The Eye of the Beholder

Reaping Day – Peeta Mellark

I woke up with the nerves already in place. They were fierce like every other year and practically cripple me. I am lucky though. My name is only in five times. I have never had to apply for tesserae. I know that she has though. I also know that some of my nerves are for her.

The morning passes by without consequence, but we know soon the world will be bleak.

Before I know it, I am filing into the square with all of the other children. I watch the twelve year olds. Many have tear-streaked faces and are breathing jaggedly. I understand them, it doesn't get any easier. I'm standing uncomfortably close to other boys my age, and everyone is silent and unnerved. I know about twenty metres behind me; my father stands perfectly still, hoping, as I do.

We all watch with apprehensive faces as the lady from Capitol, Effie, prattles on like the Games are the best thing in the world. We all watch as our lone remaining Victor struggles around, drunk. The preamble happens too fast; it is gone in what feels like a mere few painful heartbeats. It's coming. I look over at her, the only one. She is staring at the stage, eyebrows creased in worry as Effie's hand searches through the hundreds of names. My heart pounds as I stare at her. Not her. Not her. Not her. I figure I can handle losing others, but not her. Of course, she doesn't know this. Why would you ever tell the person who makes your heart feel like ice and fire at the same time that you love them? The possibility of rejection of course. Finally, Effie pulls a slip out and inwardly reads the name. I tear my eyes from her, Katniss, to look at Effie. Not her, my mantra continues relentlessly.

"Primrose Everdeen."

For the tiniest moment I am relieved, until the name truly sinks in. I stare at Katniss again and my heart stops at the look on her face; horror, pain, death are conflicting there in an uncomfortable mess. I can see her sister slowly make her way, as bravely as she can, through the crowds of people. She is so small I can barely see the top of her head. My heart clenches for Katniss. I can't imagine what this is like for her.

That is when she does it. Katniss runs forward, protectively stands in front of her sister and volunteers herself instead. I know now that my face resembles Katniss' earlier expression. No. No, no. No. I can't tell if I'm breathing, it doesn't feel like I could ever muster the strength to. I stare at Katniss and I know I am dying on the inside. My mind searches for the next best possible circumstance, wildly, desperately, and I hate myself for it: Please, let the boy be someone weak. Someone easily killed. For her sake, please.

I don't realise that as I stare solely at Katniss' terrified face, Effie has gone through the motions, and is about to pull out the next slip. I revert my attention to her, hoping the next words I hear will increase Katniss' chance.

"Peeta Mellark."

I wonder what my face is like now. I know my body is numb, but hot, sickeningly so. My neck has a shooting pain from being so tense. I make my way up, to death and despair, but also to her. Effie makes us shake hands; the first time we have touched.

Now I know, without a doubt, the world is cruel.

R-COTA