They look so happy on the screen. The Girl on Fire and Peeta Mellark. They're all anyone's talking about- the big wedding, the event of the year. The champions of District Twelve. I find it sickening. How can they be happy? They watched people die, the killed people themselves. And now they cheer and laugh and tell everyone how lucky they are. I don't call it lucky. I call it inhuman. But what can I do? The Games are the Games.
I've always watched the Games. My father gave me no choice. From the age of four, my siblings and I would be trained. Not like they do in District One obviously, we were just taught how to defend ourselves. When Mother protested, Father always said 'I'll not have my children in there with nothing behind them. They'll go down fighting'. So every morning, we would set traps for rabbits in the garden. There were no rabbits in the garden, but Father knew what would work and what wouldn't. We were taught how to shoot straight with a bow. But more importantly, we fought.
My father was a blacksmith and he would save scrap metal whenever he could. With it, he fashioned two swords. One was a heavy blade, hard to handle and the other was light and swift. 'This way, whatever blade you have, you will be able to use it. You will have had lighter, have felt heavier. A skilled swordsman can use any blade.' We named them, the heavy Jewel and the lighter Truth. My sister, Alana, dropped Jewel on her foot the first time she used it and never came to another session. She's two years younger than me and she's stubborn. My brother had no patience with it; he preferred a club or a dagger. I was the star pupil in sword fighting. I learned the dance and mastered it, for as long as I could.
There is only a certain amount of time a girl can spend training in District Twelve. There's school to attend and work to be done. I did a lot of housework and tried to help my mother. Not that she needed it, more often than not she'd tell me to run along. Mother was a superwoman, master of the house and we all knew it. Alana still managed to convince herself that if she didn't feed the chickens, Mother wouldn't be able to cope and everything would descend into ruin. Faron, my brother, chose not to tell her that Mother fed the chickens before Alana was old enough.
Katniss and Peeta return to District Twelve and are greeted by a storm of applause. Katniss looks far happier than she did before. I've never spoken to her; my family live in a richer part of town than hers. Not much richer, but it's an improvement. Obviously this isn't true anymore; she has one of the houses in the Victors Village. I wouldn't want to live there, it's cold and empty. Plus you'd have Haymitch as a neighbour. Yet I find myself heading over there and stopping in front of Peeta's door.
He opens it not long after I knock, "Eva!" he is happy to see me, which I guess surprises me. I don't know why I'm here, I hate him. Hate him for surviving.
"You're alive," I say. That's all I trust myself to say.
"You didn't think I would be, did you? No-one did."
"Do you want the truth or the polite answer?" I can't help slipping back into our old friendship. We had been friends for years, close since we started school. I admit, I didn't think he'd ever survive the Games. He never had time to practise. I knew that. It's not like I did anymore.
"I'm lucky," he gestures for me to come inside.
I'm immediately struck by the glamour of it. It's so clean. It didn't matter how much my mother tried, the base layer of dirt would never come off. That was just District Twelve though. This place was beautiful- more than spectacular. I feel like I can't touch anything, my common hands are unworthy of the furniture. Peeta doesn't seem to feel like that, he throws himself onto the chair. I sit cautiously across from him.
"It's very nice in here," I say quietly.
"Of course it is. The Capitol made it," he sounds happy- genuinely happy. I'm immediately annoyed again.
"Congratulations by the way," I add, not wanting to approach the subject myself.
"Thank you," he pauses for a few minutes. I don't offer any form of conversation and he doesn't seem to be able to form any words. He eventually clears his throat, "Look, what's wrong Eva?"
I want to tell him that he killed people and yet he looks so happy, but all I can manage is "You survived."
His face turns very serious and he comes to sit next to me, "Eveleen, you can't blame me for that. I'm not Faron."
I feel tears rising and collapse into his arms. He strokes my hair, hushing me. I wipe my eyes and straighten up. "It's not that I didn't want you to come back, it's just, why didn't he?"
"I know," Peeta could never be angry with me, "But I was lucky Eva, if I hadn't had Katniss, I'd be dead."
I flinch, knowing it's true. Katniss Everdeen. She's the reason he's here, and yet I don't trust her. She just seems so, false.
"You just seem so happy."
"I am happy," Peeta says and I'm shocked, "I love her and we're both alive. We're getting married. Part of me feels guilty, but what can I do? That's the way it works."
I nod, trying to understand. I fail, but it doesn't matter. He is Peeta and I forgive him. My brother was thirteen when his name was drawn. I was eleven. He was killed after five days by a pack of careers, who found him dying of thirst. I watched every moment, as did my father. Mother and Alana refused to. I saw my brother die and some eighteen year old monster from District One win. My mother turned cold that day. She separated herself emotionally from her children, so that she would never be hurt again. She did the work, fed us, clothed us and provided for us, but she didn't love us. She didn't allow herself too. I hated the Games even more then; they took my brother and my mother.
"We should go; they're announcing the Quarter Quell." Peeta stands up.
I shudder inwardly. The Quarter Quell. A special version of the Hunger Games marking every twenty-fifth Games. How will they increase the horror this time?
We make our way to the square, in front of the large screen that has been placed there. People are already gathered, but they allow us to go forward. Peeta is worshipped as a victor, so they are all desperate to get out of his way. We stop next to Katniss and Gale. They nod in greeting to me; Gale practically ignores Peeta. We all turn our eyes to the screen.
President Snow is on a platform, with all of the Capitol people spread in front of him. He is carrying the box that contains the endless number of Quarter Quells for an endless number of Hunger Games. He greets Panem not exactly warmly and pulls the envelope marked 75 out of the box.
"For the 75th Hunger Games, to show the betrayal of the rebellion, tributes will be put forward by their families in secret in return for a financial reward. The names put forward will enter the draw. Thank you and may the odds be ever in your favour." The screen goes black.