A Flower's Observations

By

Snuffles4Eva

A/N: Yes, it's me, but I thought I'd try some Hunger Games instead. Ok?

Don't forget to review :)

Disclaimer: Yay! I own Sime! Everyone else, nope.

….

I was there, that day, you know. I heard the name, that fateful name, pulled from the ball that held them. Them. The innocent children. It held their death sentence. I barely heard the babbling of Effie Trinket, the pounding of blood in my ears too great, blocking out all the sounds of the world. Despite the cold, I was sweating slightly. Effie rang out with her signature line; 'Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds ever be in your favour!'

Ha. What did she know? She was probably never in this position. Never had to feel the thick, killer tension that I– that all of us feel today. She probably grew up in the Capitol, eating roast duck and plum stew, drinking hot cocoa, laughing at all the poor tributes, selected just to give her pleasure. I hated her with all my being at that moment. Cruel, sadistic humans, if you could call them 'humans'. Seeking pleasure out of watching children all ages, some barely out of their childhood, others ready to be adults, seeking pleasure about watching them kill each other? What are they, those Romans of the early times, before our world today? Those who would watch wild animals kill others because of their faith? Nope, they're not Romans. They're worse. Blooming sadistic narcissists.

But not only hatred coursed through my veins. The unwelcome but overwhelming sense of anxiety hung over my head like a dark cloud. What if I was picked? The question bounced about my brain, turning up again and again. My mother would say 'turning up like a bad penny'.

Mother. What was to happen to her if I were picked? I'm sure Katniss would provide for her, but she would probably be driven mentally unstable, what with the loss of her husband, and one of her daughters.

Katniss, Gale, Madge – all these names bounced about in my head, 'til I just wanted to clap my hands over my ears, push my way out of this stifling crowd, and run home, not stopping until I was curled up in my bed, covers over my head as I used to do whenever there was a storm. I still don't like lightning.

See. I wouldn't last 10 minutes in the Hunger Games. I'm 12, and afraid of a little lightning, for Pete's sake. I certainly wouldn't come back. There's no hope for me.

Now the sense of anxiety is overpowering, and my world spins as Effie reaches towards the ball. The one with so many death sentences just waiting to picked, and then signed, before the victim even reaches the stage. It made me sick. I'm fairly sure that if I wasn't so nervous, I'd've thrown up all over the shoes of the guy next to me. But the nervousness stopped any other function in my body than the twitching of my eyes, watching Effie Trinket slowly lower her hand into the ball-of-death. Could she do this any slower? The tension is killing all of us here – and one of us will literally be dead by the end of the next, what, two weeks? A fortnight? That's a scary thought. One of us not living to see the next month in. I looked around me at the crowd. Most children I recognised, some I knew well, and some I have never seen before, but all echoed the nervousness and anxiety I was quickly becoming fast friends with.

I searched the crowd for Katniss. There she was, standing a little way behind me, her face turned so I couldn't see. I figured she must be looking at Gale, so I moved to turn around again. Before I did, her head came swinging round, and she caught my eye. She offered me a weak smile, which I returned before turning around again, and watching Effie Trinket rummage around in the ball. I focused in on all the small slips of white paper in there. 20 of them have Katniss Everdeen on, written with very careful handwriting. One of them has my name on – Primrose Everdeen. What is the likelihood? I repeat this question over and over in my mind, trying to convince myself that it wasn't going to be me, and I was being selfish, worrying about my one name, instead of thinking about Katniss' twenty.

Effie pulled a small, white slip of paper from the ball, and walked over to the podium. Hoping and praying it wasn't me, the sense of anxiety overwhelmed me, and I almost fainted, if it wasn't for Sime, who held me up. Sime is my best friend. He has 3 older brothers who have escaped the Hunger Games before, and he's hoping he will too. Secretly, so am I.

I watch as Effie unrolls the slip of paper, and takes a deep breath, preparing to read out the name of the poor, unsuspecting victim. Praying to all people who I hoped were up there, I took a deep breath, and attempted to calm myself, convincing myself it wasn't going to be me.

'Primrose Everdeen'

I promptly fainted.

….

A/N: Is it worth carrying on? I don't know whether to concoct some more chapters for this, or just leave it as a, rather brief, oneshot… I'll do what you'll think, but if ya don't reply, I'll do what I think. Fair Deal?

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Snuffles4Eva