Katniss. Katniss. Katniss!
The wolves chased her through the tangle of trees, pushing her out into the clearing. The mutts snipped at her heels, as their teeth dripped with saliva, their eyes yearning for gore.
"Come on, Katniss. You're almost there," I muttered at the television in our shack of a home in the Seam. I had balled my fists against the threadbare carpet, screwing my eyes nearly closed, in the fear that this would be her end.
Out of the shadows, Cato appeared in a full body armor. He's coming, I remember shouting at the screen, as if my voice could travel the thousands of miles to Katniss' ears.
Just over her left shoulder, a long-bladed knife whizzed past her ear. Katniss was caught off guard, having been nearly deaf on that side. I remember how proud I'd been when she destroyed the Career's food supply. She ran and ran and ran. The Cornucopia shone in the moonlight, as she tore up the field surrounding its perimeter.
A second knife whirled past, skimming her ear. She took the attack in stride, and notched an arrow into the bow, raising it in the rising dark of the night, and aiming it in the general direction of Cato.
But. A mutation jumped in front of its pack, fangs outstretched, claws extended, and landed firmly on top of Katniss' chest.
"Peeta? Peeta!" I remember shrieking along with her, as tears streamed down my face. Its claws streaked down her front, silencing her cries.
And in came Peeta, jumping into the scene with a small club in his hands. His face was contorted with anger and anguish and fear, whacking away at the mutt, and peering over his shoulder at its oncoming pack. On one hand, there was the mutt, battered and bruised, rolling off of Katniss, and rearing back to pounce on Peeta.
And then there was Peeta, staring death in the eye and holding the club up to swing. He swung as hard as he could, but not before a mace slammed into his back, making him kneel with pain.
And the trumpets sung.
I bolt upright in my sleep, shaking the nightmare from my skin. Goosebumps covered my skin, as I ran my hands up and down my arms. The nightmare was still as vivid as ever, reappearing to me as if it had only happened the night before.
The 74th Hunger Games.
The Game I lost my sister.
And so, I swing my legs up and over my patched-up mattress, and try to forget. Try to remember. What had life been like before Katniss died?
Life in the present is hard, that's what I know. Meeting up with Hazelle in her kitchen, trying to scrounge a portion of her profit, cleaning clothes. Rubbing my hands raw with scrubbing clothes against the washboard. Scouring the dumps and streets of the nicer parts of the district for some food. Getting abused by shopkeepers and Peacekeepers alike. Finding Gale in the markets, and finally allowing myself another person to share my grief with.
"It's so hard," I tell him that morning, as I lean against Greasy Sae's booth in the marketplace. I slop down the soup, grateful for Greasy Sae's pity. She always gives me free soups, even when I'm aware that business is running slow these days. We all grieve Katniss' death in various ways, and while Greasy Sae grieves the loss of a valuable bargainer, I grieve the loss of a sister. Just as Gale grieves the loss of a hunting partner, or a best mate.
Gale fixes me with a painful stare, as though the sight of me could possibly remind me of Katniss. It was so different from the pitying glances thrown at me during the first few months after the Games, but it could not have been more misplaced. I have frizzy, blond hair that must be attacked with a comb, in order to be put into a braid, while Katniss had long, brown hair, easily worn in a straight braid down her back. I have clear blue eyes, from my mother, while Katniss had grey ones, from my father.
"It'll get better," Gale mutters into his bowl of soup, turning his stare away from me, as if he was looking for something that wasn't found. He stares into the contents of his soup, and suddenly jarred, he pushes away from the booth and from my side.
"Gale?" I thank Greasy Sae for the mysterious soup, then tag along after him, through the scatter of people in the town square, who were preparing to start setting up trade in the market. I follow him through the square, into the Seam, then through the worn, torn fence into the woods.
I spot the old bow and arrow that Katniss used to own, when she went hunting with Gale. I retrieve it from the log it was hastily stashed in, from the time I last used it. I'm not fond of hunting, and I wouldn't be of much use with one, but it gives me a way to pass time these days. And, even though Gale would never admit it, I know he's trying to train me up, in the unlikely case that I'll get chosen for the Games again.
I lower the bow to my side, and sling the arrows over my shoulder, traipsing through the forest with tentative steps. I try my best to keep up with Gale's path, bleary from the hot sun bearing down on me. It is a clear Sunday morning, when the mines close, and the forest becomes threatened by the hunting specialties of Gale Hawthorne.
I've just begun to bask in the warm air, when I hear a thud just off my path, followed by a groan of protest. Emerging from the shade of the trees, Rory wears a small smirk with a bow an arrow strapped to his side, hunched over so that I'm almost the same height as him.
"Prim," he whispers, straightening up into his full height. As I set off at a dwindling pace, he walks alongside me, eyes searching the horizon, and a hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun's rays. "Prim," he whispers, stretching my name thin, into some form of whine. I snap my eyes to his, and see the amusement playing on his face.
"What is it?" I venture, preparing myself for his latest whim or bit of mischief. His face contorts into a full, beaming smile, egging me into one of my own. His youthful joy is unmistakable, displayed like a candle that won't stop burning in the dark, bland life that is District 12. It often startles me, how different Gale and Rory are. Rory is whimsical and manic, often too naive for the likes of District 12. He'd pick a fight with half the people in the district, making him just the wrong side of rebellious. Gale, on the other hand, is dark and serious, weighed down by the responsibility of providing for his family.
Rory holds two coins in the palm of his hand, letting them gleam in the afternoon sun. "I won some money. Thor and his buddies felt like gambling today." My smile fades away. I study his gleeful face for a moment, wondering if I should believe him. It wasn't unlike Rory to be reckless, but I would've thought that he'd be more careful, especially with the Reaping being so close...
"Are you crazy?" I ask him. "You could've lost half your belongings to them. And they aren't good company." Rory has been rolling his eyes throughout my entire lecture, fixing his eyes wherever I'm not. "And I can't believe that you'd be so careless. If the Peacekeepers catch you-"
"-and they haven't-"
"-you could be arrested-"
"-or even killed."
"-so why don't you care?" I finish, my face flushing from the effort of persuading him. His manic grin still hasn't faded, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. He wanted me to be proud of his earnings. He wanted me to give him a pat on the back, and to tell him that he's my saving grace.
The words spill out of my mouth before I could even stop them. "You might as well be gambling your life to the Games."
His smile disappears instantaneously, as the Games are enough to sober anyone up fast. "How many slips did you put in?"
The fact was, I actually depend on the tesserae to feed me and my mother at this time of year. Ever since Katniss died four years ago, my mother has walked out on me, emotionally. She doesn't get up to work, and her health has deteriorated vastly in the past few years. She relies on me to be strong for our family, and to be strong through her sickness.
And, yes, she has always told me to never appeal for more tesserae or slips in the Reaping, because I know that-even though she'll never speak a word about it- she can't afford to lose her husband, and her two daughters. I'm all she has. I know how hard this year must be for her, especially since I'm the same age that Katniss was, when she got sent into the Games.
Or when she volunteered for me.
So, this year I had to make a choice. Protect my mother's conscience, or keep us afloat in life?
"Forty-two. How 'bout you?" It's funny, how I ended up putting forty-two slips in, seeing as though both my mother and Gale would kill me for it. I guess I'd never much cared for their pity.
The slightest tremor passes through Rory's voice, as he replies, "Twenty-four. Prim, that's insane."
I open my mouth to retort, when Gale slides into view. "Gale," I whisper, as Rory and I march to his side. I raise my bow and notch an arrow, aiming it in the direction that he was looking at, Rory doing the same. "Wait," Gale whispers, pointing out a deer that has stopped to stay in the shade of some trees. It must've felt the heat, too. The deer canters around in the shade of the tree, unsuspecting to the three hunters hoping to make a profit off of its skin. Heart pounding, I try to keep my aim steady, as I attempt to stop imagining the blood that will flow out of the deer, out of its fatal wound.
Breathing shallowly, I start to pull the arrow back, only to hear the cries with each inhale.
Peeta? Peeta!
A mutt slammed her down to the ground, extending its bloody claws to attack.
To kill.
Idrop the bow and arrow, startling myself, just as Rory lets the arrow fly straight into the deer.
"What the-"
"Prim, what's wro-" Shaking, I set off into the dense woods, back through the entangling roots and vines picking at my feet, back through the broken fence, and back into the broken district. I run away from the concerned voices of Gale and Rory, their voices growing fainter with each step I take. Away from their stares. Away from their pity. Away from the death.
Straight into a Peacekeeper.