A/N: Yeah, I know, this has probably been done before in a million different ways in this fandom, but I was curious. And I wanted to practice with first person present tense, something I'm not used to. That being said, I'm sure it needs work. That's why I'm posting this, to see what you guys think. If you like, or have helpful criticism, please comment! It will be based on the book and the movie because my memory is crappy. Enjoy :)
(My) Girl on Fire
Reaping day. Just the words put a hard knot of dread deep in my stomach. But I get up anyway. I roll out of bed and pad out of my small bedroom; my bare feet surprisingly silent on the familiar, smooth old floorboards.
Outside, I tiptoe down the hall, past my parents' room and the room my brothers share, into the small kitchen that doubles as Dad's bakery. The only bread we would be making today will be for ourselves; all shops close down for the Reaping. The sky outside the shop windows shows it to be barely morning, but there's no way I can go back to sleep. Not today. So I do the only thing I can do: keep my hands busy with bread.
Mixing the ingredients in a large bowl; massaging the cold sticky dough in my hands; the mindless act of baking calms me, and gives me something to focus on other than the future. As I'm pressing the dough into a small iron pan, a distinctive flicker of brown and black flashes past the window on my left.
Someone else who can't sleep in—Katniss Everdeen.
As always when I think of her, my stomach flips and flutters with queasy little butterflies. As always, I think about calling out to her. But my throat contracts, swallowing down the words.
As I quickly shove the pan into the brick oven for baking, I wonder what I would say to her, if I did get the chance. Hi Katniss. I'm Peeta Mellark. You probably don't remember me, but I remember you. I see you at school all the time…
Yeah, good luck with that, Peeta, a small voice that sounds suspiciously like my mother says sarcastically in the back of my mind. I snort quietly to myself, shaking my head and focusing back on the soft, mushy dough in my hands.
…..
Like every other morning, the morning of the Reaping slips by in an instant. Though I know it's been hours, it feels like only a few minutes before my mother is in the kitchen, shooing me back to my room to get ready.
On my bed, a clean white shirt and dark pants—hand me downs, from my older brother—lay waiting. Numbly, I strip off my shirt, and wash my hair and face in the small rusty basin that was also left out for me. Quietly I dress, and when I'm done I go back to the kitchen, where my mother attacks my hair with her precious ivory comb, slicking the wet locks flat against my scalp. She does it wordlessly, focusing more on the task itself than me. Going through the motions, just like me.
Once we're all dressed and combed to my mother's satisfaction, we make our way to the square with all the other families. I trail slightly behind, automatically scanning the crowd for the Everdeens. For Katniss. But we're with the earlier families, and as a result, the later arrivals swell behind us, a uniform wall of gray-faced people that make it impossible to pick out anyone, even Katniss's fair-haired mother and sister.
Disappointed, I give it up, mumbling a good-bye to my mother and brothers, who hardly seem to hear me, and to my dad, who nods back and half smiles, gripping my shoulder briefly as I move away to join the other male sixteen year olds.
I stare at the crumbling façade of the Justice Building, hands clenching and unclenching at my sides in an effort not to fidget, while the rest of the families sign in and break apart into their age groups.
Finally, I see her. Katniss. She stands with the female sixteen year olds, across the way, tense, worried, dark eyes flickering—then her head turns, and her face brightens. I look away then. I know who she's looking at, and it isn't me.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome," Effie Trinket suddenly trills from the stage. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor! Now, before we begin, we have a very special film, brought to you all the way from the Capitol!" She then turns to the screen, directing everyone's eyes upward with a purple gloved hand.
I stop really watching then. It's the same every year. The same story. I keep staring forward, wishing it would just hurry up and finish already…
When it does, Effie speaks again. "I just love that! Now the time has come for us to select one courageous young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th annual Hunger Games! As usual, ladies first!"
I watch, stomach bunching in queasy knots, heart somewhere near my Adam's apple, hoping, praying Katniss's name wouldn't be the one-
Effie reaches one long fingered, purple tipped hand into the glass sphere with the girls' names, and after a brief hesitation, her hand plunges in, bringing out a folded piece of paper. She opens it carefully, and clears her throat…
"Primrose Everdeen."
For a moment, relief rushes through me. It's not Katniss. But then I remember. Everdeen. It doesn't fully click though until a little fair-haired twelve year old girl moves out of the crowd, tucking the back of her blouse into the back of her skirt. Oh no. No. Primrose Everdeen. Katniss's little sister. My hands clench helplessly at my sides as the Peacekeepers move in to guide her to the stage.
Then Katniss realizes. Nobody stops her as she moves out into the open. "Prim! Prim!" The desperation in her voice is as painful as a hot coal. I can't look. I look away, biting my lip hard enough to hurt, nails digging into my palms.
Then-"I volunteer! I volunteer!"
The bottom drops out of my stomach. I look up in horror as she continues, straightening up almost defiantly: "I volunteer as tribute."
Effie's as surprised by this as the rest of us. "It…It seems we have a volunteer."
The Peacekeepers let Katniss go. The sisters embrace, Katniss speaking low and urgently; then Prim starts to scream, "No!" fighting the Peacekeepers until Gale pushes through the crowd, picks her up and hauls her back. The Peacekeepers re-form around Katniss, guiding her to the stage under Effie's trills of encouragement.
Katniss walks, silent and pale, up to the stage, where Effie brings her up and asks for her name. "Katniss Everdeen."
"Well, I bet my hat that was your sister, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
"Let's have a big hand for our very first volunteer, Katniss Everdeen!"
No one applauds. Instead, everyone touches three fingers to their lips and holds them out to her. To Katniss. Heart back in my throat, along with all the unsaid hellos, I do the same.
"And now for the boys!" I don't watch as she bustles over to the sphere with the boys' names. My eyes are on Katniss, beautiful and tragic in her pretty blue dress and side braid…
"Peeta Mellark."
It takes me a second to register why everyone around me is suddenly moving away, staring at me with solemn eyes. Me. She called me. My heart drops from my throat to somewhere in my stomach. My veins freeze. I want to run, back to the warmth and the familiarity of the bakery, but I can't. Instead, I move numbly out of the crowd, up to the stage. To Katniss, but not in the way I have ever imagined it. The crowd is silent. No one volunteers for me. I take the stage, my clenched fists trembling.
After that, things happen in a quick blur. Katniss's cold hand in mine as we numbly shake hands. Effie ushering us into the Justice Building with a group of Peacekeepers. Two of them splitting off to guide me to a different room from Katniss. Automatically my head turns, watching her until I'm being pushed into my own small room for an hour. An hour of waiting.
With no Katniss to distract me, reality truly crashes in. My legs turn from solid ice to jelly. I stagger over to the velvet window seat and collapse on it. My hands are shaking. I watch them where they lay on my thighs, as if they belong to someone else…
My head jerks up like a puppet on strings as the doorknob turns. My mother, still in her ivory-colored dress and matching comb, comes in, her once-pretty face expressionless.
Tears sting in my eyes. "Mom." My voice cracks as I get up, diving into her arms as if I were five again. Her arms fold around me. Her hand strokes the back of my head lightly.
"Maybe District 12 will finally have a winner," She says quietly after a moment. "She's strong."
She. Not 'he'. Not 'you'. Not me. I pull away from her, examining her face for a joke. There isn't one. She smiles, but it's not a nice smile. She pats my cheek, but her hand is as cold as her comb. When the Peacekeepers come for her, she goes without a backward glance.
My dad comes in next, brushing past my mother without looking at her. When he sees me, he doesn't hesitate. "My boy." He pulls me to him and hugs me hard, my face pressing into his shoulder.
"Dad." I try and fail to sound okay. I know I fail because Dad's grip tightens. My throat closes, and I can't talk anymore. Dad can't seem to, either, so for the rest of the time we have left we just stand there. I don't realize I'm crying until Dad pulls away at the sound of the door opening.
He is, too. He puts his big hands on my shoulder, hands I admired as a kid for their ability to frost the most delicate of cakes, squeezing. "I love you, my son. Remember that." He says quickly, and leaves before the Peacekeepers try to drag him out. After that, I'm alone. No one else comes to visit. I sit on the velvet seat and try to stop the panic that comes out as quiet sobs. I manage to by the end of the hour, but it's a close thing.
It's a different pair of Peacekeepers from last time. I can tell because one is a woman, and the other is shorter than before. They don't order me up right away; they stand quietly for a moment while I quickly scrub the rest of the wetness off my face with a sleeve.
When the woman motions to me, I stand, trying to be straight and tall, like Katniss. For Dad, though I know he can't see me. For myself. For my district.
They lead me out to join back up with Katniss and Effie, who shepherds us into a car for the ride to the train station. Effie sits between us, chattering on about chandeliers and doorknobs and treats, but I'm not listening. My hearing seems to shut down as reality sets in again. This is really happening. I really have been chosen to go to the Capitol and fight to the death on national TV. With Katniss Everdeen, of all people.
No, the odds were not in my favor today.