Welp, I finally got a Bluetooth keyboard, so I am back, probably with the most unoriginal story on this site, but I need to get back in the hang of things, so here it is!
Disclaimer: I do not in anyway shape or form own Hunger Games, merely changing some details and putting a spin on things
The knock was what sounded the time to leave. My mother put one last pin in my hair, smoothing out the blue dress while Prim ran to the door, her excited voice traveling through the small house.
Peeta was here.
My mother started to guide me out, but i shook off her arm, barely suppressing my anger. Now was not the time to be sentimental.
"Are you going to make cheese buns? And those dips of frosting that melt in your mouth? I just love those!" Prim's' voice was raising as she babbled, talking about the celebratory feast. Peeta had promised her her favorites, in reward for marking it through her first Reaping.
"Prim," my voice called out, announcing my presence, Peeta beaming smile at Prim turned shy as he took me in. I was hardly ever this dressed up. No one was in District 12.
"Hi, Katniss," He said, his kind smile, one that was turning familiar, aimed at me. I nodded in response, today was not one for smiling. "I thought I could you to the square?" It came out as a question, doubt lacing his tone, though it had every reason to be there, Prim's' Widening eyes sealed the deal, she would give up goat milk for a week if it meant a afternoon in public. Already he was her favorite sibling, and he wasn't even apart of the family.
Yet.
Nodding my consent, I slip on the shoes my mother held out to me, taking Peeta's' arm, Prim's' hand clasped tightly in his.
I feel like I am in a funeral party, no matter how many bright streamers decorate the building in the merchant part of the District. Today two names would be called. Two fates sealed for death.
Prim is unhappy to be separated from us, making Peeta promise one more for cheese buns, before our mother showed her to the front where the other twelve-year-olds are waiting. Nearly all the ones from the Seam are shaking, their clothes thinner and dirtier than the ones from the Merchant class. Most likely they have taken out extra slips for food, to make it to the next year, until the process starts again.
A women, far to brightly colored in the grim fog of District 12, stands on the stage. The mayor had just finished the obligatory speech, People clap out of fear of the Peacekeepers more than actual enjoyment, if you can find any at all.
Her words accented by the ridicules Capital accent. Flourishing her hand, she walked over tot he girls, and I start begging, to whom I don't know, the reality of the situation crashing down. Please not me, pleasenotmepleasenotme-
"Primrose Everdeen."
My heart is choking is my throat, I feel someone behind me clasp my arm to keep me from falling. And then I see her. Small timid steps, her shirt falling out of her skirt, her little tail-
"I volunteer!" My voice wrenches out of my throat, and I'm running, shoving a screaming Prim behind me. "I volunteer as tribute!"
Shocked silence, even Effie Trinket, the woman of many words seems to have lost her voice. "Well," She starts, clearing her throat, "Normally we wait until all tributes are called, and then, um," She trails off. This was not a often occurrence in 12, hell, this wasn't even near rare. It was unheard of. Never spoken of, or tried.
"Oh, let her up," Says the Mayor, "She volunteered,". Something akin to kindness is in his voice. We have met in passing, when I sell my strawberries to him, but we have never spoken out of making a deal.
Prim, still screaming her head of, is ripped from behind me, a glance back reveals Gale having her trapped in his arms.
I drown out the humming of the cameras, the wailing my little sister, my little duck.
When I reached the stage, Effie Trinket is gushing, talking how brave I am, guessing, correctly, that Prim is my sister.
Obviously she has amazing deducing skills.
And, though I know I wouldn't take it back for the world, I can't bring myself to meet Peeta's' gaze, that is burning a hole in the side of my head.
As Effie walks to the other side of the stage, toward the boys, I give myself 5 seconds to get a grip on my emotions.
1
For my mother
2
For Prim
3
For Gale
4
For myself.
5
For
"Peeta Mellark!"