"Primrose Everdeen" the name sends shivers down my spine, the words echo throughout the square; everything is silent, horrifically silent. Katniss, her little duck her little prim. I can barely keep my eyes open, I can barely breathe. "NO! PRIM! NO!" Katniss pushes her way through the crowd, everything whirls everything is too fast, it's like a dream, the worst dream. "I VOLUNTEER, I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE" her voice shrieks in everyone's ears. No, she can't, she can't volunteer, not Katniss not her. If Katniss volunteers and my name isn't chosen I'll volunteer, volunteer to save her. "I believe we have a volunteer, Katniss Everdeen!" Effie Trinket, everyone's worst nightmare, she comes to district twelve every year to announce the death of two young innocent people but not only that, she giggles and laughs and treats it like it's the biggest honor. The only honor anybody actually wants is to punch her snotty nosed capitol face in.
I once knew this girl called Katniss Everdeen, I never could tell her but I loved her. She had a smile that was hardly ever shown but when you saw it, it lit up the world. She had a sister called Primrose Everdeen, she was Katniss' world. She nearly lost her. Nearly lost her to a world of mindless pain and thoughtless murder, all because of a strip of paper. The sky was a miserable grey, the sun was hidden beneath the clouds which once made me happy now make me wonder my existence. Katniss has never looked more destroyed in her life, she stands on that stage in a long faded blue dress, her hair in a messy bun and her eyes a watery mess. There are many happy things that live in this world, all these things seemed obsolescent, minuscule, and worthless.
My time comes I pray to a god that I don't believe in for my name to be called, Effie stumbles across the stage grinning like the Cheshire cat. My name is in three times and my odds are pretty good but I wish they weren't and once again; I'm praying for my death. I can't think straight my heart is beating, Katniss, I love her. I need her. And I cannot lose her to the capitol. She is not a piece of their games; she's a piece of my life. What they don't understand is that she saved my life, and I have no choice but to save hers. "Peeta Mellark" the name hits me like a ton of bricks, what has just happened, my prayers are coming real but they hurt so much more than anticipated. I break my way through the staring crowd and onto the stage. I am shaking hands with the girl who saved my life, who brought me hope, who on that day of the first of March sang and the whole world stopped, the girl who I'll protect. Three fingers up in the air crying for Katniss, grieving for her and her little duck.
Four years ago I wasn't the same boy I am today. I was different, I had no friends and nobody knew who I was, nobody cared, I did. Years and years past and every friend I'd made turned around and stabbed my in the back like I was a tribute. It hurt. It killed and I never belonged. Ever. My family despised me, they hated me, and I'd come home and be subject to drunken abuse from my mother. Black eyes, and split lips, hatred from all ends of the spectrum. Some days I would run out of this horrible world and sit in the forest just behind the electric fence (which has no electric charge at all) and listen to the birds, feel the soil under my nails and embrace the warming sun on my heart but nothing stopped the pain, the hurt, the rejection. I was alone and I knew that I would never be accepted for who I was. That was a dark time for me, one day I just felt like the world didn't need me for anything and I brought a rope at a market, I tied the knot, tightly. The chair at my feet, my sunken eyes at rest, I pulled the large rope past my dusty blonde hair and down to my throat, the touch of the rope on my throat gave me relief. It told me that it would all be over soon and I could rest. I scraped the chair from under my feet and dropped.
I don't remember much from then onwards but what I do recall is the tears spitting on my chest, the grey eyes staring at me begging me, praying. I was lying in a small room on a kitchen bench covered with herbs and ointments my throat stung and my head was dizzy, I couldn't hear anything but I could taste the bitterness of a burning liquid on my tongue. The tears. I woke up in a warm bed, with one person sitting beside me, waiting. I knew she saved me and I knew I could never repay her.
But now is my chance.
