As the anthem comes to an end, I peer at the screen that seems to scour over District 12. All of the cameras have focused on myself and Katniss, the two newest tributes set for the battle to the death. The silence stretches out across the crowd. I can swear they're all putting up the same three middle finger symbol up for Katniss again, but I never see if it's real or just a distinct fantasy. Before we know it, the Peacekeepers come and whisk us away from the stage. The walk from the square to the Justice Building feels like I'm walking on coals. Painfully but it can't be helped.
Entering the building, we're parted after entering the lobby, Katniss disappears to the right and I'm taken to the left.
"Where are you taking her?" I ask one of the Peacekeepers, but they stay completely silent keeping mum on what's to come, until they open the doors to one of the lavish rooms of the building.
"Each tribute will receive one hour to say goodbye to their loved ones, or anyone for the matter who wants to show up to say goodbye." One of them tells me.
Looking back over at the Peacekeepers, I nod and hear an audible shut of the chamber door.
I feel like the newest guinea, now that I've been thrown into this reaping. I want to sink down to my knees, try to focus on anything but the situation at hand now, but I can't afford to. Walking around the plush room, I look at the finer carpeting, note the golden trimmings. I see a couch in the center of the room and rush my finger tips against it. It's soft and rugged, and pinching the cushion slightly makes it expand quickly out. The simpler physics take control of my thoughts before the doors open again and my mother strides in with my younger brother, Pandoro, and my older brother, Puran.
Puran looks at me solemnly, trying to find words of encouragement but I know it fails him. He sighs and ruffles his own golden locks out of his eyes as he takes a seat next to me.
"Pando won't be too pleased that you won't be able to teach him primary and secondary colors." He murmured.
Pandoro seats himself near my knees and places him head down on them, latching his arms around my leg. He's much younger than Prim, barely turning 9. His curly blonde hair sweeps across his blue eyes as he looks up at him and takes my hand.
"Peeta say you'll win, so you can teach me to paint." He says feebly, his tiny voice cracking.
It's enough to pull at my heart strings, but I can't bring myself to promise him my return. Mainly because I know I won't be returning. I scoop Pandoro up in my arms and cradle him close.
"Just remember, that when you look up to the skies, and you see a ray of colors, which color will resemble me?" I ask.
"Ora-orange." He replies.
We sit in silence for a few moments as Pandoro clings on to my suit jacket. Puran has nothing left to say, though it would have helped to hear anything coming from him that went along the lines of "If I were younger I'd volunteer" or "Stay alive fight proudly and come home." But not another word comes out. My mother has stood at the end of the couch still stoic. Not an ounce of sorrow has made it to her face, but she keeps her lips pursed together as if she's just tasted a sour lemon.
Puran takes her locked gaze on me as a sign to take Pandoro away from my lap for a moment. I clear my throat and look at her waiting for her to stride over and possibly try to make amends. Seeing as her middle child is heading into the arena with no chase of returning, you would think she'd want a peace of mind to know she and I had no ended with bad ties. But instead she looks at me and shakes her head.
"Well that's one less pair of hands to help around the shop." She says coolly. "I don't understand why this should happen to me. I've never done a single thing wrong. I raised a family in the merchant area. I made my dues to get by with your father." She rambles on.
"For gods sakes Mother, Peeta's going to be a tribute in these stupid games and his life is on the line here and all you can think about yourself?" Puran says vehemently, each word clearly making a dent on her stone cold face as she seems to flinch at the words, trying to repel them back.
She's collected and calm at first, until a small wisp of air escapes the cracks of her lips. And that's when I see the tears that are forming in her gray eyes. I'm not sure why they're there, but in one grand movement she makes her way over to me to hold me close. She's shaking hard, and I can think of nothing else to do but bring my hands up to pat her gently on the back as she sobs. I don't expect words of encouragement from my mother as she cries. This breakdown that my mother is never prone to, at least not in front of us anyway, is the most vulnerable I have ever seen her.
This break down also reveals to me however that she has no faith that I will return. Which she has a right to feel this way, if I'm going to try my best to protect Katniss for as long as I can, even if it does kill me.
Pandoro manages to squeeze his way back into the embrace and clutches on myself and my mother, joining in on the sorrow. The tears are too much to bear. Puran awkwardly stands up and goes onto the other side, to place a hand on my shoulder. He alternates between patting and squeezing my shoulders.
The opening of the chamber doors alarms us. My mother attempts to compose herself, Pandoro is in hysterics, and Puran's mouth has formed a straight line across.
"Time is up." The Peacekeepers say.
My mother is the first to walk away. She takes one last glance at me, wipes away the last of her tears and turns away from me, not looking back as she exits the room. Puran tries to take Pandoro's hand but he refuses. I calmly look at the little boy in front of me and hug him close.
"Remember to find the orange in the sky, especially in the sun when the day is sinking under to make way for the milky moon." I whisper to him, "And you will never be without me."
Puran finally gets a firm grasp on Pandoro's hand, I whisper to them both that I love them. Puran nods and Pandoro cries it back to me, wanting to kick and thrash his way out of the room as he tells Puran to let go. The doors close again and they're gone.
That will be the last time I ever see my mother and my brothers.
I lay my head on the arm of the couch, taking in the soft feel of it, looking at the patterns and trying to block out any thoughts, when the door opens again. I thought my hour had been up already, the previous meeting had felt like he had been ages. I look up and see two people I don't expect to see at all.
Mrs. Everdeen and Prim.
Prim sheepishly makes her way over to the couch and sits next to me. I barely know what to say. She seems much tinier to me now that I'm near her for comparison. To think of her going into the arena to try to find, it dawns on me now how incredibly heinous and unjust it would have been to watch her fight had Katniss not had volunteered herself. Mrs. Everdeen takes a seat next to Prim, she holds her hand tenderly in hers and clears her throat. She looks over at me and then back down to Prim.
"We came to say good luck." Prim says softly, tears were prominent in her eyes. "And I wanted to ask a favor. "
When Prim presents the idea of a favor, I'm curious. "What is it?"
Prim looks at me, her eyes nearly the same clear blue as mine, but with the most earnest desperation pitted in her pupils.
"Please, protect Katniss." She says feebly.
A new pang digs itself into my heart as I exhale slowly and take in Prim's simple request. I raise my hand over to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and nod.
"I'll try my best. For the both of you." I say, looking at her and over at Mrs. Everdeen.
Mrs. Everdeen is starting to stare off vacantly and the longer we sit in the row we are, the more awkward it becomes. Thankfully the doors open, as they rise, Prim turns to me and kisses me on the forehead.
"Thank you Peeta, I'll miss your cakes and your designs they were always the best. I liked to look at them especially when you displayed them on the window." She confessed before turning and being escorted out.
The little girl had actually paid attention to my frosting work? But before my mind can process it all, the doors open again.
How long could an hour possibly take to pass by? My father walks in this time, with a small cloth that has something very aromatic inside. He sits down awkwardly beside me and passes it to me. It's a cheese bun. I smile faintly and wrap it back up intricately.
"Won't you eat it?" He asks.
"Not really hungry." I reply.
We sit next to each other, my eyes casting down on the clothed cheese bun when he clears his throat and says clear as day, "She's a fighter, that one."
I look up at him perplexed until I realize he's talking about Katniss.
"She'll claw her way out from the grave if she has to, especially if it means getting back to that little girl." He noted.
It dawns on me then that my father doesn't have much faith in my return either. It shouldn't bother me as much as I've already come up with the resolution that I will die for Katniss before having to watch her die. Still it's all too much and I've finally hit my breaking point. I break down in front of my father, feeling the tears fly down, hot and desolated.
"Take care of the little girl, give her my portions of food. Keep her fed." I say to him. "Do whatever it takes."
My father looks at me and slings his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close but not daring to hug me any closer than this. I can swear I can hear a strangled cry trying to escape his throat when the doors open once again. I cling onto my father's hand, feeling the same powdery residue of flour still laced on his palms. The smell of the yeast rising is on his clothing and I want nothing more than to keep these scents in my mind for the rest of eternity. I let go finally, and am now blinded by the tears.
I never see my father walk out the door.
Tired and broken at this point, I slump down and draw my legs over to my chest. If I keep this position maybe I'll be able to keep everything together. The door opens once again and I'm hoping it's the Peacekeepers come to whisk me away to the Capitol, but I'm greeted with the voice of one of the Peacekeeper's saying "Last visitor, keep it brief you only have 4 minutes."
Exhausted, I rub at my eyes but my hands are shaking violently. Someone sits next to me and places a hand over my knee.
"You have to protect each other." The voice says.
Quickly I try to restore my vision and can make out the fine cloth of Madge's reaping dress though there was no way she could have been eligible for the reaping as it was. I swallow a lump that forms in my throat and grit my teeth.
"I'll protect her, but that doesn't mean she needs to protect me." I say.
"It's not a death sentence yet Peeta! Fight this time, don't be a pawn." Madge insists as she hands me a fine handkerchief. I'm at a loss as to what to say because it's silky and smooth. On the right hand corner of the piece is an interesting pattern of gold, it almost looks like a ring with an arrow running through the sphere and some bird has perched itself to coexist with it. I've never seen the bird before or anything fine like this up close. I try to hand it back to her but she protests.
"It's a gift." She says simple. She points to the symbol at the end, "Katniss has a pin of this. The mockingjay. It's going to be her symbol for the arena, you don't have to stitch this on to you, but if you both have this, you'll survive together, I know it."
Madge's words seem to mesh in my head in a jumble. Mockingjay? Stitching? Working together?
Did no one understand that the likelihood of Katniss and I surviving to the end was practically impossible?
And even if it got down to that, if Katniss and I were the remaining two, it alarmed me to how quickly my resolution stuck to my mind. I'd let her kill me, just to come home.
I exhale deeply and Madge is already at her feet. "Good luck, Peeta." She says, before walking out of the chamber door.
When the final slam comes and the Peacekeepers tell me to get up, I oblige, taking the handkerchief and folding it, putting it into my right pocket, and stuffing the cheese bun into my left. There are no more goodbyes left to say.
Katniss and I reunite in the lobby of the Justice Building before we're taken into a car to be transported to the train station. A peacekeeper wedges themselves in the middle, she takes the left seat, and I take the right. The ride is short and almost bittersweet, but as the car makes it to the entrance of the station, I see the hoards of cameras flashing in the direction of our car. Now it's time for the show. I figured, but I don't have much of an act to put on. I'm thinking of my parents and how they will conclude they will need to plan a memorial for me. I'm thinking of Puran and Pandoro and how they will fare on having to watch me die. I gnaw at my cheek and the familiar bitter taste comes back. And suddenly I'm overcome again with a jabbing pain to my mind and heart.
Getting out of the car, I cry my way towards the train, not answering or looking at any of the reporters who are begging to gain my attention. I look at Katniss and see the same calm face has crossed her visage. She's trying not to convey any emotion for whatever reason, and I admire her for it in a way. After a few moments of scrutiny in front of the cameras and shouting reporters, the doors to the train finally open, I can feel the wind rush behind me as the door shuts completely the train then takes off.
The motion is fast and I nearly lose my balance, but a Peacekeeper still has a hold of my arm. The train is metallic on the outside very state of art and futuristic and inside it looks like it could be the corridor to a fine and lavish house. The speed it travels is nearly 250 miles per hour, which means we'll make it to the Capitol in less than a day.
Katniss and I are separated again and taken to our own bedroom chambers. It's fancier than the room in the justice building. We have a bed that could fit my entire family on it. The mattress comfortably made of feather and soft mesh. There are wooden dressers filled with clothes that I would never dream of owning in such mint condition, and our own bathroom area with cold and warm water.
The warm water is a blessing I will gladly take. Feeling through my pockets, I feel the cheese bun still wrapped neatly in it's cloth casing, it's a little harder on the edges now. I sigh and place it on the night stand, it'll be my last piece of home. Along with it, I take out Madge's token, the handkerchief and study it closely before mentally preparing myself for what ever it is that'll come. I am now a tribute in the games. I am on a train that is heading towards the Capitol where they will shape and mold us all to get us to utilize skills made for hunting prey, only the prey we will be hunting is each other. I am the male tribute, and I've gotten my wish to protect the female tribute. The girl with the bow and arrow, the girl I…
A knock on the door interrupts my train of thought, opening the door I see Effie with pink curls still slightly lopsided.
"Dinner will be served soon, you may want to change." She chimes in brightly.
I nod and close the door, sighing and going over to the dresser. I wanted to manage to find something that wasn't too flashy, something that would make me still feel like I was myself. Just a bakers son. Luckily I managed to find khaki pants, and a light blue button up. I roll up the sleeves over my forearms and take a look in the mirror. If only they had an apron accessible, I'd feel like I'm ready to go bake bread. I get out of the bed chamber and run into Haymitch who's stumbling around in the corridor.
"Coming to dinner?" I ask him.
"I think I'm gonna take a nap first." He slurs as he passes me, the smell of spirits heavily laced on his breath.
I nod but know it's not a nap he's aiming for, he'll probably drink himself into a deeper stupor. I head over alone to the dining area, still fancy of course, but the tables are aligned with plates and bowls, and utensils I've never even dreamed of owning much less eating out of. Sitting at one of the empty tables I wait for Effie and Katniss and anyone else who will be joining us. Soon enough Effie trots in, Katniss following suit behind her in a green shirt and black pants get up, her braid is redone and she looks somewhat lovely still. I fight back the smile that wants to come out, when Effie looks at the empty seat beside me, puzzled.
"Where's Haymitch?" She asks.
I shrug, "Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap." I say.
"Well it has been an exhausting day." She says, perking up more at the idea that Haymitch wouldn't be joining. Maybe it's for the best.
The dishes are rolled out to us in courses. The riches foods ranging from soup, lamb chops, potatoes prepared in a number of different ways, vegetables, cheese, fruit, and even a delectable chocolate cake are presented and served to us. I barely know where to start. Digging into a lamb chop, I take my first bite and pile on piece by piece. I could afford to gain a little weight before getting into the arena. Digging into a bowl of scalloped potatoes, Effie comments on how well mannered Katniss and I are, using utensils rather than eating the food like a bunch of savages. I peer at Katniss, the internal ringing going off in our minds. Of course they ate like savages, if we could bring home this kind of food and serve it to the people of District 12, we'd all be gluttonous until the end of time. I knew how to eat properly because my mother was a mad woman and always imagined us to be higher in class than we actually were, as for Katniss, I assume she was taught by her own mother.
I look over at Katniss and she appears to be glaring daggers at Effie, and with a sly smirk, after finishing up with a lamb chop she swipes her fingers against the fine table cloth, this makes Effie's brilliant smile sucker up into a pout. After the meal is done and we've stuffed ourselves to full capacity, I'm fighting back the urge to vomit. The rich foods don't sit well with my stomach. It's a heavy feeling that sits in my stomach that seemingly turns to stone as soon as it settles and my first instinct is to get it out. But I am determined to keep it down, I need to if I'm going to make progress. I look over at Katniss and her skin tone has turned slightly green, she's holding a hand over her mouth probably going through the same battle.
When our stomachs have settled we're taken into another compartment with Effie to watch a recap of the reapings across Panem. I take a seat and stare intently at the screen, I need to know who we're up against, who will be better to let fend for themselves, and who will be the biggest threat. Naturally the tributes from District 1, 2, and 4 make the top of that list. The rest of the tributes pass in a blur to me, until District 11 comes on, the male being Thresh a surly and bulky looking guy, and the female?
Rue.
I'm astounded when I watch her make her way towards the stage, tiny and fragile. A close up of her face shows that she isn't crying, but the haunting way her eyes are looking out to the crowd stuns everybody. She's Prim's age, and when volunteers are asked for, no one steps up. The last reaping they show is of course District 12's where they have seemingly overdramatized everything. They show Prim's name being called, Katniss stepping up to take her place, Haymitch's display of drunkenness and falling off the stage, my name being called, we shake hands, and then it's over.
I notice they have omitted the bit with the sign everyone in District 12 had made for Katniss when she appeared on stage and I can't figure out why that is until Effie breaks my thought and huffs about the stage of her hair and Haymitch's complete lack of sociable conduct.
"He was drunk Effie, he's always drunk." I say, and can't help but laugh because it's true.
Katniss' joins in on the laugh and smirks, "Everyday." She adds.
Effie narrows her eyes at us and huffs, "Yes well of course you two can find this amusing now, but you do know that your mentor is your life line when you're in the arena. He is the one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, dictates the presentation of your gifts during your time in the Games. Haymitch can and will be the difference in your life and death!"
Katniss and I fall silent, the laughter no longer able to come out, and just then Haymitch stumbles into the compartment, bleary eyed and still drunk as a skunk.
"I miss supper?" he slurs, and with another rocky movement, he vomits over the fine carpeting and falls into his own mess.
"So laugh away." She huffs.
Effie winkles her nose in disgust and carefully jumps over him and his mess out of the compartment, taking a look back at us, as we stare stunned. The look on her eyes is unreadable but I suppose she can tell at this point, things are hopeless for the tributes of District 12.
