The Untold Story of Wren

Author's Note: This is my very first story, so please be nice! This is a one shot deal. There will be no more! Constructive criticism is appreciated! Thanks! –Pink Mockingjay

My name is Wren. I am 13 years old. I am very pale, red-haired and green eyed. I am skinny as a twig. I have two deceased parents and I am under care of my aunt and uncle. There's also a good chance that this time next year, I'll be dead.

I live in the country of Panem. In district 12. Our reaping day is today. I'm volunteering for tribute if the chosen girl is small, weak and scared(such as Corinthia Elsbur, she's got brittle bone disease or Natalie Tho, cancer or Diane Visalo, autism.) I want to save the life of someone who cannot save their own.
I put on a very beautiful pink dress, white ballet flats, a silver anklet I plan on using as my token and put my hair in a braid. It's the way he says I look the most beautiful. Well, said. Weston isn't with me anymore. He was the male tribute last year. He was only 12. I loved him with all my heart and he loved me. We'd hold hands and sit with our foreheads pressed together. He kissed me last Reaping Day an hour or so before the Reaping. He was the second tribute dead in the Bloodbath. I want to volunteer so I don't have to bare without him.
I head to the square with my aunt and uncle. My mother passed away shortly after I was born and my father died in the same mining accident that killed Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Everdeen. They know of my plan, my aunt and uncle, but they don't approve. My mother would. I feel it that she would. She wouldn't like it, but she'd approve.
"Primrose!" I said cheerfully. I waved at my scared little friend. Her first reaping. She has but the required amount and so do I. Prim's dirt poor, but sister wouldn't allow her any extra tesserae. Her sister loves her so, so much.
Prim sort of smiles from the 12 year old section and gives a weak wave. She's scared. So scared.
The same lecture. Boring, as always. I love learning but hate repeating over and over all the time. It stinks.
"Happy Hunger Games!" Effie Trinket says. Blah blah blah. (I hate the Capitol accent. My aunt and uncle have a slight trace of it and I can't stand it! Ahh!)
"And may the odds be ever in your favor! Ladies First!" she submerges her hand and draws a name. "Primrose Everdeen." and my heart sinks. I feel the blood drain out of my face. Poor Prim. Poor Prim's family.
I see Prim walk to the stage as pale as as a sheet, hands balled into fists at her sides, her blouse making a tail and, to top it all off, she's shaking and looking terrified. I was just about to yell out that I volunteer when I hear Prim's sister, Katniss, doing just that.
Prim objects and Gale Hawthorne carries her away.
"I'm sorry, Weston." I whisper to the sky. Bad things come to mind, but I have to be there for my friends and pathetic excuse for a loving family.
I feel horrible for little Prim. Her favorite person is going to fight to the death for her sake.
After the reaping I try to comfort her.
"Katniss is strong." I say.
"She won't die." she says shakily.
"no she won't." I said firmly.

So if I volunteered for Prim and not Katniss, how would the 74th Hunger Games have been different?