I still remember many things about my parents, even after all the years that they've been gone.

My mother loved to bake, especially with another member of the family. She had a tradition that every Saturday night would be a time for nothing but baking. When I was old enough, she would pick me up, hand me a whisk, and let me do whatever I liked to the batter. Eventually, she'd gently pry the bowl from my hands, pour the batter into a pan, and place it into the oven with a swift kiss placed onto the top of my head.

Sometimes my father would slide over to me while I was stirring, dip his finger in, and with a wink, he'd silently creep up to my mother and run his finger along her cheek, leaving the batter behind on her fair skin. She'd gasp, then mimic his actions and smear batter onto him. They'd laugh, looking at each other with such adoration even me as a toddler could spot it. My father would then turn to me, placing a single drop on the end of my nose before kissing it away.

My father was an adventurer. After my brother was born and was old enough to toddle on his short, stubby legs, he'd lead us through the gates of the district onto a new adventure. We'd wander until the sun was touching the horizon, and some days we got to stay even longer. He taught me about plants around then, which ones were safe, which were poisonous.

He also showed me how to fight with a sword.

I never quite knew where he learned how to wield one, but on sunny days, he would lead me out to the meadows just beyond the district's limits and teach me all he knew about sword fighting.

"You never know," he'd told me. "Someday you might need it."

Originally I was too weak to lift the metal blade on my own, so my father would show me the tricks until I finally became strong enough to wield it alone.

One particular day, when I was in our backyard practicing moves with my brand new sword, my father came out with his in his hands. He'd smiled at me and said, "Come on, let's see what you've got."

I had grinned, and charged not even a second later. I attacked with such precision that my father was finding it hard to keep up. "Wow," he had said after blocking one of my swings. I wasn't aiming to hurt him, of course, every swing was with the flat of the blade. "You've improved."

I laughed, then lightly pushed my father backwards, over a tree root that had emerged from the ground. He landed on his behind, and instantly was laughing.

That's when my mother ran out, her face red with oncoming tears. My father's laugh died away. "James," my mother had said, "Marsha's littlest just died."

Marsha was my mother's childhood best friend. I never knew her too well, and still don't to this day. She had three children, but none were around my age, and I never really got to know about any of them. Around that time, Marsha's littlest was just about to turn two. A year younger than Nate.

My father told me to go inside and watch after Nate, and I listened. It was about an hour until either of my parents returned. Right at the moment my mother stepped through the front door, I had attached to her leg, asking, "What's happened? Is everyone alright?"

She had picked me up and moved to sit on the old rocking chair by the fire. She didn't say a word for some time, choosing to just hold me close. My father had been putting Nate to sleep in his crib, when I finally asked, "Mommy?" She turned her gaze onto me. "What's your friend feel like right now?"

Apparently she wasn't expecting that question, because her eyebrows went up and she blinked a few times before answering. "Well. Honey, I don't know how she's feeling, to be honest, but I can tell you that she's not feeling the best."

My small head cocked to the side. "Is she sick?"

A small chuckle slipped past my mother's lips, and she pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "No, honey, she's not sick. She just lost her son, which I can only imagine is horrible to go through."

"What's it like to lose a brother or son?"

My mother frowned. "Well, it's almost like loosing a part of you, in a way. Nothing's quite the same. Everything you're used to doing would be different, now that the person is gone. It would feel… Empty. Just imagine what it would be like without little Nate here with us."

I had begun crying at the thought of my brother dying. My mother's arms tightened around me, hushing me, soothing me into a deep sleep.

That was twelve years ago.

I never forgot those words.

As Prim's name was called, so was that memory, as well as a final one.

It was during one of our lowest times. We were running low on food, as well as water. Our mother, deathly sick with pneumonia, had died only two months prior in the cold days of December. My brother was still too young to fully understand exactly what had happened, but the pain of her death was still prominent. What made it worse was having to tell little Nate every night that mom wasn't coming back. He always forgot, and asked every night why I was tucking him in instead of mom.

It tore me apart.

Now on our own, me at the age of eleven and Nate at seven, I had to become the head of the family. I had to scour out means of food from then on.

Then there was the risk of being put into the community homes. I couldn't put Nate in there, he was only seven, he was so confused, and going to a community home would destroy him. So when Peacekeepers arrived with the small amount of money for a guardian, I told them that our aunt was who we lived with now and that she was asleep upstairs. They handed the money to me without question.

We've been on our own ever since.

A young girl, no older than twelve, steps out into the aisle. Her eyes, filled with fear yet remaining emotionless, stay fixed on the podium, where Effie is waving for her to hurry. As she passes by me, I notice that a small chunk of the back of her shirt remains isn't tucked. Her family must be devastated, but no cries of anguish are heard. No one wants to Capitol to see the power they have over us.

Right as her foot is making its way onto the first step, a strangled cry is heard. "Prim!" It's so raw, so afraid, that I instantly know it's a family member of hers. "Prim!" The voice's owner stumbles into the aisle, a girl with dark hair and grey eyes that are so familiar to me, even though I haven't seen them for a while.

The Peacekeepers surround her within seconds, but she shoves them off with a cry of, "I volunteer!" She straightens. "I volunteer as tribute."

I can see the family resemblance as Prim embraces her sister, screaming for her not to go. They may have different hair and eye colors, but their facial features are so similar it's easy to tell the fact that they're siblings.

I can only imagine what she feels like as she holds her sister close. She must be so scared, not for herself, but for her family. If she weren't, she wouldn't be standing there in the first place.

Her mother is probably destroyed. First her youngest, but now her oldest is going into the Games, never to be seen again. I can't help but think of Marsha, and how she felt when she lost one of her children.

Prim can't be doing much better. After all, loosing a sibling is one of the worst feelings in the world. I know the feeling, as I almost lost mine.

Nate was sick. Deathly sick. For weeks, he had been pale, feverish, and could never keep a meal down for longer than an hour. I was panicked; we didn't have the money to buy medicine, and I'd already tried every herb I knew, but nothing was working.

I had brought him with me to the Hob, in hopes of someone, anyone, having something that could help him. I'd gone to six stands, and nothing.

I was in the middle of talking to the vender of the seventh stand when I heard the scream.

I had left Nate just outside the Hob's entrance, strictly telling him to stay put. But, like every eight-year-old, he couldn't sit still, no matter how sick he was. When I ran into the street, looking wildly for him, he was gone.

My feet had reacted before my brain did. Within an instant I was sprinting as hard as I could manage, eyes searching frantically for a single sign of where my brother had disappeared to.

More screams gave me the biggest clue.

A street away, a stray coal cart about the size of a small house was barreling down the dirt road. Three men, each in the standard coal miner's uniform, were speeding after it, shouting for people to move and get out of the way.

The cart had zoomed past me just as I turned the corner leading to that particular street. My heart had flown up into my throat, and a small scream emitted from my mouth, but nothing more. I was still searching for Nate, the aftershock of almost getting ran over could come in later.

People pushed past me, trying to get away from the cart. My eyes followed along the street, only to see something that made my heart freeze.

Nate was on his hands and knees directly in the cart's path.

I had screamed, but I didn't hear it. The weakness of not eating for four days vanished, replaced by nothing but pure adrenaline.

I sped after the cart, towards my brother. My muscles screamed, but I pushed them harder.

I knew I wouldn't get there in time. The cart was too fast, too far ahead of me. I kept going.

Somehow Nate remained unaware of the thing that would be his demise. He stayed on all fours, seemingly to feeble to move.

Tears were slipping down my cheeks like a river. In this moment, I couldn't help but let the emotions show.

I never stopped running, even when the cart was feet away from Nate. I wasn't able to save him, but someone else was.

A small body launched themselves at my brother, shoving them out of the cart's path right before it would've crushed them both.

Pebbles soared away from the three of us when I skidded to a stop at their side. Someone else collapses beside me, but my focus is solely on my brother. He was weak and in pain, but that didn't stop the small smile that grew on his lips.

"Careful," he had said to me. His eyes were half-closed. "There's a runaway cart going through."

I choked out a laugh through my tears and yank him into my arms. His arms are careful, timid, and slow, and I knew he was tired. Still, I had forced him to open his eyes long enough for me to say, "You do that again, and I'll kill you myself."

He chuckled. "Love you, too." Then sleep overtakes him.

The two are still there when I turn. The smaller one, who I assumed was my brother's savior, offered me a smile. She couldn't have been older than my brother. The bigger, only by height, appeared to be my age.

I blinked. My mouth had long since gone dry, and I brought a shaky hand to wipe away stray tears making their way down my red cheeks. When I spoke, my voice was rough. "Thank you. I don't even know you, and yet you saved his life. I can't... I just… How can I… Thanks." I bow my head, partially in gratitude, partially in embarrassment that I can't think of anything to say. This girl had just saved my brother's life, and I can't do anything but stutter?

The younger girl brushed runaway strand of blonde hair from her forehead. Her response isn't something I expect. "He's sick, isn't he? We've got medicine at home, if you want to bring him with you?"

I'm speechless. Not only had this girl risked her life to save Nate from the coal cart, but now she's offering to give him medicine too? The debt from this deed was only growing.

I had tried to argue, tried to assure that Nate was fine, that it was just a common cold. I didn't need my debts to this mystery girl to grow any larger. The words are heavy on my tongue, as I know they aren't true. Nate needs medicine, and soon.

My face was surely unconvincing. The girl turned to her sister and pleaded, "Oh Katniss, please, can we help them?"

The older girl, Katniss, hesitated. She seemed to think along the same lines I had, but at her sister's pleading look, she softened. "I guess. Come on, before the Peacekeepers come."

They had helped me carry Nate back to their home, in the midst of the Seam. Their home actually wasn't too far from ours, a fact that relieved me.

The younger girl, whose name I had discovered was Prim, kept me company while Katniss took care of Nate. When we left, I couldn't stop thanking them both. They had waved me off, smiling widely until we were gone.

I still haven't totally paid them back for it.

It's been a while since I last talked to either of them. Sometimes I would wave to Prim if I saw her in the streets, but nothing else. She'd smile, wave a little, I'd reciprocate, and we'd go desperate ways.

I've never really had a friend, but if I did, Katniss would probably be the closest I'd consider. We spoke very little, and didn't see each other besides school, but she and I thought along the same lines, react the same ways.

We'd do anything to protect the ones we love.

It's in this moment when I realize what I must do.

Katniss is embracing Prim again, telling her to find their mom while the young man stands beside them quietly, patiently. Katniss tells her that everything will be okay. And it will.

I only hope that my brother will forgive me.

I shove my way through the girls around me. A young man has just picked Prim up, murmuring "Up you go, Catnip." Katniss makes a move to step onto the stage, but I don't let her. When I am out in the middle, in view of everyone in the Square, I shout, "I volunteer!" Peacekeepers have surrounded me, but I shove them off decisively.

Surprised faces greet me. I keep my face emotionless, but the look of gratitude and fright on both Katniss and Prim's face almost ruin it. I only smile the smallest smile possible, to assure them that it's okay.

My eyes stay on the ground as I walk up to the podium, where Effie's makeup-caked face is blank with shock. It's not hard to tell why. District Twelve hasn't had a volunteer in decades, and now not only one, but two have volunteered in one reaping? It's unheard of.

"Well then," she breathes finally, latching a hand onto my arm. I am nudged in front of the microphone. "Go on, dear, what's your name?"

I keep my eyes as far away from the boys' side of the Square as possible. "Luciana Farrington." My voice sounds unattached, and it's exactly how I'm feeling.

Effie smiles at me, and I have an unexplainable urge to smack it right off. It's so unreal, so fake, that it makes me uncomfortable. "You don't seem to be related to them, are you?" I tell her no. Her grin widens. "Ah, just want to have your own crack at the Games, don't we?"

"Let's give a round of applause for District Twelve's tribute!"

No one claps. The Square is so silent that I can hear the call of a bird in the distance, which I usually never can unless I'm in the woods. Each and every eye is on me, and I've never been one for attention. I have just begun to turn away when the first person raises the left hand to their mouth, presses the three middle fingers to their lips, and extend them out to me. The rest of the crowd follows in suit.

The small gesture doesn't fail to surprise me. Something so small, so unused, but with such a strong meaning, is being raised to me. I've always thought of myself as one of the people never noticed in the district and yet, I'm proved wrong.

Tears have sprung in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

I'm unaware that the boys' turn has come until Effie calls, "Peeta Mellark!"

A wave of relief slams through me like a flood. It isn't him, he's safe.

Or is he? Nate may be safe from the Games, from the Capitol, but he's still at risk to all the dangers here. He doesn't know how to hunt, nor will he. I've never taken the time to teach him about the native plants, and now I've abandoned him all for the sake of debt.

I suddenly want to throw up. What have I done?

To take my thoughts away, I turn to my new opponent. Average height, a stocky build. Features that clearly state he is a merchant's son. He tries to keep his face apathetic, but I can see the panic held within his light blue eyes.

I've seen it far more than I'd like.

It's been years since I've talked to Peeta personally, but his father always bought something from me when I'd visit him. Whether it was out of pity, or genuinely wanting whatever he bought, I'll never know. But there was rarely a time when I'd go to the bakery and his father wouldn't buy something.

Occasionally I'd see Peeta outside chopping wood or feeding the pigs and he'd send me a smile, but that's as far as I've ever come to actually conversing with him in the recent years.

There are no volunteers for us when Effie asks once more, and now it's too late. Too late to just run home with Nate, too late for everything.

The mayor's speech has already passed. He motions for us to shake hands, and we do. Peeta's hand is calloused, yet soft, probably from the years of baking. His eyes bore straight through mine, and I feel his thumb caresses the back of my hand in what I think is his way of comforting me. The corners of my mouth quirk upwards in reply.

I know I can't kill him. I can't kill anyone, and yet I have to try to win for Nate.

Something tells me that plan might not work out.

...

Okay, first off, it sucks, I know. I'm sorry if the wording is confusing, but I tried my best..

Thanks for reading, favoriting, following, reviewing, everything!

-minor updates 05/28/18