Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or any of Taylor Swift's lyrics, sadly.
Never Grow Up—Taylor Swift
Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up.
Just stay this little.
Oh, darling, don't you ever grow up, don't you ever grow up.
It could stay this simple.
I won't let nobody hurt you,
Won't let no one break your heart.
No, no one will desert you.
Just try to never grow up, never grow up.
President Snow and his Gamemakers were ruthless this year. I knew that they didn't control whoever the two tributes from each of the four districts, despite all of Gale's misgivings that he supplied to her openly during the outings in the forest every weekend and sometimes afternoons after school. However, from then on, the President was able to control every aspect about that year's Games, from the designers they get to the actual events in the arena.
Prim and I had resolved to watch the Games just this once in the town center, where the large screen showed the events of the Games throughout the day and into the night. Walking into town, we were both quiet, my hand clasped tightly with her smaller one. The male tribute from our district—District 12—had been killed in the bloodbath from the start and the female, a girl nicknamed Rosie (she was in my class at school), was finished off by the annual group of Careers early into the first night. She had been lucky to escape a slow and painful death in the fatally cold landscape.
At this point, four weeks into the Games, there were only nine tributes left; four from the Careers (District 1 and District 2); the male and female tributes from District 5; a boy from District 9; and a small, blonde girl from District 10. The District 10 girl, whose name is Shaila Underwood, reminded me so much of Prim that it hurt because I knew that in the end, she would most likely not make it. The odds have been against her from the start. I gave a wry smile as an image of Effie Trinket, the coordinator for the District 12's tributes, drifted into my mind. She seemed to always be upbeat during the only times I've seen her, the drawings of each year's Hunger Games' tribute names. Apparently she had no sympathy for the children set against one another in a test of survival, seeing her two tributes be ripped to shreds every year.
Prim and I stayed at the back of the crowd of mostly townspeople and few citizens from the Seam. I didn't want any attention drawn to myself or my little sister. I preferred to stick to the lower class part of town mostly, but Prim always drags me into town at least once during every Hunger Games. I just think she wants to get a peek at the cakes in the bakery display window, the ones with elaborately iced patterns and beautifully crafted flowers. Of course, we could never afford a cake such as that, but Prim loves them. I had to admit that they are pretty magnificent, but then my mind always wanders to the Baker's son, Peeta Mellark whenever I think of the cakes.
I owed him my life as well as my family's lives. During those darkest days, after my father had died, Peeta's offering had kept us going and also renewed my stubbornness to keep Prim and my mother alive. The boy was given a beating for helping me, and I was sure that he knew what would happen when he did. Seeing him now, standing beside his father, staring up at the large screen mounted up so that every person could watch the happenings, I felt a shroud of wonder engulf me. Why had Peeta Mellark helped me? Out of all the starving people in District 12, why did he choose a useless girl who he had never met face-to-face before?
Shifting my gaze away from Peeta, I looked up at the screen, giving Prim's hand a feather-light squeeze. I saw her give me a tiny smile from out of the corner of my eye. The cameras in the arena were directed in the direction of a hollowed out cave, where the careers had taken refuge from a blizzard storm that had begun to come down hard upon them. As usual, most of that year's haul of necessities had been claimed by them and that left the other tributes scavenging in the wilderness.
Though it was then that the blizzard waned to a gradual stop and the afternoon sun shone brightly over the snowy arena. It was afternoon there, but here the moon was beginning to become clear in the darkening sky. I cringed inwardly as the camera view shifted to another tribute, the District 5 girl, who was trudging through the freshly lain white powder. I'm surprised that she had lasted so long. She had received a relatively low score in training and her interview was less than impressive, and the only real thing that was keeping her alive was her talent to create a fire using wet wood and the considerably large pack of perishable goods that she was eating from once a day. Of course, now she was heading in the completely wrong direction and the Careers' cave was in the distance. Plus, the girl was shivering from the intense cold and her lips had a certain blue hue that did not bode well.
How could she be so stupid? The question registered in my mind before I realized that the girl was desperate to escape her treacherous surroundings. I glanced anxiously down at Prim, unsure whether she should watch this or not. Her pretty blue eyes were captured by the screen and she was still as the limp rabbit I had managed to snare the day before. I shifted closer to my sister and tightened my hold on her hand, my heart pounding in my chest as my gaze flickered back to the Games.
She was almost there by now, less than a mile and her face was becoming increasingly pale. I briefly wondered whether hyperthermia would kill her faster than the Careers. For Prim's sake I hoped so, but sure enough one of the Careers had stepped from the shelter and had spotted the girl almost instantly. I shivered at the look of pure joy on the girl's gaunt features.
The girl was over with quickly. The Career had forced a spear into her chest and another had slit her throat. I pulled Prim into me as the blood bubbled in her mouth and she fell onto the snow, staining it scarlet. Pressing Prim's contorted face into my chest with an arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, I turned away from the scene. Not for the first time, anger toward the Capitol rushed through my veins. For driving the poor girl to suicide and for destroying so many innocent lives.
Prim pulled away from my grasp, making to turn around and continue watching the Games, but I refused to allow her to witness any more grisly executions. I reverted back to our house a little ways away, tugging Prim behind me, deaf to her protests. "It's getting late," I told her. My tone must have been forceful because she grew quiet.
Mother was already sleeping by the time we returned home, or at least she was in bed. I prepared Prim for bed, getting her dressed in a nightdress and helping her to comb out her hair from its braid. Settling the sheets up to her chin and pressing a gentle, loving kiss to her forehead I knew that she would join Mother in bed during the night because of the nightmares that were sure to ensue from the death of the poor District 5 girl.
I got ready for bed myself and sat in front of our dusty old mirror hung on one of the walls of Prim's and my room. Unwinding my own braid pushing the loose strands from my face, I got dressed in my bedclothes. Then I just sat there on the beaten stool, staring at Prim's unmoving form on the bed. As she lay there I pictured with horror all those years in the future in which Prim will be subjected to the torture of having to put her name into the drawings and risk her own life if Effie Trinket called out her name with vigor.
No, I forced the thought from my mind, unable to face the possibility of one time seeing my sister on that screen fighting to stay alive in an arena with twenty-three other tributes. That cannot happen. I would volunteer in her place, I had to. There was no way that Prim would ever have to go through such experiences. She would change too much. Now, she was my sweet Prim, always eager to help any person or animal and so smart. After the Games, if she indeed actually win, she wouldn't my Prim anymore. She would be all grown up, grown up too fast.
Closing my eyes and sighing, I got up from the stool, leaving my thoughts to rest. Laying on the stiff mattress beside Prim, I stroked her blonde waves, hoping to whatever deity that was out there and listening that she would always be save, always stay so innocent.
Well, there it is! I'm actually surprised that I managed to finish this, considering that I started months ago and never got around to finishing it until tonight. I'm not that great writing from a person's POV (considering that I write mostly Warriors fanfiction) , but hopefully I managed to well enough. Actually, now that I think about it, another song that could go with this is Innocent by Taylor Swift!