prologue; the girl on fire
I watch the screen quietly. I would be bored if not for two reasons; one, I am a stylist in the Games this year. Two, I am watching what will be, most likely, the last time two of these children will see their homes.
The other stylist for District 12, Portia, is standing just behind my chair, and we have tuned in to this district's reaping earlier than most stylists do. The mayor has finished his speech just as I have finished looking through the crowd of possible tributes from age 12 to 18, though I haven't had a good look at them, as the camera has been focusing on the mayor himself for most of the time. I see this district's mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, as the screen introduced him, stumble into the camera's view. From just how intoxicated he looks, I feel even more sorry for District 12's tributes.
I recognise Effie Trinket, of course, cheery as can be, giving the line she's almost known for around here. After her encounter with Haymitch, she's looking just a little sideways and seems to be waiting until she can pull the slip, not so excited about this reaping anymore. She keeps her bubbly attitude though, even as she reads the name on the slip of paper.
"Primrose Everdeen." Unlike in other districts, nobody cheers. This girl, Primrose, looks barely ten years old to me, though I know she must be twelve because there's no other way she'd be in the reaping. She's pale with fear, knuckles whiter than the rest of her as she clenches her hands, as she walks up to the stage.
"Prim! Prim!" I hear a new voice call out, almost choking, as a girl maybe fifteen or sixteen makes her way through the crowd. This other girl, dark hair, small but tough, if you look close enough, contrasts against Primrose's blonde hair and her fragile frame. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" There's a bit of a hush for a moment, a murmur on the stage, then Effie says something. I'm not paying attention to them. The girl, Primrose, is begging the volunteer not to go, and I can see, even if nobody else can, the pain in the volunteer's eyes. A young man picks up the girl and takes her off. Effie asks the volunteer's name.
"Katniss Everdeen," she says. Primrose must have been her sister, though they don't look much alike. Effie says something, quickly, but again I'm not paying attention to what she is saying. I'm studying Katniss' features, wondering how to make her really shine, though I think she's done that herself just now.
"Well, she was just on fire out there!" Portia sounds delighted. Then I know who this girl is.
Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire.