Primrose Everdeen.

My breath catches in my throat. It is like that one time I fell out of a tree when I was waiting for game to wander by. I fell 10 feet to the ground. The impact had knocked every wisp of air from my lungs. I struggle to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.

She was one slip of paper in thousands! I have done everything to keep her alive and now she is being shipped of to the slaughter house.

The crowd murmurs like they always do when a 12 year old is chosen. They don't think it's fair, but they stand there immobile watching Prim walk to the stage with her little hands clenched tightly to her skirt and her ghostly white face and her small scared steps.

The back of her blouse is hanging out of her skirt like a little duck's tail. This is the detail that brings me back to myself.

"Prim!" the strangled cry comes out of my throat before I can register what I am doing. She spins around with a scared but hopeful look upon her face as I start to make my way toward her. "Prim!" I yell more loudly this time. I don't have to shove through the crowd anymore, the other kids make a path for me to the aisle.

I run to Prim ready to carry her away from this disaster. Peacekeepers grab my arms before I reach her. I struggle against them and then shout the two words that I know will make them let me go, save Prim, and damn myself all at once. "I volunteer!" My arms are free to I stand defiantly and speak the words once more confidently. "I volunteer as tribute."

There are murmurs once again but for an entirely different reason. District 12 has never had a tribute before. Most in part because tribute is pretty much synonyms with corpse. In some other districts, being a tribute is considered an honor, so teenagers volunteer to risk their lives.

"Lovely!" Effie Trinket breaks the silence. "Come along, dear." She motions me forward with her hand.

I start to walk up, but Prim's tiny arms wrap around my waist from behind. "No! No, Katniss! No, you can't go!" I tighten my lips at her screams. I don't want to start crying too in front of the whole of Panem. I would be marked as an easy target. A weakling. I will give no one that satisfaction.

"Prim, let go." I say as sternly as I can.

I feel Prim being pulled away. I turn to see Gale now holding Prim who is thrashing in his arms.

"Well, up you go Catnip." He gives me a sad smile and carts my little sister of to my mother. I take in a deep breath and ascend the stairs.

"Well, bravo!" Effie gushes. "That's the spirit of the Games." I bet she is pleased that District 12 have some drama this year. "What's your name?"

I swallow hard and try to remain emotionless.

"Katniss Everdeen."

"Well I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her stealing all the glory, do we? Let's have a round of applause for our very first volunteer!"

No one moves. No one claps. Silence. The boldest form of dissent they can manage. Then the most unexpected thing happens. At least, I don't expect it because I never thought anyone cared about me, knew who I was. District 12 is a place where it is every man for himself. We are almost beyond caring.

One, then another, then almost every member in the gray crowd had touched the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and raised them in the air out to me. It is an odd and rarely used gesture of our district. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

At this point the lump has returned in my throat, but I push the tears back once again. I stand still and stoic and defiant. Haymitch, the only victor of District 12, staggers out of his chair, across the stage to congratulate me. He is drunk like he is most of the time.

"Look at her! Look at this one!" he hollers. "I like her! Lots of... spunk!" He walks toward the front of the stage.

"More than you!" Haymitch point directly at the camera. "More than you!" I don't know if he was addressing the audience or taunting the Capitol. I'd never know because just as her opens his mouth to say more, he plummets of the stage.

"What an exciting day!" Effie laughs nervously. "Now on to the boys!" It doesn't take her as long to dig through this glass bowl. She pull out the slip and crosses the stage back to the microphone.

"Peeta Mellark."

At least it wasn't Gale. But I don't think I'd rather it be Peeta either. I watch him as he walks towards the stage. His wavy blond hair bounces as he climbs the stairs. Peeta's kind blue eyes lock with mine. Those same kind blue eyes I looked into when he saved my life.

It was the worst of times when my father died. My family was barely scraping by with what was left after he was gone. When winter came around I accepted we wouldn't make it. I couldn't even walk home I was so weak. I was going to starve. I collapse outside of his bakery letting the rain chill my blood. I remember pleading for death. I was only eleven. Peeta's mother was yelling at me to move or she'd call the Peacekeepers. I heard more screaming from inside the bakery and Peeta came out with burnt bread and tossed me some. I suspect he did that on purpose. He knew that his mother would hit him yet he burnt the bread for me. That was the only time I allowed charity. After that I took care of myself and my family.

Peeta's strong hand shakes mine. I want to thank him, what I never did all those years back, but I doubt it will seem sincere when I will have to slit his throat to get back to my sister. I owe Peeta my life, my family's lives, and now I have to take his.

Oh well, I think. There will be 24 other of us. Odds are someone else will kill him before I do.

Of course, the odds have not been very dependable of late.