Whoa. Hunger Games Fiction? Nu-uh! I usually stay in the Harry Potter part of this site! Look at me breaking out of my shell. Now, I had to make this Prim seem a bit OOC, but don't worry she's not a thirty year old extreme bodybuilder or anything. She's just stronger and more grownup than we see through Katniss's overprotective eyes. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: All things Hunger Games belong to the beautiful Suzanne Collins. Not me.
It's one o'clock. Katniss takes my hand in hers and we make our way down to the square for the Reaping. I know there are hundreds of names in the ball that could be chosen, but I can't help but feel nervousness run through me in the fear that the odds will turn against me and that one slip of paper that has my name on it.
She gives my hands a final squeeze leaves me with the rest of the younger girls in the back of the roped off area. I can feel the back of my shirt coming from my skirt but I don't bother to tuck it back in. Who cares how we look? The people in the district are too preoccupied with worry that they or a loved one might get chosen, and the Capitol don't care about us. If they cared, they wouldn't let so many people come to our house, sick with starvation or hurt by some accident in those shabby mines.
The mayor starts reading the same speech he always reads, year after year, abut the history of Panem. I've never listened to all of it; I'm usually worried about Katniss. If Katniss was ever picked I don't know what I would do. After our father died Katniss became our rock. She wasn't my sister anymore, she became my hero.
But I didn't even have to worry about her this year. I didn't even have time to worry about myself before Effie Trinket pulls out a slip of paper, skips back to the podium, and reads my name.
I take a moment to close my eyes and say a silent goodbye to district twelve. I'm not a pessimist, but I'm also not a naive twelve year old girl. I'm a twelve year old girl that's seen a few too many starved children to know that life isn't fair.
Sucking in a deep breath, I make my way up to the stage. I look at the sixteen year old girls bending over a figure on the gown dressed in blue. Katniss. I'm glad she isn't conscious to do something stupid like volunteer to take my place.
I shake Effie's hand and turn to stare out at my district. The tears burn around the edges of my eyes but I force myself to bite the corners of my lips and stay strong, just like Katniss would do. Then I hear his name. The one name that I hoped wouldn't be called as much as I had done for Gale's.
"Peeta Mellark."
It almost forces me to curl up into a ball and sob, right then and there. Peeta can't be coming to the arena with me. Peeta is my friend. I never told anyone about our friendship, not even Katniss. It was an easy secret to keep. For some reason both of them avoided the topic of the other completely. Katniss, because she doesn't even know him well enough, and Peeta, because he liked her. I knew by the way he looked at her sometimes at school.
I allow myself a small smile as I remember the day we met.
I walk down the street from Marietta's house. Not really walk but skip. Today's my birthday and best of all, a Friday. Now I can have the birthday present. Katniss will have brought home a nice meal, and after we've eaten we can sit around the fire telling stories and singing. And best of all, we can stay awake as late as we want, not having to worry about school or Katniss waking up early to get things from the market for the rest of the week.
Before I take a left to go home, I can't help but go by the bakery. It's one of the prettiest things in the district, mainly because the cakes and cookies are covered in cute frosting instead of coal dust. Whenever I get Katniss to go there with me, she glances at them impatiently then drags me back home.
This time when I stop outside of the window, I stare at each of the cakes for as long as I want. I end up being there for so long that the baker ends up coming out and talking to me.
I tell him how much I love coming by and looking at his cakes and he tells me that one of his sons is the ones that does all of the decorating. He even asks me if I want to go and meet him. I agree quickly and he leads me into his shop/house.
"My wife's in the back with the ovens," he says in a hushed tone as if he doesn't want to disturb her. He leads me to the back and opens a door. Inside is a table where I see all kinds of tubes and paints, and a person bending over a cake frosted in plain white.
He looks up slowly, as if our entrance has pulled him from another world and then smiles when he see's me.
"She was outside looking at your cakes for a while. I thought I would take her in and let her see you at work." He smiled at me one more time and left, shutting the door behind him.
The boy gets up from the table and comes to tower over me. It's not that he's tall, he's average height. But he's huge in the muscled way that tells you he doesn't spend all day in a bright room frosting cakes.
He sticks out his hand. "Peeta," he says softly, still smiling. I breathe in deeply to make myself seem taller and put my hand in his.
"Primrose Everdeen."
I almost wish that Gale had been chosen instead of him. There's no way that I can let Peeta Mellark die in the arena.
A/N: So do you like it? It sounds like it totally needs more, but I just have no time to push this into a chapter story, I'm so sorry. But please review anyway, it keeps me going!
~Love, Crazy~