My first attempt at a Hunger Games fanfiction. Twilight is so much easier, since, y'know, the characters don't have personalities. XD (PS: No need to kill me for that comment.)
The square in District 12 is already packed with people when my family and I arrive. There's a grim, almost haunted air to it today, centering around the makeshift stage in front of the Justice Building - despite the attempt at cheerful decorations. It's a feeling that's only shared by everyone in the district on one day of the year: the reaping.
Well… almost everybody. There's the few who honestly don't care anymore – nor do they have a reason to – and would rather be taking bets on which kids are going to have their names called. It's a bit sick, gambling on who's going to be forced into a virtual death sentence… but it's not something anybody is going to try to stop.
I duck into the area roped off for sixteen-year-olds. Not me, not my family, not me, not my family, I chant silently, glancing around the square. The sun beats down on the restlessly shifting crowd, and I can't wait for this to be over for another year, for the queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach to go away. I tell myself that my family will be fine, that the odds are in our favor… but if I believed a word of it, I probably wouldn't be muttering in my head. Not me, not my family.
I manage to distract myself – for a few minutes, anyway – by curiously watching the empty seat on the stage like there's an invisible person in it or something. It's reserved for Haymitch, District 12's only living Hunger Games winner. Whenever I've seen him, he's looked too drunk to remember which way is up – I wouldn't be surprised if he forgot the reaping was today.
The town clock chimes two beats, breaking me from my reverie. It doesn't matter, though; the mayor has just stepped up and begun to speak. It's exactly the same speech every year – I can recite the first paragraph or so by heart. So it's not exactly difficult to tune him out.
Delly Cartwright, a girl who also obviously isn't paying any attention whatsoever, catches my eye and gives me a shaky half-smile, and I do my best to return it. I can tell she's as impatient as I am, waiting for Effie Trinket to step forward with her irritatingly high-pitched voice and choose the 74th Hunger Games tributes.
The mayor concludes his speech and reads a list of our past district winners, although it's not so much a list as two short names. Haymitch appears when his is mentioned as if on cue, stumbling onto the stage, yelling something unintelligible, his face ruddy. He sinks into his reserved chair, and the corner of my mouth twitches – it would probably be better for Effie and Mayor Undersee if he hadn't shown up at all.
Effie seems to be having the same thought as Haymitch gives her a huge, drunken hug. She pushes him away, somehow still managing to keep her composure. The mayor doesn't fare as well. He looks upset. Trying to get the reaping back under control and save District 12 from utter humiliation, he takes this moment to introduce Effie.
"Happy Hunger Games!" she trills, the Capitol accent grating on my ears. "And may the odds be ever in your favor! It's such an honor to be with you all today…" She carries on like that for a moment. The anxiety is back, a bit stronger than before.
"Ladies first!" she cries, trotting across the stage to the glass ball holding the names of girls. She reaches inside, fishes around for a minute, and pulls out a slip.
When back at the podium, she announces the name cheerfully: "Primrose Everdeen!"
Having no sisters, I figured there wasn't any need for me to worry about the girl who was chosen. But my entire body goes cold as the twelve-year-old walks stiffly up to the stage – and a voice screams from somewhere relatively close to me. "Prim! Prim!"
I have forgotten to hope for Katniss Everdeen.
My fists clench as she races up to her sister, the crowd parting for her. All I can think is of her, so many years ago, in a red dress, her high, sweet voice echoing around the music room. "Don't do this, Katniss," I whisper, too low for anybody around to hear. They probably wouldn't have even if I spoke louder; they're all too focused on the spectacle in front of them.
"I volunteer!" she gasps, panic evident on her face. "I volunteer as tribute!"
No. Oh, please, no…
How am I supposed to watch her be thrown into the arena? How am I supposed to watch her be torn apart by the bloodthirsty Careers or even just a Gamemaker-made danger? I'm pretty sure the feelings I have for her are a bit more than just a crush. Crushes don't normally last for over ten years… How am I supposed to watch the girl I love die?
"Lovely!" Effie Trinket says. Now I can feel a bit of anger through all of the shock and disbelief. 'Lovely' is the complete opposite of this. "But I believe," she continues, "there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…"
I can hardly hear the mayor's interruption over Prim's screaming. She's wrapped her arms around Katniss' waist, shouting over and over, "No, Katniss! No, you can't go!" through her tears. Echoing my sentiments exactly.
"Prim, let go," Katniss snarls. I'm sure it's just an act. Even though I've never actually said a word to her, I've never seen her be so fierce. Especially not to her little sister, the little sister she's just stepped forward to die for. "Let go!" she repeats.
Gale, Katniss' best friend (and probably something more, although I've generally been ignoring that and it's really not important anymore), rises from his place in the section for the eighteen-year-olds, unlatching Prim and holding her up in the air. Katniss turns to look at him, and I'm amazed by how calm she seems. Gale carries the thrashing little girl over to her mother; Katniss climbs the steps.
"Well, bravo!" Effie Trinket says excitedly. "That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen," she replies.
"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" Glory. Right. My throat's gone dry. "Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"
I refuse, my nails digging into my palms. I am not going to applaud for the awful scene that just unfolded.
Apparently, nobody else is, either, which is a bit shocking. It's the most blatant form of… rebellion, for lack of a better word… that I've ever seen. The silence in the square is one of the loudest sounds I've ever heard.
I see someone in the crowd touch three fingers to their lips and hold them out to her, and my heart breaks a little bit more. A few more people do the same, and I copy them. It's an old gesture, not often used. Except occasionally… at funerals.
It's a gesture that means goodbye.
Haymitch rises from his chair and somehow manages to make it across the stage. "Look at her! Look at this one!" he slurs, putting his arm haphazardly around her shoulders. From here, I swear I can see her wrinkle her nose a bit. "I like her! Lots of…" He frowns. "Spunk! More than you!" He starts forward, toward the edge of the stage. "More than you!" he adds, waving his finger directly into a camera.
It breaks the spell of the moment, to say the least. Especially when he loses his footing, taking a head dive off the stage and ending up unconscious.
I focus on Katniss again, not particularly caring about Haymitch. She's staring into space with a slightly glassy look on her face. I'm insanely curious as to what she's thinking.
"What an exciting day!" Effie says, not having lost an ounce of her cheerful manner, after they take Haymitch away on a stretcher. She's trying to get her wig back in place; the pink curls are almost comically off balance. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"
In all of the drama, I've half-forgotten the boy still needs to be selected. I notice that instead of fishing around in the ball, she grabs a name right off the top. Maybe she wants the day to be over as badly as we do. Effie practically runs back to the podium and without missing a beat calls, "Peeta Mellark!"
All of the blood drains out of my face, my stomach and heart lurching violently. I can hear a roaring in my ears. That can't be right, can it? I must have heard wrong. This is all too unreal. This has to be a dream, doesn't it?
I stand numbly, feeling the terror pushing at the edges of my consciousness. I'm trying not to let it creep into my expression, but I know my heart is pounding and that there's slim to no chance that I can keep all of the emotion off of my face.
Making my way up to the stage, I dimly notice that Katniss looks slightly stricken, watching me. Much to my own surprise, I manage to mount the steps without collapsing, or, indeed, my legs shaking at all.
"Any volunteers?" Effie calls.
Of course not. Nobody's going to step forward to save me, not even my own brother… But I can't really blame him, or anyone else. Hardly anyone is willing to die to save another person.
Katniss is something special.
The mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason to conclude the reaping. I close my eyes for a moment, willing myself not to lose my cool now. But it's incredibly difficult, as the shock begins to wear off and awareness creeps into my limbs. I really am standing here, in front of all of District 12, in front of the entire nation… I really am standing here, and I really am going to die.
And Katniss really is standing next to me.
There is no end to this nightmare.
The mayor eventually finishes reading, gesturing for Katniss and me to shake hands. I grip hers tightly, trying to be a bit reassuring, trying to put the unspoken words It'll be okay into that one second of physical contact.
I know I'm lying to myself as much as her.
I'm nearly positive I can't find the will to kill Katniss Everdeen. Even if it's to save my own life.
^Yeah, I think I just totally screwed up Peeta's personality on so many levels. The really random Delly Cartwright thing was because I was wondering why she popped into Peeta's head when he was covering for Katniss with the Avox girl. :3 Leave a review? Since, you know, I spent like an hour and a half screwing up Peeta's personality.