Author's Note: Hey! I'm really excited about this fanfic! I realize that there are probably a thousand other stories out there about what would have happened if Katniss didn't volunteer for Prim, but this was just an idea that came to me... Also this is my FIRST fiction, so I'm sorry if it's not good. Oh, I just made up the date of Reaping Day. Plus, I think I've actually came up with a realistic situation for Prim in the Games... Anyway, enjoy!
Today is Reaping Day. I am 12 years old.
Those are the first thoughts that course through my mind when I wake up on the morning of April 15th.
My name is Primrose Everdeen. I live in District 12, by far the poorest district in Panem. Each year, our district (as do all the others) send a boy and a girl between the ages of 12 and 18 to the Hunger Games, a cruel sporting event where the kids from each district, called tributes, fight to the death.
And how do these tributes get chosen? A reaping. On the annual Reaping Day, all children eligible to compete in the Hunger Games have their names thrown into a giant glass ball. 12-year-olds have their name in once, 13-year-olds twice, 14-year-olds thrice, and so on. An escort from the Capitol, the center of this madness, reaches the girls' bowl, pulls out a slip of paper, and reads the name of the girl that's about to die. The girl walks onto the stage, the lady asks if there's anyone who wants to go to the Games in the girl's place, which there never is, and then repeats the process for the boys. It's really quite sad.
You can put your name into the Reaping Ball more times for some wheat and grain, but although I haven't done this, my older sister, Katniss, has. Which means my name is only in the Reaping Ball once. But next year, it will be in one more time, and another time the year after that. And once Katniss is too old to be eligible for the Games, it'll be me putting my name in that stupid ball so I can feed myself and my mother.
Speaking of my mother, I've only now just remembered that she's sleeping beside me. I'm surprised that she's still asleep between me jerking upright when I first woke up, and my current heavy panting.
Carefully, so as not to disturb her, I get out of bed and walk over to the ice box where our family keeps all our food. I grab some cheese from my goat, Lady, and take it over the table, where I eat it for breakfast. There would be more, but I left out some of it for Katniss to take hunting with her. As the thought of Katniss hunting crosses my mind, I shudder. "Don't think about it, Prim," I whisper to myself "Just think of it as 'getting food." Though I love Katniss, I don't understand how she can bear to kill innocent animals. But then, if she couldn't bear to kill innocent animals, our family might not be alive.
See, my family lives in an area of District 12 known as the Seam, where everyone's poor and any food is good food. We were doing okay while my father was still with us. But one day while he was working in the coal mines, there was an explosion and he died. That's all I remember, aside from the fact that I was very young. Anyways, after his death, Katniss hunting and her signing up for extra names in the Reaping have been the main source of food for the family. I am caught up in thoughts of sorrow when I feel something small and furry brush up against my leg.
"Hello, Buttercup," I whisper to the cat. Though he's the ugliest thing you've ever seen, he makes for good company in this wretched country. "What got you up, little boy?" I ask soothingly, scratching behind Buttercup's ear, "The last time I checked, you were asleep at the foot of my bed."
As if on cue, Buttercup meows and takes a few steps toward the beds. I see that my mother's leg now occupies the space where Buttercup previously slept, and I have to cover my mouth not to laugh at how picky that cat is. The laugh leaves me, however, the moment I once again remember what the day is.
I sigh, and walk over to my mother. "Mom," I say, prodding her shoulder with my index finger. "Mom, today's Reaping Day."
On the word "reaping," my mother bolts upright, similar to the way that I did earlier. "Let's get ready," she sings, springing out of bed.
"Mom, are you, uh, okay?" Why is she acting like this?
"Of course," she tells me but her smile falters for a moment.
"Look, mom, maybe you should-"
"Oh Prim," she cries. I was about to tell her to go back to bed. "Look at you, it's only been twelve years, and you're already twelve!" I'm about to remind my mom that this is simple mathematics, when she enfolds me in a bone crushing hug. As crazy as she gets on Reaping Days, I love my mother.