Disclaimer: I do not own Hunger Games or Maximum Ride, nor their pertaining characters, settings or basic plot-lines.
1. Reap
Effie Trinket isn't as perky this reaping as she was last year. Her happiness seems strained, the lines on her brow, no matter how many times the Capitol performs surgery on her, are still there and if anything, deeper. Even the usually vibrant colors of her Capitol attire appears faded.
Still, she puts on a highly-strained smile. There is a single fish bowl in front of her, the one that holds my name and Peeta's and Haymitch's. The survivor's names. I am standing off to the side of the stage, between District 12's other two victors. While one side of me is reeking with the familiar scent of alcohol, my other side is warm. Peeta is slightly pressed into me, and we are holding hands, right out in the open. We are still dancing the dance Snow has forced me to attend. I flash a grim sort of look at the cameras I know must be zoning in on me right now, and focus back to Effie.
I am not ready to go back into the Games. I am not ready to fight to the death again, with mostly likely Peeta by my side. But I have to. And so I steel myself for my name, for Effie to dip her hand into that fishbowl and read my name to the crowd.
From my place on the stage I know that she is sweating under her wig. After she finished her short spiel on being in District 12 today, Effie announces that Snow has rewritten the rules for the Quarter Quell. The words startle me out of daydreaming, and I manage to tune into her words.
"Despite his earlier decisions regarding the Hunger Games, President Snow has decided to change things up a bit, and go through with a new set of rules for the Games."
Then what did Plutarch show me at the party? Was that a lie? A trick? I can feel Peeta stiffen next to me, and his blue eyes shift to look at me out of the corner of his eyes. I and too wound up in my own thoughts to return the look. What does she mean by that? I go back to looking out at the crowd, and I pick out Prim, Gale. My mother. I search every one of the faces before me, as if trying to find the answer to my question, and as my eyes pass over each person I know that I know them all. But…what about the one in the middle?
He is a tall boy, with a shaggy head of strawberry blonde hair. That isn't something you see every day in District 12. This is why it shocks me so to look upon him. I keep my eyes trained on him, like he is my prey, as Effie continues on with her announcement.
She is reading off a piece of paper about the size of the ones inside of the glass bowl before her. Without looking up, she motions for someone offstage to come forward. Peeling my suspicious gaze away from the stranger to my eyes, I look over briefly to see a Peacekeeper roll forward two more bowls, full to the brim with names. What is going on?
"The Quarter Quell will have two tributes from each District, one picked from the general pool of victors and one…" Effie skews her face into a sort of frown, her eyes rereading the befuddling words. She lifts her head with a questioning look, as if trying to understand what she was reading. Maybe Effie didn't like what she was reading at all. My heart quickens against my chest as I waited for her to finish. "…and one from the applicable tributes, opposite gender from whomever's picked as the victor."
There is a collective murmur from the crowd as this sank in. It takes me and Peeta a little longer to realize what was going. Only one of us was going back, I fathom. Only one of us was going back to the Games.
"The other rule that has been…modified for the Quarter Quell is that anyone can volunteer for anyone." This gains the piece of paper yet another perplexed look from Effie. Murmuring begins to diffuse down in the Square, but I say nothing at all. I just keep staring at Peeta and begin to form my plan in my head. Anyone can volunteer…that is when I know that I can save Peeta, even if it means walking into Snow's trap.
It is a trap set for me. He knew, somehow he must've known, that I would sacrifice myself for 'the love of my life,' for Peeta. In truth, it was a duty I took onto myself to save the boy with the bread from yet another brush with death.
I rip my eyes away from the tall boy to gap at Peeta. His uncertain blue eyes bore into mine. I understand what he is trying to say almost immediately. No matter what, he is going to volunteer. He is going back. I shake my head vigorously. I'm not going to let him go like that. I'm not going to let Peeta die like he almost did last Hunger Games. Anyone….
I restore my eyes to District 12 and prepare to volunteer.
Effie goes in and pulls out a strip of paper from the victor's bowl. She reads Peeta's name. Before he can go forward once more, I tear my hand from his and the dance is over. My voice echoes through the empty Square, but I don't care. I won't let him die for me.
This time, I will die for him; I will die for me. Because there is no way I will be able to survive two Hunger Games.
When I go up to meet her, Effie beams at me and then at the crowd. She puts a hand on my back and rubs it affectionately, like she is trying to convey a message. I receive it with a rush of guilt. She's sorry.
Our escort removes her hand and goes for the boy's podium; since I volunteered, that meant that now I was going with a poor random soul from District 12. Effie relinquishes a slightly crinkled name, straightens it, and booms into the microphone proudly, "James Griffiths!"
Who is that? I scan the crowd for someone's face that is showered in fear. Instead, I saw the tall strawberry blonde boy pick up his head and blink at us. I am going to war with someone I have never seen before.
The Peacekeepers take the boy—James—out of his line and proceed to surround him as he made his way up to the stage. He is a slow walker; I can't help but notice, and pity him. No. I cannot pity this dead boy walking. That was what people did last year, before I was the girl on fire, but based off of what I see know, something inside me says that he isn't going to last a day in the Games. He doesn't seem to be affected by becoming a Tribute, either. There is no sort of emotion straining to shine on his face. To get up the stairs, he leans down a little, and sweeps an outstretched hand lightly over the first step. Then he continues on up until he was on the other side of Effie. I couldn't help but look over and study my new opponent.
In the background, Peeta is giving me a stolid stare, his blue eyes hard, but the victor vanishes from my sight when I realize who I am up against.
James Griffiths continues to stare blankly, emotionless, out at the crowd. But he can't be staring.
Because he is blind.
A/N: Thanks for reading! This is going to be a slightly longer note from me than the rest of the story, so just bare with me ^-^ This fic contains spoilers for both series in it. The story begins right before the Third Quarter Quell, and continues all the way to the end of Mockingjay. And I wrote this to make up for how horrible Nevermore (the final Maximum Ride book) ended. So get ready, because the birds are about to take flight!
And I think you know who Katniss's district partner is ;)