Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, and anything related to it. Any other resemblance to anyone/thing or another fic is purely coincidental. *Disclaimer will remain the same throughout the story.*
**Please note that there are some direct lines that I 'borrowed' from the book. I apologize in advance if there are any mistakes.
Real
Chapter 1
When I wake up, it's still early enough that the sun hasn't risen yet. I stare at the pitch black sky out the window. Today is the day, Prim's first reaping and until she ages out of it at nineteen, she is a potential tribute. Knowing that from the anxiety I won't be able to fall asleep again, I creep out of the cot that I share with Prim. Buttercup, sitting at Prim's knees, has awoken from my movements and bares his teeth at me in a silent growl, probably knowing not to wake up the rest of the household. I walk over to the drawer that holds our clothes, pull on my hunting boots and change into trousers and a shirt. Prim rolls over in her sleep and mumbles something incoherent, reaching out to where I would've been if I was still in the cot. I walk over to her and pull the blanket over her, and place a kiss on her forehead before walking out.
I pass my parents bedroom, and grab my-or rather my father's-game bag and hunting jacket. He won't be needing it today. All the miner's have a rare day off because of the reaping, and my mother insists that he sleeps in and get some well-deserved rest. I agree with her, my father works twelve-hour shifts in the mines everyday-sometimes even more-and still goes hunting with me every Sunday, his only day off from the entire week. Before I leave, I put Prim's reaping gift for me, some goat cheese, in my pocket. Then I walk out and begin my trek to the forest.
The streets are eerily quiet today. Not a surprise though, since most people will take the opportunity to sleep in any chance they get. When I reach the chain-link fence, I stop and look around, seeing nobody in sight. After fifteen minutes, I begin to get impatient. Where is he? My right foot starts tapping against the ground erratically, a sign of my impatience. Finally, I see a blond head approaching the edge of the meadow. And all of a sudden my heartbeat speeds up and I get this weird feeling-like the wings of a butterfly-in my stomach. This always happens when Peeta is near and I don't know why.
When Peeta stops in front of me, I scowl at him in annoyance for being late. Seeming to read my mind, he puts both his hands up in defence. "I got lost on the way here! And, mind you, I would've been later if an old man hadn't stopped me and asked where I was going, saying I looked more lost than a fish living on land," Peeta says shaking his head as if he can't accept the fact that he had just been compared to a weird fish. I snicker, hoping Peeta didn't hear it but I'm guessing he did when he narrows his eyes at me. He gives an exasperated huff, but doesn't say a word.
I slip under the weak spot of the fence-after checking to see if it's activated-and hold it up so Peeta can slide under. He does so with a little bit of difficulty, being broader than me and not used to doing this, but eventually, he joins me on the other side. Peeta only gets to come with me into the forest when he has a day off from working at the bakery. Which is almost never, except for reaping days and his birthday. Heck, his mother almost made him work on his birthday too.
I take my bow out of the hollow of a tree, even though I won't be hunting today. It's more of a precaution than anything. We reach our regular spot in ten minutes, a large old tree with a wide bark that curves naturally inwards from the base of the tree to about half my height and oddly, the long, thick roots grow on both sides of it, creating a perfect place for two people to sit. And dandelions grow all around it, making it look like something straight out of a fairytale.
Suddenly, Peeta stops walking abruptly, resulting in me walking straight into his back. "Whoa!" I grasp at Peeta's shoulders, steadying myself. "Why did you stop?"
"Well, don't you think that our spot looks a bit.. different?"
"What are you talking abou- oh." I understand that he means the dandelions. Dandelions are a significant reminder of how our friendship started, so a few months ago in spring, I gathered some of the dandelions growing in the meadow and planted them here. And by planted I mean childishly blew dandelion spores, hoping that they would grow. Well, clearly they did.
"Wait, did you...did you plant them here?" I feel my cheeks flush with color, and I get that weird feeling again. That seems to be enough of an answer for Peeta because he doesn't press the matter anymore. "You know what they remind me of?" He muses.
"The day we became friends?"
"Mmhmm." Peeta hums in agreement. I still remember that day from eleven years ago as if it were just yesterday.
I was packing up my lunchbox when I felt Peeta Mellark staring at me, again. He has been constantly staring at me ever since that day I sang The Valley Song in front of the class. It's making me uncomfortable and self-conscious. I want to approach him but I was scared. I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was a dandelion.
'Katniss, did you know that dandelions represent hope and strength?' Rang daddy's voice in my ear. I had shook my head and asked him why. 'Because, once you see the first dandelion of the year, be assured that soon, spring will be coming to relieve us of the cold, harsh, winter and you feel hope. The dandelion is a brave and stubborn little plant, always growing wherever the wind carries them to with courage to explore the unknown. And, if you tried to get rid of them they would just keep on coming back again and again even if no one seeded where they grow. Dandelions are also one of our food sources, for their roots are edible. Katniss, a dandelion is so much more than just a mere weed.' So, I gathered what little courage I had and made my way across the courtyard.
When I stopped in front of him, he was staring off into space, probably daydreaming. I cleared my throat and his eyes snapped to my face. "Hi," I said, clasping my hands behind my back, feeling incredibly shy all of a sudden.
"Hey," he said just as softly, a light pink tinting his cheeks.
"Why do you always stare at me?" I blurted out after a few moments of awkward silence. My eyes widened and I covered both my hands over my mouth, as if to take back my blunt words. I'm not good with words, and I'm not sensitive, but even I knew that what I had just said was unintentionally harsh. My suspicions were confirmed when I saw tears welling up in his eyes.
"I didn't mean to, it's just your singing is so pretty. You're very pretty too," he murmured, almost inaudible, looking down at his shoes.
I instantly felt bad. Here I was thinking he was staring at me because I was ugly or a freak but no, he was staring at me because I was pretty. And now I had just made him cry. I'm a horrible person. But I figured the least I could do was comfort him. So I threw my arms around him and kissed his cheek. It was something daddy does to mommy when she's upset 'cause he came home late from the mines. Luckily, it seemed to soothe Peeta and he stopped crying, but the occasional sniffle could be heard from him. Fumbling around for the handkerchief in my pocket, I wiped the remaining tears away with it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry. How about I make it up to you by being friends with you?"
"Really? You mean it?" He had pulled away then, and was looking at me with disbelief. Then, his face fell. "You only wanna be my friend 'cause you feel bad don't you?"
"Well, yes, that was the reason at first." I admitted and he looked even sadder. "But..." I hesitated. "You seem nice and well, no one's ever called me pretty before." I finished lamely.
He looked shocked by my revelation. "Really? No one?" I shook my head. It was true, not even daddy had called me pretty before.
"So will you be my friend?" I asked hopefully. Suddenly, I don't why, I really want to be friends with Peeta. When just half an hour ago I couldn't care less. I guess there's just something about him that drew me to him during our short encounter.
"I...erm...uh..." Peeta stammered as if he lost the ability to speak.
"Nevermind then." And just like that, I was the one with tears in my eyes. I turned and walked away, desperately trying not to let the tears roll down my face. I had barely gotten a meter away when I was suddenly knocked to the ground by someone crashing into me.
It was Peeta. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I tripped when I was chasing after you and well, I do want to be your friend." He said, getting up and offering a hand to pull me up.
Did I hear right? Does he really want to be my friend? I must've said that out loud because Peeta smiled and nodded. I was so happy that I couldn't even form any sentences. In the end I just settled for a simple "OK."
Peeta's smile grew into a grin and it was so contagious that I felt my face spreading into a grin too. We pulled each other in for a hug. "Hold on," Peeta said suddenly. "You have something in your hair." He pulled away and showed me a dandelions between his fingers. I just realised that I had fallen in a patch of dandelions.
I brightened. "It's a sign you know."
"A sign?" Peeta echoed.
"Yup, a sign that our friendship will give each other hope and strength." And I proceeded to explain to Peeta what a dandelion represents and how it led me to confronting him.
"So they're magical flowers?"
I'd never thought of dandelions as magical before, but after today, I could believe that it is. "Hmm, well I suppose so. But a dandelion is a week," I frowned, remembering daddy's words. "It's a weed but it's not a weed. It's more than that."
"So they're magical dandelions then!"
"Yep," I said fully believing that they are now. "Daddy said that if you make a wish then blow on the dandelion, it will come true."
"Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's make a wish!"
So, Peeta and I put our faces close to the dandelion that he's holding. "On the count of three?" I asked. Peeta nodded.
"One."
His eyes are closed, hiding his blue eyes which are bluer than the lake in the forest. And his face is so close to mine. I've never been so close to a boy before. From here I can see the mop of curls on his head the color of spun gold to his incredibly long eyelashes. And his mouth which is plump and pink and looks so soft. I wondered if it really was as soft as it looked.
"Two."
I don't know what to wish for, but I need to decide quick.
"Three."
I gently blew the spores of the dandelion, Peeta's breath mingling with mine as we watched them float away into the clear blue sky.
It's a miracle really, how our friendship lasted under the disapproval and judgement from the Seam and Town folk alike. But as kids, we were oblivious and by the time we did notice, we had been best friends for years that we just couldn't care less.
Peeta rests a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you Katniss, it's a wonderful surprise." I smile at him and he gestures for us to sit down. I set my bow and arrow down before sitting in the space on Peeta's left. He takes out a few pieces of charcoal, some marked papers from school with a blank page on the other side and the jars of paint that I made him for his ninth birthday.
I had been so stumped on what to give him that, one day, while I was picking some blackberries I had crushed some in my hand in frustration and my hand was coated in blackberry juice, making it varying shades of purple, even black in some parts. That was when the idea to turn it into paint struck and I ran excitedly to dad, asking him if he knew how to make paint out of berries and begged him to teach me.
Two days later, I gave them to Peeta and he was so happy that he wouldn't stop hugging me for ten minutes and there was a big, stupid grin on his face for the rest of the day. Nothing could dampen his mood that day, not even his mother. The next day, he had gave me a painting of a bright, yellow dandelion, with it's spores floating away in the wind. I had refused to keep it, since it was his first painting. But the hurt look he gave me after that was enough for me to accept his gift (albeit begrudgingly). To this day, it's still in my school folder. The painting is one that I will cherish my whole life.
Peeta has already started on drawing something. I don't have the faintest idea of what it is, right now all I can see are random lines on the paper. Knowing Peeta though, it won't be long before he creates a masterpiece. It's captivating watching him draw. His usually happy and carefree demeanor is replaced by something much more intense and his brows are furrowed in concentration. It's then that I realise he's drawing a golden-winged warbler that has landed on the ground a few feet away. The warbler is hopping around on it's forked feet, probably searching for food.
The outline of the head of the warbler has already been drawn and I watched, transfixed, as a lifelike drawing of the songbird formed on the rough paper. The warbler flies away not long later but by then, Peeta has drawn a rough sketch of it. He works from memory the rest of his drawing.
We're so silent that three squirrels and two rabbits have wandered near. I take them down with an arrow through the eye so that I have some proof to back-up that I was 'hunting'. Nobody knows that I take Peeta out here, and I plan on keeping it that way.
"OK. I'm done drawing, I'll paint it after the reaping," Peeta announces sometime later, arching his back and stretching. Just the reminder of the reaping today sends chills down my spine. It's not as if I'd forgotten that today is the reaping, more like I'd just pushed it aside and ignored it in the tranquility of the forest. Here, I can forget reality. The Capitol, the Games and even the poverty and constant ache in our bellies from never having enough to eat doesn't exist in the forest. Over the years, it's safe to say that the forest has become my sanctuary. I feel safe and for a brief moment, free, when I'm in the forest.
The scent of fresh bread invades my nostrils and I look over to my side to see Peeta carefully unwrapping two loaves of bread, the one filled with raisins and nuts. He gives both to me and I spread the goat cheese on them and hand one back to Peeta. We lean back against the tree and eat in comfortable silence.
This has been our 'tradition', so to say. It started with Peeta's first time making bread on his own. It would've turned out perfectly, if it wasn't for the fact that he accidentally dropped two of them into the fire. Luckily, the one who found us was Mr. Mellark and he let us eat the burnt loaves. It wasn't even really all that burnt, just charred a little bit on the side. It was then that Peeta commented much nicer it would taste with some cheese and that was when I got the idea. It wasn't supposed to be a reaping tradition, but seeing as Peeta could only use so much ingredients to bake them so that nobody got suspicious, it turned into a once a year thing on reaping days, and I take comfort in the familiarity of it.
All too soon, it's time to go. Peeta and I part ways at the fence. I arrive home to find dad in a nice button up shirt and pants, mom wearing one of her dresses from her merchant days and Prim wearing what I wore for my first reaping, a skirt and ruffled blouse. It's a bit big on her, but mom held it together with pins. Even so, she's having trouble tucking the blouse in at the back.
I quickly wash off in a tub of warm water. To my surprise, mom has laid out one of her dresses for me. It's the blue one with matching shoes. Mom puts up my hair for me in an intricate braid. And I have to admit, looking at my reflection in the mirror leaning against the wall, for once in my life, I actually look pretty. I'm so used to dirt and grime under my fingernails and random bloodstains on my clothes that I hardly recognize this girl staring back at me.
"Katniss, you look beautiful," says dad, embracing me in a hug.
"Dad's right, you look so beautiful," Prim echoes dad's sentiment.
"And you look even more beautiful," I say tapping her on the nose. Prim scrunches her nose adorably. I notice that her blouse has become untucked in the back again. The sight brings a smile on my face. "Don't forget to tuck in your tail little duck," I say affectionately smoothing it back in place.
Prim giggles and lets out a "Quack".
"Quack yourself," I say with a light laugh, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.
We leave for the square at one. Prim sticks to me the whole way, holding on to my hand tightly. She's trying to put on a brave face, but I can tell by the trembling in her hands that she's scared. I repeatedly reassure her that she won't get picked since it's her first reaping and she only has one slip among thousands. But at this point, I'm saying it more for me than for her. Prim is forced to let go of my hand to join the rest of the twelve year-olds and I go into the section roped of for the sixteen year-old girls.
Two of the three stairs on the stage are taken, one for the mayor, the district escort, Effie Trinket who is dressed in a hideous green suit with pink hair, and 12's only living victor, Haymitch Abernathy, who is nowhere to be found.
At two on the dot, the mayor gives a speech, the same one every year. I tune him out, having already listened to the it one too many times. Then, he reads the list of the victors of District 12. When his name is announced, Haymitch suddenly appears looking confused and very drunk he then tries to give Effie a big hug. She barely manages to avoid it and her face shows a look of poorly concealed disgust.
It's time for the drawing. Effie steps up to the microphone and gives her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds, be ever in your favour!" As usual it's, "Ladies first" and Effie walks to the reaping bowl. Her gloved hand sifting through the bowl before extracting her hand with a piece of paper held delicately between her thumb and index finger.
You could hear a pin drop as Effie unfolds the piece of paper with the name of this year's unlucky tribute. Throughout the whole ordeal the words Not me, not me. kept repeating itself over and over and over in my head.
And it's not me.
It's Primrose Everdeen.
I'm rooted to the spot, unable to breathe, and it's only when I catch a glimpse of her face with tears cascading down her cheeks that a choked "I volunteer!" forces its way from my throat. Shoving the Peacekeepers escorting her aside, I push Prim behind me and repeat myself more clearly.
Effie doesn't even bother to hide her elation at the prospect of the first volunteer in 12. Everything else is a haze after that. I vaguely recall hearing Prim sobbing and screaming for me not to go.
It isn't until Effie asks for a round of applause that I snap back into reality. Because instead of applause however, the citizens of District 12 touch the middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and hold it out to me. It means thanks, it means admiration it means goodbye to someone you love. Effie herself is stunned for a moment.
It's then that Haymitch staggers up to me and throws an arm around my shoulders, "I like her! I like this one. She's got lots of...spunk!" He declares loudly. He's leaning his weight onto me and I'm about to fall so I push him away. Perhaps I did it with to much force because he nose dives off the stage, the impact of the fall making him unconscious.
Effie carries on like nothing has happened and proceeds to pick a slip of paper from the reaping bowl containing the boys' names.
"Peeta Mellark!"
I go into panic mode then. No, not Peeta it can't be him! First my sister and now best friend? I don't even realize that the emotionless mask I had schooled my face into had slipped, revealing my true distress and hopelessness at the total unfairness of the situation. But since when was the Capitol fair anyway? I even feel a tear or two threatening to escape my eyes.
Effie asks for volunteers and when no one does, I suddenly hate eighteen year old Rye Mellark with all my being. But it is a fleeting feeling and is gone as suddenly as it came. After all, siblings don't usually volunteer for each other and it is his last reaping and I know he has plans to propose to the tailor's daughter who's also eighteen. I know the Capitol is really at fault but it's pointless blaming them because I'll end up in the ground. That is, if they even bother with an insignificant girl from 12.
The mayor finishes the Treaty of Treasons and motions for us to shake hands. Peeta holds out his hand for me to shake and I grasp it like my life depends on it. His hands are scarred from burns and warm. The feeling comforts me. I'm sure that my hands are cold and clammy. We let go and turn back to the crowd.
"And may I present Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the tributes of the 74th annual Hunger Games."
Peacekeepers escort me into a room with lavish furnishings that I bet can keep the whole of the Seam well-fed for a week. Not too long later, the door knob turns and Prim bursts into the room launching herself at me. I finally begin to cry as I hug Prim tightly to me. "You can win Katniss, you have to!" For Prim's sake, I nod my assent when in reality we both know that against kids three times my size, who are trained in combat I might as well be dead now. But because of Prim I know that I will fight to live till my last breath.
"She has a point you know, you can win. Your skills with a bow and arrow and plants might just be enough for you to make it back home," my dad says softly. And let my best friend die?
My face must convey my thoughts because mom sighs. "I know Katniss, but every single citizen of Panem knows that only one person will come out of that arena alive."
"So Peeta should die so that I can live," she flinches at the harsh tone of my voice. And twenty-three other people. I remind myself silently.
All too soon, with last minute advice from dad about how to make a bow and mom about plants and healing, a Peacekeeper knocks on the door and says time is up. With hugs and kisses from my family, they walk out the door, turn right into the hallway and I'm very sure that, that's the last time I'll see my family.
The door opens a second time and in comes my hunting partner and other best friend, Gale Hawthorne. His father died in the mine explosion when I was eleven and he is now the sole supporter of his family. Till today, I still thank whatever it is that let my dad escape from the mines relatively unscathed. Gale must also be feeling extra emotional today because once we see each other we embrace.
"Listen, get your hands on something, anything and avoid conflict if you can. You probably won't win if you fight hand-to-hand. Try to get a weapon that can be used from a distance, a knife, a spear anything so that you can take them out easily."
"Gale...Gale!" He's talking so fast that I can barely keep up. He seems to get it and gives me a small, sad smile.
"It'll be just like hunting. And you have a leverage there already,"
"But it's not! They're humans. They're armed and they can think
"So can you," the Peacekeeper comes to escort Gale out. "And if by any chances it comes down to you and baker boy..." He doesn't get to finish his sentence as the Peacekeeper is already dragging him down the hallway. But I have an idea of what he wanted to say.
Gale never really did like Peeta. I don't know if it's because he's a Merchant but I guess I'll never know the real reason now. Peeta doesn't like Gale very much either. I still remember this one time where he was jealous of him...
"You never spend time with me anymore! You're always in the forest with him," twelve year old Peeta complained.
"That's not true! We spend time together in school and it's not like you have all the time in the world either since you're always working at the bakery," I said defensively, crossing my arms over my chest. My dad had just allowed me to go into the forest without him but he didn't want me to go alone, so I had been going with Gale Hawthorne, a boy two years older than me who was the son of my dad's oldest friend. We didn't exactly hit it off when he introduced us, but we managed to at least tolerate each other.
And then it hit me. I felt a grin spreading across my face. "Peeta, are you jealous?" I sing-songed.
"What? Of course not! Why would I be jealous?" But the tell-tale twitching of his nose said otherwise.
"You are jealous!" I crowed. But upon seeing his downcast expression, I enveloped him into a big bear hug. "There's no need to be jealous Peeta," I said nuzzling my nose into the side of his neck. "You were my friend first, and you're my bestest friend ever!"
"There's no such word as 'bestest'," he protested weakly, his own arms coming up around me.
"Oh shut up," I mumbled happily.
His jealousy was understandable though, because before I began going to the forest on weekdays, after dropping Prim off at home, I was always at the bakery after school. l would sit on the stool at the countertop while Peeta would be baking something. We talked about nothing and everything. Sometimes, I would even help him a little. Not the actual baking but putting out the ingredients that he needed to use and sweeping the floors. After the bakery closed and the prep for the next day was done, Peeta would walk me back to my house all the way in the Seam without fail.
Needless to say, Mrs. Mellark wasn't happy about my presence and shouted at Peeta for bringing a and I quote, filthy Seam brat into her kitchen who would do nothing but tarnish their reputations. Then she turned to me and threatened to call the Peacekeepers if I wasn't gone from her sight this very minute. The words she used were ugly. Mr. Mellark, who was in the front tending to the customers heard the commotion and came back into the kitchen to find his wife, screaming at two twelve year olds, Peeta, staring intently at the hardwood floor and me, ready to bolt out of there at any second.
"What is the meaning of this?" His voice, uncharacteristically loud, boomed through the bakery.
"Look at your son! The foolish stupid boy brought back a good for nothing girl from the Seam," she was red in the face and gesturing wildly with her hands.
"Well, to me it looks like Peeta just invited a friend over," Mr. Mellark replied calmly.
"Are you kidding me! She could've been stealing and I wouldn't put it past this, this trash for doing it either!"
But for the first (or so Peeta tells me) and probably only time, Mr. Mellark stood up to his wife and after that Mrs. Mellark always chose to stay upstairs whenever I was over. But of course, all this was before I started hunting on weekdays.
To my utter surprise, the door opens a third time and in comes Madge Undersee. She's the mayor's daughter and we sit together during lunch mainly because Peeta has a different lunch period. We also pair up for projects in the classes Peeta aren't in. We rarely talk since both of us aren't the talkative type. Our...association isn't defined, but I suppose she's my friend. As the mayor's daughter, one would think that she is a snob and everybody would want to be her friend. Thankfully, she isn't like that at all.
"They let you wear one thing to the arena from your home district. Will you wear this?" Madge holds out a circular pin made out of pure gold with a bird in the center of the pin with an arrow in it's beak. It was the pin I saw on her dress earlier today.
Without waiting for an answer she leans forward and pins it to my dress. I stare at it as the shiny gold reflects the light, blinding me for a moment. "You've been a great friend to me Katniss." Oh so we are friends. "And I know that you can make it back home. If anyone can survive the Hunger Games, it's you." Funny thing though, she says that I have been a great friend to her. As in past tense. Either she doesn't believe herself what she just said, or on the off chance that I come back, she doesn't expect us to be friends anymore. Who would though? Because every single victor that comes out of the arena is a murderer and killer. Granted, it's legal and necessary if you want to stay alive but that doesn't exactly help matters much. With a kiss on my cheek, Madge is out the door as suddenly as she came in.
After a few minutes have gone by without any visitors, I finally begin too lose it as I feel tears prickle the corner of my eyes. Five minutes. I tell myself sternly. Five minutes and that's it. And that's when the body-wracking sobs begin as I bury my face into one of the soft velvet pillows tucked in the corner of the couch. I cry because of everything that has happened since the reaping today. I cry because Prim's was name called which led me to volunteering. I cry because Peeta's name was called. I cry because I will probably never see District 12 and Madge and Gale again. But mostly I cry because I will never see my mom humming as she mixes herbs into concoctions and salves for healing. Nor will I hear my dad as he sings songs of all kinds which never fail to render the birds silent. Never again will I see Prim's eyes light up when I bring home a little trinket for her, whether from town or the forest. And in a week, maybe more, I'll never see the blue of Peeta's eyes again, never smell his heady scent of cinnamon and dill because one or both of us will be dead.
That's it, stop! After one last sniffle, I grab some tissues from the box conveniently placed on a small table by the side of the box -probably for this very reason, to dry our tears so that we don't go out looking like a mess of tears, snot, bloodshot eyes and a red puffy nose- and wiped my eyes with them. I spend the rest of my hour composing myself so that I won't look weak on national television. Then I locked all my reasons for crying into a small box that I shoved into a dark corner of my mind, never to be opened again for fear of breaking down. I couldn't let my emotions get in the way of what really mattered; staying alive. Huh, maybe all my visitors' optimism of me being able to win has finally rubbed off on me.
My hours up and Peacekeepers escort me to the train station. I had managed to make myself look decent but I can't say the same for Peeta. His eyes are blotchy and there are visible tearstains on his cheeks. There's no mistaking the fact that he's been crying. And a crying Peeta Mellark just makes you want to hug him tightly and shield him from reality. He just looks so sad and dejected. It's the one of the rare times when you won't see a smile on his face accompanied by his everlasting optimism.
I reach my hand out to him in silent support, not that it would help much. He takes it anyway and squeezes it, I squeeze back harder, trying to tell him that we'll do this-whatever it is-together, always.
There are dozens of reporters at the train station, all holding a camera. The flashes from the cameras temporarily blind me as I stand awkwardly in the doorway of the train, unsmiling, my hand still holding fast to Peeta's.
We're finally allowed to go inside and I'm seeing stars as a result of the flashes. I blink rapidly as the doors to the train closes behind us and the train moves immediately. The speed of the train causes me to lose my balance and I steady myself by placing my hand on a window ledge near me. I regain my balance and against my will, look out the window.
As the distance between the train and train station widen, I'm taken further and further away from 12. I continue to look out the window, torturing myself as I watch the train station become smaller and smaller. Sure, District 12 is a poverty stricken district, but it's the place I was born and raised. It might not be much, but it's home. And now, I'm on a train, that's taking me away to a place I'd only seen on television to be sent to slaughter with twenty-two strangers and my best friend. I continue to watch as the train station becomes no more than a speck and eventually disappear, taking away with it the life I've known. And the only thing I can think of is that Peeta will never get to paint that picture of the golden-winged warbler.
Hi! This is my first fanfiction, so I'd love some feedback and/or advice. English isn't my first language, but it's my dominant one now. Even so, I still make lots of mistakes even after proofreading and that's why I'm looking for a beta. So ,if anyone likes this story and is willing to beta for me, please send me a PM. :)