My world slows down at the two four syllable words that slip easily from the lips of the pink monstrosity on stage.

"Primrose Everdeen."

There is a second to take in a sharp breath as my mind whirl and thunder resound around my ears as the name echoes deeper and deeper, sinking further in. Then there is no time to think before a stronger voice overlaps Effie's gleeful "Come on up dearie" with a half strangled yell.

"I volunteer!"

My eyes are already pinned upon the taller girl who pushes in front of the Peacekeepers, partially shielding her younger sister away from the stage. There is just utter silence and the sound of my own heart beat burning and crashing in my chest because I know that there is not stopping her. This is her choice. I would have done the same for my brothers.

And so I say nothing, just slink forward so I am in front of the boys' crowd as Katnis Everdeen licks her dry lips; she repeats it once again, standing ramrod straight, feet planted firmly in the dirt, eyes staring forward, and a slightly hoarse tone to her voice.

"I volunteer as tribute."

And when Prim's piercing screams resonate through the market square, I don't hear it. I hear my own internal wails as I twist past Peacekeepers to reach the pair of siblings, grabbing the younger before she can crack the defenses her older sister has shore up in preparation for what she has to do.

Tiny fists beat against my back as I hoist Prim up higher; Effie's crooning passes over my head.

Katniss does not turn her head or acknowledge me in any way; she only takes a deep breath in, fisting her hands into a white knuckle grip.

There is a second's pause to say something, anything, before the Peacekeepers close in on us to usher her forward to her doom. And so, there is nothing else to offer but encouragement. So I nod towards the stage, my voice coming out in a raspy undertone.

"Up you go, Catnip."

It comes out steady and low, nearly drowning in the chaos issuing around us as Prim continues her struggle to freedom and to her sister- but I know she hears it because her face turns to stone at the sound of my voice. She angles her chin upwards ever so slightly, acknowledging my words before she's off, walking towards the stage in a slow gait

Then Peacekeepers are in my way, blocking me from going forward even an inch, and I am force to step back, pulling Prim along. She clings to me like a paper doll, fragile and ready to blow away at the slightest chance of wind; she is crying freely into my shirt, her face a blotchy red.

The road before me is free of people; the crowd has parted for us. Pity glow on their faces, along with fear and pain, but mostly, they are shining with relief that they had not been picked. I could do nothing but walk past them, numbly holding on to the now whimpering Prim, steering myself to where I can see her mother standing pale and forlorn on the sidelines, shaking thin hands covering her mouth.

I do not turn back; I let the words coming from the speakers wash over me as I hand Prim over to hands that encircle her and hold her tight.

I catch the words that are whispered into Prim's blonde hair before I am pulled back by a Peacekeeper.

"Thank you."

Confusion froths to the front of my mind. What is there to thank for? There is no time to ask; I am pushed as the hand clamping tightly around my arm twirl me towards the mass of male tributes. The Peacekeeper gestures to the crowd; his face is hidden by a protective shield, his voice a controlled monotone, completely indistinguishable or unique. He's just a body with a gun.

"Get back to your place. They're about to announce the male tribute."

Then I am back in the forest of bodies, back to the front of the crowd. They are still congratulating Katniss for volunteering and I see her eyes flare at the pretenses they are giving. She is offering herself for death, to replace her beloved sister in this slaughterhouse game- my heart pumps again, harder and harder as we lock eyes for a split second before she sweeps onwards, searching the crowd for nothing and everything. The pink haired woman turns to us then, her head bobbing in excitement.

"Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

Nobody claps, nobody even moves. To do so means we endorse the Games. I can only think of one thing to do, the one thing that is appropriate for this situation, a message that conveys the mutiny of emotions churning inside of me that want to explode. But I cannot afford to do that so I keep a lid on it and hold my three middle fingers of my left hand high, lifting it into the sky like a beacon before pressing them to my lips gently and finally raising them to Katniss.

There is a stir throughout the crowd and slowly, like a ripple, others follow, and soon the entire audience has done it- three fingers held up for the world to see as the cameras wink at us, broadcasting our silent stance to the rest of Panem.

It is a symbol of respect, a gesture of farewell.

The moment is shattered by Haymitch, the only living District Twelve winner of the Hunger Games. He stumbles forward, nearly crashing into Katniss, and flings his arms around her. She twitches backwards as the man slurs out, "I like her! Lots of… spunk!"

With that, he falls off stage, unconscious, and Peacekeepers are there to hoist him up to take him away. But my eyes never left Katniss; I watch as her face contort just slightly around her cheeks, as if she is biting the insides to prevent a scream to explode out of her throat. Then, the moment is over as I see her collect herself, clasping her hands tightly behind her back, her posture stiff. To the narrow minded, it looks like she is preparing for battle. Only I know differently.

Then the cameras are pulling away from Katniss to follow the pink haired woman as she stands next to the giant glass bowl. There is a collective intake of breath around me as she dips a dainty hand in to fish out a slip of paper. I close my eyes, knowing that in that transparent bowl, 42 of those pristine white slips have Gale Hawthorne written on them. Coming from the Seam, I know I have the most. I am prepared to hear my name being call out, to step forward, to claim my place next to Katniss.

Another two four syllable words stop me cold as my eyes fly open at the name booming from the speakers.

"Peeta Mellark!"

It's not me. That isn't my name. I wasn't called. I stand and stare at Katniss who only looks at me with a naked look of bare relief before it pales at the sight of the person who steps forward in answer to the name. A boy younger than me with dark blonde hair. The baker's son. He meanders forward in a daze, slowly making his way up the steps of the stage. He fidgets slightly with his fingers before he forcefully splays them open; his lips are tight and his jaw is like rock. As he steps next to Katniss, I realize I've lost my chance. My one chance to protect her in the Games; my one chance to prove to her how much I value our friendship; my one chance to show her just how much she means to me.

But it's all gone now. It has all been burned to ashes and there is nothing I can do.

So I let her go- just as I knew before Prim could even take one voluntary step forward in response to her name, Katniss would jump to her defenses, that Katniss would let go of everything in order to keep her sister safe.

And because I know she's thinking about me and she knows I'm thinking about her- because we both know each other so well that we are like tattoos on each other's backs- I can read her thoughts like the back of my hand. She's thinking now that I can take care of her family and mine while she's away. That District Twelve didn't lose both of its hunters.

That I can still provide for our families even if our hearts sink in sorrow at her absence.

She has made her choice. And I have made mine.

Family is important now, my priority that overtakes all others. And so I let her go, the girl who became my friend, became the one person in my life who understood me better than anyone else.

And as the Reaping come to a close, all I can do is stand in silence. In mourning. Grieving for the sudden death of an illusion- of a future where we could have been happy together.

'If only, if only…'

But that if only would take me to a place I cannot bear to go. In the end, I can only return to the thought I fear would echo within me for the rest of my life.

Katniss, I'm so sorry.

- First time writing for The Hunger Games.

- Also first time writing in first person point of view. I don't really like reading it in first person POV but wanted to try writing in a new style.

- Been fiddling with the idea of how Gale lets Katniss go, not because he loves her so much that letting go would mean she would be happy with Peeta or that he lets her go because he or his feelings have changed in some way, but because they are both survivors. They know what it means to be under occupation, to starve, to hang on to live by a thread. Katniss is going to the Games. There is a one in twenty four chances she will come back and if she does, they both know nothing will ever be the same. And so, he lets her go because family comes first- because the whole point of Katniss intervening on Prim's Reaping is because she loves her family too much to lose them to this horrendous Game.

- Hope it makes sense, both my story and my explanation.

- Feedback?

- Reviews are much appreciated.