Alright, guys… drew my inspiration together to form some coherent sentences, and this is the nonsense you received. :)
Some of this wonderful inspiration has come from who you may know I beta for, DeathCabForBritney (if you don't, check her out, she's incredible.)
Other parts come from way too much time with my own brain. Wanna trade for a little while?
Anyone?
No…?
Okay, well, here is the first of hopefully a decent-sized story.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am affiliated with any of the Hunger Games—character, or real life. I do not own the plot of the Hunger Games trilogy, merely my own twists to it. I do not know Suzanne Collins. I only wish.
Katniss Mellark
May the odds be ever in your favor…
Ladies first!
Katniss Mellark…
My feet tangle together. I trip up the stairs, in front of the entirety of Panem. And the problem with that, is from here out, I am the perfect fresh meat to be slaughtered so intensely…
Panem would never forget my death, thanks to those who chose to do so…
I'm up before my brothers. That's pretty typical for me today, mostly because I'm scared. They're probably awake too, in their own rooms, in their own worlds. But I can't hide in my room like they can, unfortunately.
Already, I'm craving human interaction, negative or not. Normally, she really isn't that bad today. It'd scare away more customers than normal because everyone is skittish, really.
I braid and unbraid my hair a few times before deciding to chance it and padding down the stairs as quietly as possible. That way, if I hear her being extra grouchy this morning, I can escape back to my room unscathed.
There are almost no sounds throughout the house, and I wonder if she's even up when I see him, and his glance flickers in my direction. Hunter's eyes, I'm sure.
He is giving my father two squirrels in exchange for bread. I see Father give him an extra piece of bread, and just know that Father is being generous today. If Mother had caught him, we all never would hear the end of it.
The boy knows that my family owns the bakery in town. He knows me from school. He knows that I hang out with a lot of people at school.
He doesn't know that I hang out with a lot of people at school because I feel incapable of being by myself for an extended period of time. I've been around so many people since I was born, that I wouldn't know how to do what I know he does.
Out hunting in the woods, with his dark-haired friend until they know that they can't get any more game for the day.
Sometimes, it's late when he stops by… but I don't mind, and continue to look forward to the brief moments I see him.
His coloring and build are wrong to be from the Seam. Everyone says he takes after his mother that way; a merchant's daughter stole by a Seam man who could make the birds stop to listen…
He has the same voice as his father. Melodic, wonderful baritone with a clear intonation that makes all the girls swoon.
With Gale, his hunting friend, they could bring the woods that are forbidden around this area to life with the echoing of the mountain melodies they both grew up with, baritone and bass against the altos of the forest and town.
Slowly, I work my hair into braids that trail all over the back of my head, wishing again that my bangs were long enough to tuck behind my ear.
I am the opposite of him.
A town girl, with Seam coloring. Everyone was sure my mother had been unfaithful to my father because of the olive skin, dark hair, and grey eyes I bear.
She's downstairs, too. But she is in oddly good spirits as this is the last year for all three of us kids to be in the Reaping simultaneously. Now there will be just Barmbrack and I. Then, just me for a year.
There is a blue dress waiting for me on my bed, and I scrub myself as clean as I possibly can. I'm not as dirty as some of the people who live here, but I'm trying to make sure that I look okay.
Wouldn't want the cameras in District Twelve to actually portray how we really look. This is supposed to be a celebration, of course!
I roll my eyes at my own thoughts, and sigh at myself in the small mirror we have before I hear the call she does every year.
"Lady and gentlemen! We need to get a move on! Don't want to be late for you to not be Reaped!"
I'm in the block right now, fidgeting. Waiting for my turn to sign in at the Reaping. My mother would be furious to see me pulling at the sides of this dress, but since I'm waiting to be lined up with others for slaughter, I think I can afford her to be angry later.
The worst she'll do—if she notices—is slap me a couple of times. I understand, though. Clothing like this is very expensive, and she wants to get the most possible wear out of it.
With the sun beating down on us, I begin looking around at the girls around me. All sixteen, all scared half to death.
The other second half of being scared to death won't come but to one girl. Somewhere in the ages of twelve, and eighteen.
I take a deep breath, and spot Gale Hawthorne out of the corner of my eye. I know his family is large, and he most likely had to sign up for tesserae for all of his younger siblings.
While we didn't have much, we were certainly better fed than that family. Peeta Everdeen is right there with him, and I feel my cheeks light up like he may have seen me looking at him. Gale says something to him, and he smiles tightly.
I know he is worried that Gale may get drawn this year.
Gale being drawn at the Reaping means half as much game, and no doubt they will have told each other they will take care of the other's family while the other is away… which means six more mouths to feed, on top of his little sister and mother.
My eyes search frantically in front of me as I think of his little sister, and I find her.
Her shirt tail is sticking out a little bit in the back, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. I press my lips together, chewing on the inside of the bottom one.
I wonder what would have happened if I had thought about getting tesserae for them, too. Put my own name for the Hawthornes and the Everdeens, to help them out.
I think back to a day a few years ago, with Peeta Everdeen under the tree by the back of the bakery, trying to scrape anything together for food. He was starving, and if he was starving, so was his mother and sister.
My mother went out and barked at him, and I saw the whole thing from the window.
He stumbled away, cloth of some sort in hand, trying to get off the property before she did something drastic, stupid, or both. She's known for being a certain amount of cruel…
But really, it's to keep us humble and remind us that we are no better than anyone else in District Twelve. We are the bakers that keep everyone else fed… at a price for them to keep us fed.
She's constantly reminding us that we are interdependent. Stealing—even out of our garbage—throws that whole scheme of things off.
That's not how my mind works, though. My mind operates under the setting of "If it can be fixed, and you can fix it, do so."
So, when she came back in, grumbling about him fishing in our completely empty trash, I let her have it. Not the way it sounds—I did it nearly silently.
There were two loaves of bread finishing baking over the fire, filling the air with an aroma that only could be described as "heavenly." They were going to be wonderful, and we could sell them for an aching price because they also had raisins in them.
The time was up for their stay in the heat, however… so when I went over to take them out, all I could think about was Peeta.
Peeta, pronounced like pita, a type of bread… And how easily I could help his family.
My hand slipped.
The bread fell, in its already perfectly baked glory, straight toward the flames. As it sank, my mother shrieked in horror and anger, and grabbed the tongs and threw them at me.
I picked the bread up out of the fire, careful not to burn myself.
"Stupid girl!" she screeched as her hand left a burning slap across my cheek. "Do you have any idea how much money you just cost us! Where is your father going to find raisins again? Incompetent fool! Go and give that to the pigs! Then come back in here, for your rightful spanking!"
Beating was more like it. I sighed, and went outside.
It was a torrential downpour, to say the least. He was under the old willow tree, probably trying to think of where else to go, when the bread hits the ground by his feet.
He looked up, squinting at me, and we stared at each other for a moment before I went back inside. I knew that no matter how badly she beat me; there was nothing that could take that moment—where I could really help someone, and did.
It was then, that I realized that I love him and really could never truly love anyone more than him. I risked my own health and well being to save someone that had really never looked at me before.
Every now and then I would catch his glance at school, really hoping he would pull me aside to say something, but he never did. I think about it very rarely anymore, but at first it kind of upset me. Then I realized he was trying to do me a favor.
The problem with trying to do a stubborn girl a favor like that is exactly this: she's stubborn.
I am a stubborn girl, and his favor was received more of ignoring me. It hurt, but I got over it mostly.
Only mostly because I still have this feeling that if I just talked to him, he may see me differently than the girl who threw bread at him once when he didn't have any food.
It's replaying in my mind. Different versions though, when I walk down to him and give him the bread. One where I invite him inside and my mother is not there at all.
Truthfully, I have been fantasizing about a day I may talk to him since before I can remember.
I look around, unaware of the time.
Nearly everyone is checked in and here by now, but really everything is just a giant mess.
Girls are where they're not supposed to be, and so are guys. Pushing back around and trying to figure out who stands where… it always takes way too long for the Peacekeepers to figure out how to organize us. They don't normally have to, because we're intelligent and know the rules.
We know the rules so well, that we know exactly which ones break and which ones bend… and which ones you should leave alone.
Darius, the lead Peacekeeper of District Twelve, clears his throat and hollers out for everyone to freeze so he can get us actually assembled before the people from the Capitol show up.
We do as directed, and are in neat little lines. I spot Primrose Everdeen up front, the tail of her shirt still hanging out.
I see Peeta across the yard. He looks back at Gale, who nods knowingly. Everything is relatively silent. Here in District Twelve, this Reaping is exactly what it was intended to be in the first place. Frightening and dreadful.
I hear at the Capitol, the people love this part of the whole excursion.
First meeting two young people from all twelve districts, making them glamorous… but really, it's just a pretty ribbon to tie around what everyone here is feeling so nauseous for.
The Hunger Games.
Designed by the government, the Hunger Games is a televised fight to the death between twenty-four people between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Two people are selected out of slips of paper that are mixed around. One boy, one girl from each district.
We've been standing here for what feels like hours, when the train finally arrives.
It's sleek, silver, and completely out of place in our meager town.
But even the train is more in place here, than the object that steps out of it.
Pink, from head to toe. Different shades of pink, but all of them brilliant.
Clack! Clack! Clack!... Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack!
It's Effie Trinket, the Capitol escort for District Twelve.
She looks completely ridiculous, and I'm not paying attention as she talks about what an honor it is to be returning this year. Everyone knows she's just sucking up to the Capitol in the hopes of not getting stuck with District Twelve again next year.
And as always, they'll ignore her and she'll be back, just as annoying. Just hopefully not as… pink.
I'm so distracted by the craziness of her entire get up that I have completely missed the usual video played every year about how the Hunger Games came to be. About how our country rose up against "the government that fed them, clothed them, protected them."
The Capitol always seemed grotesquely exaggerative of the nature of the crimes that we as a people supposedly committed.
Letting us starve because of something people did seventy-four years ago seems rather moot to me. None of us remember it, because no one gets to be that age around here.
Well, except for Greasy Sae, the woman who runs a food booth at the illegal trading center. It's affectionately referred to as the Hob.
From what I overheard Gale saying in school, Peeta and he go there on a regular basis.
Enter: Haymitch Abernathy.
Drunken bastard.
The only living Victor of District Twelve, and a complete buffoon. He stumbles onto the stage, drunk out of his mind… and tries to hug Effie. He knocks her wig sideways, and attempts to walk back to take a seat next to the mayor, but trips headfirst off of the stage.
"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor," Effie sings out over the ruckus Haymitch and the Peacekeepers trying to help him have created.
I glance at Primrose Everdeen, and back at Peeta again to see their reactions. Prim just looks sick to her stomach, and I wish there was something I could do about it.
Peeta is rolling his eyes, and muttering under his breath.
I turn my head back to the stage, nervous for this to just get a move on. There are so many things going through my head right now that I just want to scream and run away.
"Ladies first," chimes Effie Trinket, just in time to catch my attention again.
I am whimpering inwardly as I watch her hand dive into the bowl and pull out a slip. Only four of those slips have Katniss Mellark written neatly on them. Only four, in hundreds.
She clack-clacks her way back over to the microphone, smoothing to slip between her polished hands.
"Primrose Everdeen!"
I feel a shudder go through my entire body, and my eyes shoot straight to Peeta. A murmur goes through the crowd as it does every year someone younger than fifteen is chosen as tribute. Here in District Twelve, that's not very often.
Too many people need the tessarae for them to really choose the twelve year olds.
I think about Gale's family, and look to Peeta.
His eyes are giant, and he looks like he's going to hyperventilate.
Oh.
He is hyperventilating. Gale has stepped forward from his spot in the crowd, earning dirty looks from some Peacekeepers by breaking ranks.
"Prim!" He yells, stepping into the portion of the block that is almost completely cleared, as Prim looks like she is going to cry and vomit at the same time.
I think about what I would do in his situation, but being the youngest, I can't really understand what is going on in his head right now.
"Prim! No!" Gale has stepped forward, an arm around Peeta's chest as he almost rips through the crowd of Peacekeepers that have blocked us off from the stage.
My heart breaks, and everyone has turned to look at Gale and Peeta. He is a hysterical mess.
Next, I think about what I could do to remedy the situation now. What I can do, to take the pressure off of Peeta's shoulders, because this is his family and he loves that little girl more than words could ever begin to express.
So I push past the other girls.
"I volunteer!" I shout. "I volunteer, as tribute!"