Author's Note: This will just set the groundwork for later chapters! Enjoy!
"Peeta Mellark".
That was my name. Effie Trinket just said my name. In this moment, the people from District 12 are all focused on me. Some people look at me with sympathy, others with relief since it's me instead of a loved one heading into the Hunger Games arena. I look back to see my family ā the devastation on their faces, except for my mother.
Without question, a pathway is made for me as I approach the stage. Each step is crippling as it allows for the truth to set in. No one is volunteering to take my place. I'm walking towards certain death.
The odds were certainly not in my favor today. Since I come from a modest bakery, I had no need to sign up for the tesserae. I'm 16 and my name was only entered in five times. Five out of some thousand other names. Some people had their names in the bowl over fifty times. Yet "Peeta Mellark" was withdrawn from the bowl. I would represent District 12 in the 74th Annual Hunger Games.
The Capitol anthem begins to play, and the numbness settles in, but doesn't last long, since we're given an hour to say our goodbyes and I know I'll be crying.
My family enters separately. My siblings all enter at once, and their presence alone is enough to break through the numbness. They offer their forms of encouragement, and fake motivational talk, but even they seem to know that I won't make it out alive. I can't help but cry and embrace them for what may be my last. My father is next. He gives me a long hug, and doesn't really say much. I'm not surprised since he isn't a talkative person. He's just very affectionate, in stark contrast with my mother, who visits me last.
"It looks like District 12 may finally have a winner," she coldly says. "Try not to die so quickly." I look into her eyes and see no change in her expression. She's emotionless. She doesn't care. Or maybe she's happy at the fact that, during times of hardship, there's a chance that there will be one less mouth to feed. Even if she'll miss me, she's betting on Katniss. She just sits there until the Peacekeeper dismisses her. And even when she's dismissed, she doesn't say anything or try and make me feel any comfort.
Her "goodbye" hits me the hardest. Maybe it is better that I'm going away. As soon as she's out of the room, I'm given a few minutes of silence, because the hour has yet to expire. I use the remaining time to cry. To pray. To come up with a strategy of survival. But mostly to cry. I cry about leaving my family. I cry about entering the Hunger Games. I cry because, even though I can look tough, death is terrifying. I've seen the Hunger Games. I know that death is guaranteed for at least twenty-three of us.
The car ride to Capitol blurred by. Effie Trinket, the escort to District 12, spent the beginning of the ride talking on and on about how excited she was for this year's District 12 tributes. Haymitch, the District 12 mentor and, as of right now, Panem's biggest drunkard joke, is alternating between periods of sobriety and drunkenness. This man can still drink even after he's completely made a fool of himself by tripping on anything and everything during the reaping. How was he supposed to help me if he can't even help himself? Katniss Everdeen, the female tribute from District 12, seems almost emotionless. She'd volunteered so that her younger sister wouldn't have to participate in the game. In that moment, Katniss displayed more emotions than I'd seen from her in my entire life.
After a dinner meal, our trainer, Haymitch, who'd made quite the performance at the District 12 reaping, begins yelling at me and Katniss. He wants us to observe the other reapings. I didn't really want to see the other tributes. These other tributes were my potential killers. They're my potential killers, but they're teenagers. Young adults. They're just like me. I decide to watch the program, regardless of how uneasy it made me. A majority of the tributes chosen were kids. Some tributes stood out though. There was a blonde tribute from District 1. The tribute from District 5 who's face heavily resembled a fox.
The tribute who sticks out to me the most, however, was the boy volunteer from District 2. Blonde, muscular, and cold. He's brutish, but very handsome. He's cold, yet charming. Interest seemed to quickly build inside of me. Then I realize that my mind was probably taking interest in mundane things. He's just another tribute, I think. He would kill me without second thought. I don't know why I took such a quick interest in him. Maybe he's⦠No. I can't afford to make this situation different ā I'm in a fight for my life. Thoughts focused on things other than survival are pointless and a waste of my time. I stop thinking about the District 2 tribute for the remainder of the program.
Then Katniss and I are on screen. Katniss, as emotionless as ever, except for the footage of her volunteering, appeared calm and almost apathetic to the whole situation. I, however, looked like a hot mess. I'd looked just about as bad as I felt. As the anthem plays, signaling the end of the program, I realize that, strategically, the tears may have not been my best move. The Hunger Games is, in essence, a game. Once someone is chosen as a player, or, in this case, a tribute, he/ she has to assume the position of the player immediately. I probably made myself look like a weak and pathetic player.
I push this idea aside and excuse myself from the room. I walk into my room and I realize how exhausted I am. I'd spent a lot of time crying and decide that I would just cry myself to sleep. Now is the time for weakness. In this moment of solitude, now is the time for tears.
"I volunteer as tribute."
More often than not, the tributes from District 2 are volunteers. I'd trained my whole life for this moment. So I volunteered.
The crowd reacts with deafening enthusiasm to my announcement. They ate stuff like this up. They loved having two hero-like tributes represent them ever year at the Hunger Games. They loved the feeling of pride. I, alongside, Clove, would represent District 2 in the 74th annual Hunger Games. It was an honor.
We are offered a moment to say goodbye, but we decide that we'll meet our families before we get onto the trains that will transport us to Capitol.
My parents and little sister arrive at the train station. My sister is clearly anxious and worried, but she's the only one who is. My father is, however, proud that I have volunteered. "Go get 'em, son." He hugs me for a while. It's interrupted when the Peacekeeper assigned to me reminds us of the time.
My sister just tells me to win, and I can tell that she doesn't say much more because she doesn't want to cry. I'm prepared, but victory is never guaranteed. I just give her a small smile.
The peacekeeper tells me that it's time to board the train when I look at my mother. She doesn't smile or say anything. She turns around and walks away.
This is typical of her. I was never much of a son to her. And she's never been much of a mother to her. She originally planned on aborting me, but my father wouldn't let her, so she's carried that resentment with her forever. She had me at such a young age, and I ruined any chance she had at having a normal life. I remember waking up to her screaming and throwing things across my room. She was going on and on about how I ruined her life. I remember one night when I was eleven years old. She came into my room and began pointing to her stomach and complaining about her figure, but what I remember the most is her slapping me across the face. My strength must come from her because the slap still stings in my memories. But I cried that day, and it was the only time I've ever let her see me weak.
She's the reason why I'm so cold. At least, why I appear to be cold. I promised myself to be stronger so that I would never give her the satisfaction of my pain. Besides wielding a sword, pushing aside emotions is a great talent of mine. All thanks to mother dearest.
The train ride to the Capitol wouldn't take too long. So I lock myself in my room and try to get some sleep.
This doesn't prove to be too successful, so I go to a room with my fellow tribute, Clove, our mentor, Brutus, and our escort, who is almost insignificant. We observe the reapings. I look at the reaping from District One and see a ditsy blonde and a lean boy. Most of them are kids. We have a tough looking guy from District 11.
District 12, however, stands out to me the most. There's a volunteer who bravely takes the spot of her sister, and then a boy who obviously isn't ready for the games. The volunteer's name is Katniss, and the crier's name is Peeta. I am immediately intrigued by the latter of the two.
The boy is cute, no doubt. Infatuation has definitely been something I'm bad at pushing away. I'm a young adult. I learned enough in school to know that hormones are coursing through me. I'm interested, but he can't portray himself as weak. I'm sympathetic towards him.
I look to Clove just to be sure that she can't read my thoughts. She is eating some chocolate covered berries. I'm glad she can't read minds. No one really knows who I really am, with the exception of a few people. Clove is in that category. She knows me because we trained together, but she doesn't know everything about me. Especially not when I think someone is cute.
"I'm going to bed," I announce to everyone, and this sets of a domino effect, where everyone decides that it's time to go to bed.
Before I enter my room, Clove's behind me. "Any cuties you spot this year?" She smirks. I hate that she knows a lot about me.
"Nope. I was hoping for a Finnick this year!" I lie and try to enter my room, but she stops me.
"Uh huh. I totally didn't notice your face light up when you saw that tribute from twelve." So, she did notice. I should have known. Only I get to see this playful side of Clove that I've grown to love. She can be just as apathetic as me, but she's such a funny person to be around. I almost wish it were anyone but her going in with me in the arena. "Goodnight!"
"Goodnight!" I respond. I am really tired, so I just fall asleep in my reaping clothes.
Tomorrow is going to be a long day.
So, this begins my attempt at writing Hunger Games fanfiction. Please, please review! I hope to update in less than a week!
