The square is silent. Completely, utterly silent.
Primose Everdeen. I know that name.
I turn abruptly, a lone movement amongst the deathly still crowd. I need to see her. Katniss. There she is, her eyes wide with shock. She's mouthing wordlessly as if she wants to say something but nothing comes out. Another boy in our section, looking to be from the Seam by his dark hair and eyes, grabs her by the shoulders to steady her. For a moment another burst of jealousy shoots through me as I wish to be the one touching and comforting her.
But then I see the girl and I don't care about that anymore. She's so small. So young. And she looks so afraid. The crowd around me is coming to life in indignation as she makes her way to the stage, quaking with every step. Her face is stark white and she looks like she hasn't registered what's happened yet. Her small fists are clenched.
She's barely lived her life, and now the Capitol is going to take it away from her.
I'm still mourning little Prim's inevitable death when I hear the choked cry. It sounds inhuman, for a moment I can't even tell who it is or what they're saying. All I can hear is the desperation. And the fear. There's always fear in a cry like that.
"Prim!"
I turn to see Katniss barreling through the crowd and my heart drops. No.
"Prim!" she cries again. Desperate. So desperate.
Prim turns, staring at her sister in fright. Katniss shoves her forcefully away from the stage. She steps in front of her, wild eyed and breathing hard. And I know what's she's going to say.
"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"
Silence. My ears are roaring and all of a sudden nothing feels real. I can't tear my eyes away from her. Katniss. The beautiful, dark-haired girl from the Seam. The girl with the voice I fell in love with at age 5. Never in my life did I expect someone so important to me to be chosen. Never. I can't believe it.
She's going to die. She's going to die.
Katniss is going to die.
Before I can completely spiral out of control, I hear Effie Trinket. Her excited chirp seems so wrong and out of place that it pierces straight through my haze of disbelief.
"Lovely!" she cries. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…" she trails off pathetically.
I'm grateful when Mayor Undersee cuts in. "What does it matter?" He's staring at Katniss with a peculiar, pained expression. Is he as upset as I am by this turn of events? How many people are as devastated as I am, if not more?
"What does it matter? Let her come forward." He's speaking softer now. He knows there's nothing he can do.
It's at this moment that Prim starts to scream. Her small body is a whirlwind of arms and legs as she tries desperately to cling to her sister.
"No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" She's sobbing hysterically into the back of Katniss' light blue reaping dress. I think Katniss says something to her, but I can't hear until she repeats it louder, practically yelling.
"Let go!"
Gale appears then, lifting the thrashing girl away from Katniss. His face is stony but his eyes are red and moist. Katniss ascends the steps and Effie Trinket jumps on her in excitement.
"Well, bravo!" she exclaims over enthusiastically. "That's the spirit of the Games! What's your name?"
"Katniss Everdeen." She looks like she's in a daze. A ghost of herself, not really there.
This is all too much for Effie, who nearly loses her head at this tidbit of information.
"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"
No. I will not applaud you and what you're doing. Katniss, sweet Katniss is being taken away. The rest of District 12 seems to share my sentiments. No one lifts so much as a finger to comply with Effie's request.
Instead, they lift their fingers for something else entirely. There's a stir to my right and I see a group of men, one of them being my own father, extending the three middle fingers of their left hand to Katniss in salute, their eyes solemn. A ripple passes through the crowd and soon thousands of hands are raised towards her, my own included. We're saying good luck. We're saying thank you.
We're saying goodbye, Katniss.
She looks on the verge of tears when Haymitch lurches to his feet and throws an arm roughly around her shoulder. "Look at her, look at this one! I like her!" He's laughing now, laughing like an insane man. "Lots of… spunk! More than you!" He steps forward, pointing into the camera. "More than you!"
And that's when he falls off the stage. I feel the pit of dread in my stomach growing as I realize how doomed Katniss is, with him to call her mentor. She doesn't stand a chance.
Effie seems flustered for a moment but soon pulls herself together, doing her best to ignore the struggle going on below. Two people are attempting to lift an unconscious Haymitch onto a stretcher.
"What an exciting day!" Her fingers flit around quickly as she attempts to straighten her wig. "But more excitement to come!" The stretcher borne by its escorts is just being carted away as she approaches the next reaping ball. "It's time to choose our boy tribute!"
With a flourish she plucks the first piece of paper her fingertips alight on. Then she's back at the podium and for the first time since Katniss volunteered I remember to be afraid.
Only five. Only five. Only five.
"Peeta Mellark."
Peeta? Peeta Mellark? Me?
I can't breathe. Heads are turning in my direction but I barely register them. I can see nothing but the stage. Effie and her ridiculous wig, her eyes scanning the crowd quizzically. That tiny, seemingly insignificant slip of paper, still spread out in front of her. That tiny scrap of paper has sentenced me to certain death.
But I also see Katniss. And that's when I remember. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
I'm going into the arena with Katniss.
My feet have started moving of their own accord. With every step I draw closer to the stage. I feel like I'm in a daze. Is this really happening? How can it be happening?
Step. Step. Step. I ascend the stairs. My legs feel like lead weights. Effie Trinket asks for volunteers, and the only response she gets is blank stares.
The silence pounds in my ears. All at once, I know I'm doomed.
Mayor Undersee steps forward again. In the back of my mind I register that he must be reading the Treaty of Treason, as he always does after the tributes are chosen. But I'm not listening because I've turned and all of a sudden I'm staring straight into her eyes.
She looks so incredibly distraught that I almost take a step back. Her eyes show a pain and inner conflict I can't comprehend. I feel like I stare into her eyes for eternity, both of us lost and confused and terrified and then I find myself transported back in time. Back to a rainy day in mid-April. Five years ago.
Katniss' father had died earlier that year, in the winter. I remember it well. A section of the mines had exploded and countless lives were lost. A special ceremony was held in their honor and my father took me and my brothers to watch, because he said it was the right thing to do. And I guess after that, after her father was killed, her family began to starve.
It's common for people to starve to death in District 12. I'm not sure what happened with Katniss' family. I don't know why her mother didn't get a job to support them. But she was starving and one day she found herself outside the bakery's back door, rifling through our trash bins desperately for any trace of food.
I was the first one to see her. Our ovens are situated right by the back windows, and as I pulled out a fresh loaf I caught sight of her. Skinny, starving Katniss, 11 years old and standing bedraggled in the icy rain. Her wide eyes stared hungrily at our windows, though I don't think she saw me. She must have smelled the bread. Her cheeks were hollow and her limbs were so skinny. I could hardly bear to see her like that.
I suppose I stood watching her a moment too long. My mother swooped down on me, demanding why I was standing there gaping like a fish while the bread cooled in my hands. Before I could stutter out an answer she followed my gaze outside to where Katniss had just lifted the lid on our trash bin. Her trembling hands groped listlessly around the emptiness within.
The back door flung open before I even realized my mother had left my side. I followed her instinctively, squinting out against the wind and rain.
"Girl!" my mother screeched. "Move on, before I call the Peacekeepers!"
Katniss froze, looking like a startled deer.
"I'm sick of you Seam brats pawing through my trash! Move on!" She slammed the door shut as Katniss backed away warily and I found myself staring at hard wood.
I knew what I had to do.
I waited a few minutes, trying to work up the nerve. But then I dove straight in. Our ovens were not the fancy, electric powered machines I've seen on Capitol TV. They're large and cast iron, with a roaring fire in the base. And so as I removed the next two loaves from their racks, I "fumbled".
The bread had barely touched the flames when I felt the blow. It nearly sent me keeling into the flame. I snatched the loaves out and clutched them to me, staring up at my mother resentfully. I don't remember what she screamed at me but I got out of that kitchen as fast as possible, making a beeline for the pig pen.
I could see her huddled beneath our apple tree, just beyond the pen. She was clutching her knees to her chest and staring despairingly into the rain. Her reverie was only broken by the sound of my boots sloshing through the mud. As usual, before we could make eye contact I dropped my gaze to my feet. I stopped so I was somewhat shielded by the pig pen, made sure my mother was out of sight, and threw her the loaves, one by one. And then I hurried back to the bakery and away from the girl I now stand paralyzed in front of.
Ever since then I've found myself even more fixated on her, if possible. It was the first and only true interaction we've ever had. Until now.
I vaguely register that Mayor Undersee is motioning for us to do something. But what? I can't remember what the tributes are supposed to do now until I see Katniss extending her hand towards me.
We shake hands and the only thing I can think is how soft and lovely her hand feels. I don't want to let go. My hand squeezes hers possessively and I see her glance down and then back up at my face. Questioning.
The anthem plays and I'm staring blankly at the crowd.
Someone else has to kill this girl. Anyone else. I could never bring myself to do it.
I could never bring myself to kill Katniss. Because all I see when I look at her is the little girl in the rain, staring at me with hope in her eyes
