Disclaimer
None of the characters are mine, they all belong to Suzanne Collins, author of "The Hunger Games". I do not claim ownership of any of the settings or characters in this book.
This takes place in an alternate "Hunger Games" universe where Katniss never existed, therefore she never volunteered for Prim.
Rated K+ for some violence. WARNING! SAD!
I close my eyes and see the colors behind them. Blue, purple, green, and orange dance on my closed eyelids. I have been told that if you hope something enough, it will come true. I have never hoped anything more than now. I can't go to the hunger games, I just can't. I can't kill a person, I would die right away. My mother would have no one. I open my eyes.
"Mom," I call, "It's time to go!" My mother emerges from her room. She looks just as nervous as I feel, if not more.
"There's hardly a chance they'll pick you," she says, it sounds more like she's trying to assure herself than me, "this is your first year. Your first year, Prim" A sob enters her voice, but she pushes it back. My mother has never been completely stable, but she is trying to hold it together for me. This makes me feel horrible.
In silent unison, we both turn toward the door of our small house. Out of the corner of my eye, I see our cupboard. It is completely empty. I'm good at collecting berries, but I've never been very good at hunting. My father was, he's gone now. In a way, I sort of wish I am chosen for the hunger games, if I come back alive, then my mother and I will have as much food as we wish. But, there is the tiniest chance that I come back alive. At least if I die then my mom will have only herself to care for. No, that is foolish. I scold myself for thinking in such a way.
My thoughts are interrupted as we get to the center square. Standing higher than anyone else, is Effie. I know who she is, I have been forced to watch this ceremony for years. Of course, before this, my own life has never been on the line. I have wached, year after year after year, as one boy and one girl, randomly selected, would be dragged off to their almost certain doom. Not a single one of them came back alive. Their family and the rest of division twelve would grieve for them. Although, those of reaping age would be secretly relieved that it was those people dying and not themselves.
"And may all the odds be in your favour." I was, once again, savagely ripped out of my thoughts by the woman. I had missed her entire speech, I was glad. I hated her speech. I know it is wrong to hate people, but I have come very close to hating this woman who, year after year, ripped children away from their families and lives and shipped them off to doom.
Effie trotted over to the place where she would draw the names. "First," she said, in a sickeningly high-pitched and cheery voice, "the female tribute." Her hand reached into the bucket of names. I trembled. I was shaking uncontrollably. "Primrose Everdeen." Time stopped. No, no this could not be happening. I must have imagined it, I must be so overcome by fear that I had imagined it.
But no, everyone was looking at me. My mother shouted out, so in pain that my heart almost ripped in two. No, I couldn't have imagined it. As if in a trance, my legs moved without my mind telling them to. No! I screamed at myself. No, stop moving, you cannot do this, you cannot kill people!
Against my will, I walk up to the platform and stand next to Effie as she applauds me. I close my eyes again. The colors are performing a different dance now. Not the dance of hope and dread, but the dance of my impending doom. I can hardly hear the name of the male candidate. Everything around me is blurry, but my own thoughts are crystal clear. I know what's going to happen, and I know I'm going to die. But a plan starts forming in my head. I had always been very persuasive. Many people would die, but many people are going to die anyway. And we might be able to take the tradition of the hunger games, or at least a significant amount of the capital's pride, down with us.
I am on the train. My mother has just left from saying goodbye to me. She had cried, I had not. It was already hard for her, I didn't want to make it harder. I was terribly sorry, but there was no way that I would ride this train back home alive. The boy whose name had been called out after mine walked into my stall on the train. I remembered him slightly, his name was Peeta. He worked in the bread shop, I walked by that shop most days. I would inhale the scent of the bread, and either my stomach would be filled with the illusion of food, making me happy, or my stomach would be reminded of its hunger.
"Hello," he said, stretching out his hand to shake mine, "I'm Peeta."
"I'm Prim." I responded, shaking his hand. Well, if I was going to tell everyone about the plan, now fully formed in my head, now would be the time to start. "We need to talk." I told him. He sat down next to me and I told him my plan.
"It might work," he said when I was done, worry drenching his voice. "but I don't know if you'll be able to convince the other tributes."
"I'll try," I responded, "I have to."