The Dandelion: Part I – The Reaping
Katniss Everdeen. That's her name. I may have known her since I was five years old, but that doesn't make up for the distance I feel between us. I may have gone through some trouble offering her those two loaves of bread, but that doesn't make her aware of the effect she can have. The effect she has on me. How the smile on my face stretches from ear to ear when I think of her, how I blush and look away when she sees me, how her melodic voice puts a stop to my breath. No, she can't possibly know this. We've never spoken a word to each other.
My father, the baker of District 12, is probably the only person who might comprehend how I feel. When he was younger, he, too, had longed to be with an Everdeen. Katniss's mother. His story plays out in my mind, taking me back to older days when Katniss was merely just another girl to me.
"See that girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner." He had said as we were lining up for school. I took one look at her and found that I didn't have the will to look away. Her two long braids, her red plaid dress, the sweetest eyes I've ever come upon. Beautiful.
"A coal miner?" I asked, perplexed. "Why did she want a coal miner if she could have had you?"
"Because when he sings….even the birds stop to listen."
It didn't take long for me to understand what he had meant. The moment I heard Katniss sing, one day at school when the teacher had asked for volunteers, I knew without question that, just like the birds that perched outside to listen to her pleasant voice, I was a goner. There would be no going back because Katniss Everdeen had given me a new way, a new road to take, following her harmonious tunes and her captivating personality. She opened my eyes to better thoughts, hopes, and wishes, and won me over completely.
Prim Everdeen. That is the name that has just been called by Effie Trinket, a Capitol toy of a woman used to promote the annual Hunger Games. To my side, I can see Katniss, her reaction nothing but shock and distraught, as she forces her way through the crowd, shouting her sister's name.
No… I think. She can't volunteer. She can't…
But it's too late. Effie Trinket claps her hands in excitement, as she says enthusiastically, "Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"
I turn my eyes away with dread, wanting to alter the course of events that has just occured. I wish I could volunteer. Take her place. Spare her life. But I'm not eligible. Every district must have a male and female tribute. I can't take her place. And yet, little do I know that I won't need to. Because the male tribute is me.
"Peeta Mellark," is called, and I walk up to the stage, trying to keep the impression on my face as composed as it will allow. I look Katniss in the eyes as I shake her hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze of support.
Let the Hunger Games begin.