KATNISS'S POV
I wake up to Primrose in my bed; tightly clutched onto me, her skinny arms wrapped around my waist.
Buttercup, the ugliest cat in the world, lies on the floor comfortably. He won't be in danger of being reaped today.
I look outside the window as well. Chilly and cold: Typical District 12 weather.
I slowly pull Prim's arms off me and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The hard wood floor creaks and cracks below my feet as I stand.
The seeps of bright light are remain intact through the curtains, and I can still see my sister and mother's soft faces.
My mother sleeps in a separate bed. My mother used to be beautiful. The wrinkles deepen her face and she no longer looks bright as she used to be. Or so I hear.
I open the closet door to pull on a black shirt, and then my father's hunting jacket. I put on a pair of trousers, then sit on the bed and lace up my molded combat boots.
Prim stirs in her bed, reaching out for me and mumbling my name. I take her hand and squeeze it. "I'll be back soon. Sleep in," I whisper softly.
Walking out the room, I see a plate on the kitchen table with a bowl over it. I lift it up and it is a piece of soft goat cheese from Lady, the goat I had bought Prim about 3 years ago. I slip it into my pocket and reach to the door of our house.
I see the broken faces of coal miners and homeless people outside; their hunched over backs, their faces caked with coal mine, and the heavy miner hats on their heads.
It gives me a pang of pain in my chest remembering my father, Benjamin Everdeen, who died in a bomb explosion when I was only 11 years old; my father, the one who taught me to hunt; to live and tell berries apart in the woods. My father, the one who told me stories as the fireplace crackled, the one who held me tightly when I screamed from my usual nightmares.
My father worked at the youngest age possible, sixteen, and had been sent home after he received a critical gash on his cheek. My mother had seen him out the window of her mother's apothecary shop and offered to heal his wound. He insisted they sit by his favorite spot, the lake in the woods, and she carefully washed and treated his cheek. From that point on, they instantly fell in love.
They say my mother loved my father so much that she left her family behind when they didn't approve of their relationship. To this day, I wonder what happened after.
I arrive about 5 feet from the fence with looped barb wire on top. It's right where the meadow ends, and on the other side is the Seam. My house is on the edge of it. The richer side, where my mother used to live, lies on the left of me.
I slip through the weak hole on the bottom of the fence. It's about 2 feet high and fits enough for me to slide in. There are other places where I could slide into, but this is the closest to home.
Originally, this fence was built because of the danger of wild game attacking us. It used to be filled with electricity twenty-four hours a day, but that has long passed. We are lucky to get maybe an hour, or two, of electricity a day.
"District Twelve, where you can safely starve to death," I mutter to myself.
I look behind my shoulder and then jog for about half a mile, until I reach a bow, quiver and arrows that hide under a sheath of rock and in a tree hole. I slide on my bow on and fill the quiver with the arrows.
My father made the bow for me, carefully crafted in a workshop where he worked every Sunday morning, his day off. It has always been his gift to me, and with it, I feel safe. I feel like I am who I am.
I walk silently, pulling an arrow back onto my bow.
Gale makes me jump when he grabs me from behind and says "Catnip."
I compose myself. "Damn you, Gale!" But I can't help but laugh.
He's been my best friend since a few months after my father's death. I was in the woods when I saw a tall, manly figure approaching me. I first thought it was a peacekeeper, and was about to make a run for until he called out and said, "What's a scrawny, little miner girl like you doing here?" When I told him my name, he mispronounced it, replacing Katniss for "Catnip." It's been our joke ever since.
"Prim left us a reaping day gift." I carefully wrap my fingers around the cheese in my pocket and pull it out.
"I got us bread from the bakery. Only cost me a squirrel," he says, pulling out a loaf of bread with an arrow stuck in it. I smile hard, and he says I only smile in the woods.
"We'll have a real feast," I laugh.
We walk until we reach an open field filled with meadow grass, trees, and katniss roots growing out of the ground. Finally, we find a good spot to sit and Gale slices open the bread, spreads it with the goat cheese and tops it with small basil leaves.
I try to strive off the subject of the reaping.
"How's Posy?" I ask. Posy is Gale's little sister, not including his two younger brothers, Rory and Victor. "She's still sick, but your mom's medicine did the trick on her coughing," he answers.
He passes me a slice. I take a bite of the warm bread.
We stay quiet for a while until I can't help but quietly ask, "How many times is your name in today?"
"Fourty-two," he resents. "You?"
The thirty times my name is in that bowl is nothing compared to his entries. "Thirty." I answer.
"I guess the odds aren't exactly in our favor," he says, looking at the floor.
The air is humid and thick by this point. I pull up my sleeves, forgetting the immense amount of scars I had.
"Katniss," Gale's voice warns. I look at him and he grabs my arm. "What happened?" His eyes meet mine.
I quickly pull away, shoving down my sleeves and standing up. "Buttercup was being aggressive while I bathed him," I respond silently.
His eyebrow rises.
I've been keeping my secret of self-harm successfully since my father died. Gale didn't know; not anybody knew.
"You sure? Buttercup can be horrible like that." He smiles. "Yeah," I awkwardly respond; lips tightly together.
"We should get going by now." I pick my bow up from the ground and he stands up, too. We walk until we reach the fence. I slide under and wait for him to do the same, as it is harder since he's bigger.
On the way home, we stop by the Hob. I lean over the counter as Greasy Sae attends us. We trade our fish for a gallon of strawberries. I look at a small container she has on the counter. One opening contains a bundle of pins and buttons until a small, strange, yellow gleam catches my eye.
I pick it up. It's a mockingjay pin. I look at Greasy Sae and ask how much it costs. She says I can keep it as long as I keep the fresh game stock up. It's a good deal. She wishes us both luck as we walk out.
Afterwards, we walk to Madge Undersee's house, the daughter of District 12's mayor who always buys our strawberries. The odds today will most definitely be in her favor. We knock on her door, and see a stick-thin figure dressed in a white silk dress and gold buckle. Gale stares at her hard and I swallow.
"Here are your strawberries, Madge." She puts 5 dollars in my hand.
"Pretty," Gale says quickly.
"Thank you. I think I want to look my best if I get to go to the Capitol," she responds.
We both know there is no way she is going. Seven times compared to Gale's fourty-two times are again, nothing. This is her last reaping; she will never be entered for the Hunger Games again.
But you'd expect her to be a snob with her living conditions and all. We group up at school, talk at lunch, and occasionally help each other on homework.
She ignores Gale and looks at me. "Good luck today, Katniss." I nod and she closes her door.
We stop outside her house.
"See you at the reaping," I say to Gale, trying to swallow the obvious hint of nervousness in my throat.
"Wear something nice," Gale replies, sarcastically.
I rush home and open the door to find my mother actually awake and braiding Prim's hair.
"Oh, Prim. You look gorgeous," I say.
I kneel next to her.
"Tuck in your tail, little duck." She giggles and responds by making a small quack. "Quack yourself," I laugh back.
"I laid something out for you, Katniss," my mom says quietly. I purse my lips tightly.
"Okay," I say coldly.
Our relationship has never been the same ever since my dad died. She left a huge responsibility on my shoulders and left us to fend off for ourselves. I don't know; I don't believe I can forgive her for it.
I walk to my bed and see a blue dress that buttons up to the collar. It ties up in the back. It is obviously from my mother's younger, golden days, which surprises me.
I take a bath first, heating the water we used for cooking this morning. I scrub at my oily skin and dirt under my nails, and use a simple soap to wash at my hair. Afterwards, I dry myself with a small towel. I slide on the dress, button it up, and walk to the living room.
My mother stands behind me; her careful, but yet wrinkled fingers moving across my hair, braiding and pinning it up. I stare at the mirror, not being used to looking this presentable.
"You look even prettier than me," Prim says quietly.
I walk to her. "No, don't say that. You're so beautiful, Prim. I wish I looked like you."
The bell outside rings. The reaping will begin in less than an hour.
I quickly look at my mother, then back to Prim. "Everything's going to be okay. Okay? Once we're home we can thread that blanket you wanted for Buttercup for so long. I promise."
She still looks nervous. I slip my hand into my dress pocket and pull out the mockingjay pin. I look at her reassuringly as I slip it into her tiny, little hands.
"It's a Mockingjay pin. As long as you have it, nothing bad will happen to you. Okay?" I shake.
"Thank you, Katniss," she responds, slowly admiring the golden pin. This comforts her, and she holds my hand.
We walk to the square where the reaping is held every year.
As we enter the square, we see families, siblings, and couples holding hands. They don't know if the other will be sent.
The rules for the Hunger Games are simple. In response to the treason the districts had for rising against the Capitol, they created the Games. Each of the twelve districts sends one male and one female, ages twelve to eighteen, to the custody of the Capitol. They will be readied for three days, and then sent off to an arena, which can range from anything like a vast desert to a frozen wasteland.
They must then fight to the death until a lone person remains. This person then becomes the victor, and is sent on a victory tour to visit the districts, bringing even more misery to their life. It must be horrible to look into the eyes of the parents whose children you murdered, and see their painful expressions staring back.
In the square also lays the Justice Building, where I signed up for tesserae so many times. The deal is that you get grain and oil, enough to last you a few months, in exchange for having your name entered more times. I signed up at least ten times. Prim insisted on signing up for it, and I told her to never bring it up again.
We stand in line to sign in.
Everyone must attend unless you are on your death bed. Those who do not attend will later be visited by officials, and if illness is not the case, they are arrested. Or worse, killed.
I quickly turn to my side. "Prim, if anything, I love you. Now go wait over there with the kids your age. I'll find you after," I say.
She nods and walks off while I stand with the rest of the sixteen-year-olds. To my left, I see Gale in the male section. He gives me a comforting look and I nod.
I turn to look at the stage as Effie, our district escort, taps the microphone, which gives a loud buzz throughout the crowd. She's fresh out of the Capitol, with her white wig and purple suit. Matching her ridiculous heels are her 3 inch nails.
Behind her, I can see three seats. Two are filled by the Mayor and head peacekeeper of our district, Darius. The last seat remains empty. They look at it worriedly.
"Welcome, welcome, as we celebrate the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games," Effie squeals. It's obnoxious.
"As usual, ladies first." She gives a smile and then walks to the girl's reaping bowl on the left.
It's filled with thousands of slips. One has Primrose Everdeen on it, and thirty have Katniss Everdeen in clear, perfect print. She digs her hand into the bowl and pulls one out.
The crowd is absolutely silent as she walks to the microphone and opens the slip in her hands.
All I can think is that it's not me, that it's not me, it's not me. But in fact, it isn't me.
It's Primrose Everdeen.
