who was going to get picked? I feel like I should have known better, I should have mentally prepared myself for this moment. A silly kid, I am, for thinking that the odds are always in my favor. I am seventeen, true, and my name's written down a few more times than the names of other younger kids, but I haven't once signed up for tesserae. That hurricane when I was seven, in a boat with a dozen other kids, I survived it and only two of the others did. I didn't drown that time either when my father's fishing net caught my leg and dragged all the way to the bottom of the sea, keeping me down under for more than five minutes. I am my father's good luck charm. I am the girl all my friends come to for advice as they claim it never fails them. The girl who made it without a scratch when she jumped in front of three bikes to save an injured bird. The one who is teased to hold all the luck in the world.
But I guess it has left me this time. The odds are no longer in my favor.
I hope my it's passed onto someone good. It has definitely left me now, when I most need it. Or maybe—probably—I am much too naive to believe my mother's words that it's never going to be me, it's never going to be my sister. I did get a few hours sleep last night because of that conviction, didn't I?
But nothing in the past seem to matter much now as my eyes can't seem to focus on anything. I'm sweating like crazy. My ears don't register the name of the male tribute. Many images appear in my head, like my mother and sister screaming and crying as they watch me die, my father feeling so helpless. A voice yells at me, blaming me for putting them in pain and then I get angry and the next thing I know I'm taking down mental notes, making plans how I'd beg the Capitol to allow my family to turn off the television so they wouldn't have to see me die, begging someone, something to help me snap out of all this, begging my mind to let this just be another dream.
It isn't, and now I'm being escorted by a small woman to a building I have seen many times but cannot remember what we call it. All too soon I am sitting on a chair between four brightly colored walls, feeling more trapped than ever. The painful realization reminds me that I really am. I begin to scream, my eyes are shut and don't stop until someone embraces me. I can't tell how long that lasts but I finally hear my mother say my name.
"Annie," she tries again and this time it is barely a whisper. "My little, sweet Annie."
I pull back only to see tears all over her beautiful, angelic face. I stare in her eyes and my focus is becoming better, despite the fact that my muscles are tense from keeping my eyes open so widely. For some reason I try to memorize every detail of them as a part of me suddenly becomes aware that I will probably never them again.
Somehow my voice strings don't fail me and I manage to whisper, "Why me?"
A cry comes from behind my mother and I make out my sister and father. They both walk closer to me at the same time and hug me tightly. My sister whispers something I can't understand and they all pull away all too soon.
Why do I have this urge to blame my mother for lying to me? My father for assuring me that nothing bad will happen to me as long as he is there? Everyone I know for telling me I shine with luck and it will never, ever fail me? Why? Why did I rely on all of that so strongly ever since my name, and later my sister's was entered in that big, glass bowl with slips of paper? Why didn't I allow the fear overtake me? If I did, I am sure, I wouldn't be breaking and cracking as I am now, I would have gone through all this while I was home, safe, with a chance to pull myself together. I should have known how big of a mistake pretending to be strong was.
"Do you remember what I told you this morning, Annie?" I hear my father say.
I nod with the smallest move. My thoughts scream, scream and I feel that if I move even a little bit more I'm going to crack.
"Tell me, Annie," he presses on, "Say what I told you."
I gulp and my breathing becomes faster. I can feel fresh tears on my cheekbones. "You are my good luck charm; you are my bravest little girl." I say at last. The words echo through the room as well as in my head and I start questioning the reality of all of this.
Everyone's eyes are locked on me. I can see the pain in all of them already and I start feeling like I'm going to throw up. Because, I am so helpless and I am not my father's brave girl. Not really. How can he say that? How can he lie about such a thing? I'm weak. I'm breaking. I'm losing it.
"You are not a little girl anymore, Annie," my mother's shaky voice claims. "You have to come back home to us."
There is such determination in her voice that scares me. I begin to shiver and my sister comes to hold me tightly again. She begins sobbing and suddenly the need to comfort her overwhelms me. I realize I can't do that this time and it hits me right in my chest. I can't protect my sister from feeling pain and neither can my parents because there is also no one who can protect them. I am causing the pain. I am the one that needs to be comforted in order to comfort.
I want to tell them that I love them so, so much and that they should all stop crying and worrying. I want to tell them that it will all be okay, but I know it won't. I can't lie to them. There is no possible scenario I can make up that would seem realistic enough with me making it out of the Hunger Games. No one, especially not me, can promise my family that I would be just fine without lying. And I am so terrible at lying.
No words seem to come out, my jaw simply hangs awkwardly.
"Listen to us, Annie," my mother is shaking my shoulders. "Fight. Don't you dare give up. Do you hear me? Promise me you will fight!"
As I don't react in any way my father also urges on. "You have to promise us, Annie." The calmness of his voice seems to be the only thing holding my screams back.
I look at him and analyze his expression carefully because I can't think of anything smarter to do. His lips are pursed into a thin line and a few of those have appeared on his forehead. I can tell he's trying to be brave for me, but his eyes are full of tears. Tears he would never let himself shed.
"Annie, are listening to us? We don't have much time."
My sister whispers in my hair. "Please," I can make it out clearly this time.
The tears are now flowing like a river and my vision is getting blurrier by the second, so I close my eyes. I try to take a deep breath and I make myself say it. "I promise."
A part of me is on fire. I hear even more voices in my head telling them to stop lying. Because, I have always known that I would never, ever, ever be able to kill anyone or watch anyone kill anyone without doing something about it, and my promise is so contradictory to everything I am and everything I've always believed in that it makes me sick in my stomach. It makes me ever sicker that I made a promise I can't keep and this is all I can think of.
Peacekeepers burst through the door and say something that sounds like, "You've stayed here too long."
Is that how long I get? It wasn't long at all.
I hear my family telling me they love me as they all hold on to me. But they have to leave and everything starts happening too quickly again. The last memory I have of them is they're telling me to keep my promise. It makes me so feel so guilty that I try to wipe it away.
"I'm sorry," I try to say out loud but I know that no one can hear me; the door is shut.
I stare at the walls and notice that there isn't a window anywhere, but everything is so bright that it makes it hard for me to focus on anything again. I need a window badly. I need fresh air. So, I stare blankly at the walls as if I could make them crash down that way, maybe escape somehow. It feels like I've been doing that and only that for hours, but it's probably been only a few minutes, and I'm more confused than ever.
I do know one thing for sure: I am not even near to doing something useful like making myself face and accept what has just happened.
Not to mention I haven't taken any notice to the cameras who will show everyone at the Capitol who I really am. Weak, weak, weak. Fragile.
Why do I always deny anything bad that happens? Why am I so convinced that the only way anything is acceptable is once I've done everything in my power to fix everything about it? How am I going to fix this one? I can't. The reality of that struck me like a thousand knives going through my body at once would. What am I doing!?
I am not sure if I'm screaming out loud or if it's all in my head.
The woman who read my name today walks in in the small room with a smile. I remember that her name is Glory Jores. "Come on sweetheart," she holds up her hand towards me. Her voice is very high pitched. "It's time to go to the Capitol!"
I slowly get up and let her lead the way. Her enthusiasm is obvious in her every step. She's wearing heels so high that I wonder how she still manages to be shorter than me, and I am definitely very small.
Too small, I think, and tears start streaming down my cheeks once again. The Capitol seems bigger than ever, at this moment, and I am just a small ant that's soon to be crushed among with twenty two other kids by the Hunger games. I stop feeling so confused and I'm almost positive I've started to face the reality of my situation. As I step into the train I think about how I didn't say goodbye properly to my family and how I can't possibly keep the promise I have just made to them. The last promise.
I realize that it doesn't matter if there's anyone at all who'd care; no one can do anything about what happens anyway.
