I do not own anything!:P I just wish I
Part One: The Tributes
Chapter One
When I wake up, the customary noise in the morning is missing. Usually, I am awakened by the clanging of the trays in the bakery and the loud shouts of my mother but this time, nothing but the blissful silence could be heard.
I pulled myself up from the bed; put on a loose white shirt and went off to my daily routine, which revolves mainly on helping out in the bakery. I was expecting to see a busy atmosphere as I enter the bakery but only found my father sitting beside the wooden table while sipping tea. I may think that this might be one of those most peaceful days but the fact that this is the day of the reaping clears it all off.
"Where are the others?" I say, placing myself on a chair beside him.
"They're trading in the market for… our celebration later." My father's expression brightens up a bit as he said the last words. I don't really know if he's being sarcastic of just being optimistic. Tonight though, after the reaping, everyone is required to celebrate or to treat the start of the hunger games as a happy feast. Well, some does but only out of relief that none of their children will be tormented in the games. We might as well hope we are one of them.
That is when I become aware of the painful emotion in father's eyes. My father is not a talkative one but you can easily read his mind.
"Don't worry, there are thousands of names in the pool and only six of them are mine and only seven are Cob's" I say, trying to lighten up the gloomy feeling that is slowly conquering the room.
"You're right. Children from the Seam are usually the ones being chosen." A faint smile appeared on his face at the same time as a frown appearing on mine.
He may be right anyway. The Seam is a part of District 12 that is filled with black cinder streets and coal miners. My mother usually refers to this part as the hopeless realm because the Seam is filled with pitiable people who can't even feed themselves. I don't really agree with mother when it comes to that. She is just one of those that stuck up their nose when they see or pass by someone who's begging for a piece of good bread even in the presence of the fact that we, ourselves, can't really eat good ones. One might say that we, as merchants, especially bakers, always have something to eat. Well we do, actually. But our food is usually too stale that you have to eat it so fast or you'll die of food poison.
Nevertheless, the people in the Seam, who are those that are not-so-lucky in life, as I'd like to put it, are getting the worst out of the reaping system, where you are obliged to join when you turn twelve and enter your name once, when you turn thirteen, twice. And this will go on until you turn eighteen, the last year of your participation, when your name is listed for seven times.
But another thing that the Capitol raised for those "unlucky people" is the capability of adding your name to the list as more times as you'd like in exchange for tesserae, a small portion of grains just enough for a year's supply of one. Not signing ourselves up for tesserae doesn't mean that we have a lot to eat. Actually, I had asked father if I could do during those times when food, ingredients and buyers of bread is scarce but only received a hit by my mother who overheard our conversation. She said, with a freakish tone, that the tesserae grains are worthless and could only make the worst bread. I never asked them again about that after.
"You hungry? The boy came at the crack of dawn and traded a squirrel for good bread." Father says as he pushes a plate with a roasted squirrel on it.
"Only the boy?" I ask. I know who he is. Tall, handsome with strong build, the talk of most of the girls in school. He is the one who's always with that girl every morning in the woods to hunt something to eat and trade. I never really dreamed of hunting and trading but I admire them. They are two of the very few brave ones in the Seam who risk their lives to hunt in the woods filled with wild beasts just to load their bellies.
Being outside of District 12 and hunting is supposed to be one of the most hideous crimes and the ones caught could be punishable by tremendous hitting in public and death. I don't know, but I think the Peacekeepers here don't really patronize the idea and are in good terms with the residents.
"Yes. Look, it is not the usual clean shot." He says while raising the squirrel. It's true. Normally the shot is on the eye of the squirrel, saying it's her shot, but this time, as I glance at the squirrel, it could be seen that it is hit at its tummy.
I took a pinch on the squirrel and enjoyed its flavor. It is quite rare for me to eat a squirrel. My father could just only trade for one or two when my mother's not around or else she will threaten to hit the trader or scold my father. One might get the idea that my mother is a wicked witch. But really, sometimes, I also think she is. But of course there are also times when my wicked mother turns into a sweet one. One of those times is on special occasions when the mayor orders a huge and expensive cake. The others are usually when the reaping day comes, when the shouting fades together with the frown on her face. Last year, she even hugged and kissed us on the forehead for good luck.
As we finish the squirrel, we head to business and do some bread. I'm more commonly tasked to do the frostings in the cakes but I don't think cakes will be sold in this time of the year.
We only made about half dozen of bread when the bell at the bakery store rang. I peep at the small window from the bakery to the store as I watch father accompany the traders. And there they are. The two hunters we were talking about earlier trade six fish for good bread. I gaze as they make a quick conversation and walk away.
"Have the best luck, Katniss…" I whisper as I watch as them fade away from a distance.
Katniss and the guy. I wonder if they're lovers or something. They are always together, at least, when trading and hunting. I envy him. I wonder what they are talking about in the womb of the woods. She is my schoolmate, even the same year as I am. I often see her but I didn't have any proper conversation or meeting with her even once. Well, if you count the incident that happened years ago, that would be one. But I wonder if she can still remember it. It was just because of two breads anyway.
It was a rainy and cold afternoon when it happened. I saw her walking or perhaps stumbling from one trash bin to another, checking for food as I peeked out on the window. I knew it had been three months since the mining accident that killed a lot of coal miners including her father. They might be suffering a lot for some time then and might have been too hungry for her to desperately look for food that no one else wanted to eat. I shook my head; it had been only a few minutes when the garbage collector emptied the trash bins. I bet my life, there's nothing she would find but the worst disappointment.
But then she strode towards our place. Pitifully, she opened our trash bin but I know there would be nothing. That's when my mother noticed her, pulled me back and shouted at her angrily, telling her to go away or did she want her to call the peacekeepers and how she hated the people from the Seam pawing through her trash, our trash. I clenched my fist as I watch her replace the lid and back away. If only I could help her.
I went back to the oven to continue what I was doing when an idea came that maybe, I could help her. As I pulled out the freshly baked bread from the oven, I tilted the tray a little letting two of the bread to fall to the fire but made sure it would look like an accident and quickly grabbed two mittens and got the burnt bread.
My mother blurted out a huge scream and hit my face with the rolling pin, which made me back down. I knew this would happen but, who cares when this may be her last hope. Mother pulled me back up from the ground and pushed me out of the house telling me to just give the burnt bread to the pigs since no one will ever want them. But I know there is someone who would. I saw her leaning on the apple tree beside our house near the pig pen.
I tore off some of the chunks or the burned parts as I was walking and when I knew my mother was not watching anymore, I threw the breads in front of her and sloshed back into the bakery.
At school, the day after the incident, I saw her across the school yard with her younger sister. I wanted to ask her if she's alright but I knew I couldn't and didn't have the guts to do so when she glanced my way and blood rushed into my cheeks.
It is already 12 o'clock in the afternoon when my mother and two brothers got home with the groceries. I found myself preparing for the reaping. I take a bath and put on a white polo shirt, something I wear just for fine occasions and the day of the reaping is not one of them but since we were required to look presentable as addition to the sarcasm, I wear it with black pants and shoes.
When everyone's ready, we eat some bread, stale as always, and head to the square. Everyone is required to attend this event unless you are as good as dead.
It is already one thirty when we came to the square and people are starting to file up and sign in silently. The square is one of the few presentable places here in District 12 but it is also one of the few places that are filled with horrible memories to those whose children are taken because of the reaping.
Twelve to eighteen-year-olds are directed to roped areas marked off by ages, the oldest in the front and the young ones in the back. Family members, on the other hand, line up around the perimeter.
I stood with the bunch of seventeen-year-olds. Nervousness slowly creeps up on me as people crowded the square.
"Hey." A pasty-faced girl with yellowish hair and sweet smile greets me while walking towards my side.
"Delly Cartwright." I replied as I acknowledge her presence. Delly is regarded as the friendliest person on the planet by most of the people because she smiles constantly at everybody. Plus, she could be tagged as my best friend since we hang around most of the time at school and we share almost all of our secrets with each other. We were teased most of the time by our friends, saying that we're something like more than friends but we know we are not and we will never be since we both have someone else we like.
"Good luck, buddy." She says while rubbing my back, trying to ease off my obvious nervousness, it helps, but only a little.
"Good luck to you too." I pat her head like I always do and put on a faint smile.
At two o'clock, two of the three chairs in the stage fill with Mayor Underseen, and Effie Trinket, District 12's escort from the Capitol. The third chair is supposed to be for the victor from District 12, Haymitch Abernathy. It is noticeable that the mayor and Effie Trinket are concerned as to where he is.
The mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read the story of Panem and the sarcastic history of the Hunger Games.
"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," says the mayor.
Then the mayor reads the names of the past victors from District Twelve. There are exactly two out of the Seventy Three Hunger Games that had passed and only one is alive. And that one is Haymitch, who appears staggering onto the stage, drunk, as always, and falls into the third chair. The crowd gave Haymitch a round of applause but he's tipsy and tried to give Effie a hug that she barely manages to nudge off.
The mayor quickly pulled the attention back to the reaping as he introduce Effie Trinket to not let the humiliation go further since this is a televised event.
"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Effie Trinket blurted with her Capitol accent the moment she got into the podium. She tells a gab on how honored she is to be here in District Twelve even though we all know she's itching to be designated on another District with more class on it.
Then it's time for the drawings. Effie Trinket says as she always does, "Ladies first!" and crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names.
I look at Delly beside me and saw her face turn pale as anxiety conquers her. I gave her a soft tap on the shoulders as assurance that everything will be ok, since there are thousands of slips there without her name and I know that she also didn't sign up for tesserae.
But then a thought hit me, when I accidentally glanced at her, Katniss Everdeen, on her blue dress. I know she signed up for tesserae but how I wish it would not be her. How I wish the odds will be on her favor today.
Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. And it's not her, nor Delly.
It's Primrose Everdeen.
I know her, thin, small child with blond hair and innocent face. Above all, she's Katniss' sister. It was a shock on everybody. She's only twelve and it is her first day on the reaping. She must have only one name out of the thousands in the glass bowl. She did not have taken any tesserae either, did she? No, I don't think she'll do that; her sister won't ever let her do that. I know, because I am aware of the fact that she is her greatest possession.
I watch as she slowly walk with stiff small steps towards the stage, her hands clenched and blood drained from her face.
"Prim!" a shout from not a distance came out from the crowd.
"Prim!" another one came and I see her, passing through the sixteen-year-olds, reaching her just as she is about to mount the steps to the stage.
The whole District Twelve became quieter than ever. Not a single whisper could be heard as she pushed her little sister backwards and volunteered to take her place as tribute for the games.
"No, not her. It can't be…" I whispered in a hushed voice, closing my fists tightly, wanting to stop her yet I know I can't. A touch on my arm woke me from my thoughts and I saw Delly with the same worried face. I know she knows what I am thinking.
"Let her come forward." The mayor said. I can hear Prim screaming hysterically, "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!". Then I see the guy she is usually with during hunting pull away Prim from her sister and carried her off back to the crowd.
"Well, bravo!" gushes Effie Trinket. "That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen." She says.
"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" thrills Effie Trinket.
But I can never give applause to what is happening right now. Not now, not ever. And I notice not one of the District Twelve can.
At first one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to her. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love. I found myself doing the same.
"Look at her. Look at this one!"Haymitch announces, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "I like her! Lots of… spunk! More than you!" he releases her and moves closer to the edge of the stage. Then he repeated, "More than you!" this time, pointing into the camera. Right then, he tumbles off the stage and knocks off unconscious.
"What an exciting day!" Effie Trinket says trying to hide her disgrace over Haymitch. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"
She goes near to the ball containing the names of the boys and the crowd turns silent once again as she grabs the first slip she encounters. I don't know if I should wish it isn't me, as I watch Effie move back into the podium and read the name. And I didn't even have a time to wish it isn't when she said with the clearest voice, "Peeta Mellark."
Peeta Mellark. That's… That's me! Slowly, I walk towards the stage. The crowd looked at me with concern, I can see Delly let a tear flow from her face. I tried my best to remain emotionless since I don't know how to ever react in the situation given. I climbed steadily on the stage and took my place, facing the crowd, looking at everyone I know. Effie asks for a volunteer but as expected, no one came. I won't let anyone, anyway. This may be considered as the day I die.
The mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point, but no word can ever get through my head. Then I gazed at her. She looks calm as ever, wearing her old emotionless mask. No, this might be a good thing. I could not just pray for her fight on the games through the television. Given this situation, I could, at least protect her in the arena itself.
The mayor finishes and motions for Katniss and me to shake hand. Her's are soft though a little edgy, maybe because of the daily hunts. I look at her right in the eye and give her hand a reassuring squeeze, hoping that she would get the idea.
We turn to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays. Yes, I will protect her until one of the other twenty two tributes takes my last breath.
End of Chapter One
Okayy~! Uhh, yeah, you got may have gotten it right. The story will just go on as it is and i used some lines from the book, sorry Suzanne but at least we could see it through Peeta Mellark's astonishing blue eyes and maybe understand the story deeper although i know many have done this already.:( :P
Well, this is just Chapter one, i can't play with it that much yet, but i hope you enjoy reading!:3
Aaaand... REVIEWS ARE VERY MUCH WELCOME. Thanks!
*watch out for chapter two.;)*