A/N:
I'm back in college, so this has taken a while… but it's worth it, I think.
I want to say that the subject of this story is purely fictional and I am not homophobic.
One of my closest friends was gay and I loved him like my brother.
Also, the issues of surrogacy/ adoption being a bad thing, it is purely to illustrate the corrupt nature of the world that the characters live in.
People say that this story is a lot like a book called "A Handmaiden's Tale"… I had never heard of this novel until it was mentioned in a review. I do not know what it's about, or how similar this story is in comparison. I would just like to point out that if it does mirror that text in some manner, the plagiarism is not intended, or known, and I apologise profusely.
I also do not own any of the characters from the Hunger Games, I merely borrow them and stick them in my own ramblings.
Thanks to Stacylk for beta'ing this for me…. YOU ARE A GREAT HELP AND I LOVE YOU FOR YOUR AWESOME COMMENTARY…"ravage me Peeta" being my favourite!
Love ya big sis!
His eyes flee to the window as his parents discuss the mundane; idle gossip about the neighbours, secret affairs and public divorces, embezzlement and deceit amongst the high flyers in town, what colour drapes would best suit the parlour now that it's been re-decorated.
He sighs and continues to stare; endlessly wishing that he was out there with her in the wilderness, looking for a life away from the grotesque and false pretences that belong to the world of his parents. The porridge that he's eaten threatens to make a return when he thinks about today and the "significance" of it for his parents.
He knows that today, many young girls will face the Reaping and become "suitable" candidates for carrying the next generation. Year after year he has witnessed the abhorrent glint that catches in Carberry's eye as he surveys the victims, searching for the perfect genetic figure, whose traits will correspond with his to make a desirable child.
An ache hits him squarely in the chest at the thought of young girls, barely even teenagers being forced to carry children for the selfish want of people like his parents. Girls with feeble little bodies on wary , stick –thin legs, unsteady without the extra weight that accompanies pregnancy , brutally taken and inserted with the genes of the parents to create a perfect individual.
Then the ache hits him again, only harder this time. He was conceived this way, for nine months, a surrogate carried him, looked after him, fed him, housed him, cared for him, loved him even; only to have him torn away from her and given to someone else.
The thought of the selection process ties his stomach in knots, and it takes everything inside of him to hold back the bile that threatens to escape out of his mouth in disgust.
Seventeen years ago, they had taken in a widow from the Seam who had stayed in the house for a year whilst she carried and nursed Peeta. The Mellarks had agreed that Rye would be the first to choose and so, Peeta had entered the world carrying his father's characteristic blue eyes and the surrogate's blonde hair.
He's often wondered about her, who she is, if she's still alive, if she can remember him at all, but these questions have never been answered by his parents, in conjuncture with the laws regarding the surrogate's privacy.
Joss has been his main source of information, a non-judgemental figure who has answered his every thought when his parents didn't, yet she too never knew who the woman that carried him was, or even if she was still alive.
Every year, without fail, the Mellarks attended the Reaping, and every year, Peeta's prayers have been answered and a young girl has been spared the terrifying task of becoming the Mellark's surrogate, leaving him as an only child until the next Reaping in twelve months' time.
Yet the relentless nature of Carberry, wanting a child of his own was insatiable. His need to have a miniature figure of himself, with matching blonde hair and brown eyes often led to argument with his partner and neglect for the son that was his in name but nothing else.
He's never known a life outside of cleanliness; doesn't know what it means to be dirty, to go a day without washing or a month without a haircut. He doesn't know hunger either, whether it is for food or any material goods, his parents have always provided. Yet when he thinks of her, the girl from the Seam and her fate, similar to that of the woman who carried him, a part of him feels missing; incongruent even.
For the first time in his life, Peeta Mellark hungers for something that he knows he may never have: a normal family, like the ones he's read about in the history books at school. Yet to talk about such a thing could be punishable by death should the Peacekeepers of the District find out.
Heterosexual couples were frowned upon and strictly prohibited since the rebellion during the Dark Days. Although, in the Seam, some men and women co- habited together, yet for others, the pain of the Reapings and the uncertainty of the female's prospect of being reaped as a surrogate had left many women alone.
Madge had told him of grotesque images of young girls being inseminated in cold, dark clinics by brutal and careless doctors. She said that that their surrogate was still a child by the time she was reaped by her parents to carry her baby brother, Jackyl .
She had told him that there's always checks and tests carried out on the surrogates as the pregnancies have a high risk of failure, be it the mother's inability to carry a child due to her body being underdeveloped, or her internal organs barely able to support her own feeble body, never mind the increasing weight of a growing child.
Last year, the Undersees' had attempted for a third child, yet it had ended traumatically with neither the mother nor the infant surviving.
The thought of the girl with the bow, her long hair hitting her back repeatedly as she chases after a deer crosses his mind frequently. Did she lose someone in that repercussion all those years ago?
It all becomes too much for him, these thoughts, these greedy, selfish thoughts that people like his parents have, the lives that they've destroyed for the sake of wanting a child, a child that by the nature of their relationship, is biologically impossible.
He vows to himself not to have children; not to live in a world where children are not created out of love and through the exploitation of the young and oppressed.
"Peeta…?! Peeta darling!"
His hair sways a little to the side, dishevelled as he comes back to reality, breaking temporarily from the thoughts of today as Carberry's shrill voice hurts his ears yet again, piercing the silence that encapsulates the three of them.
He looks up, feigning interest in his father, his eyes blinking rapidly in the process.
"Peeta! Are you in there?Hello?!" Carberry punctuates, tipping either side of his head with his fingers after each word, wanting his attention.
"Dad,enough!" He cries, pushing his father's hands away.
"Are you excited Peeta?! I'm going to have a little boy of my own, a little brother for you to play with and look after! The final instalment to our perfect family! Oh I must call Don and book him; no doubt we'll have to have the baby installed in the family portrait! Now, Rye, I know…"
He drowns out the sounds of Carberry and Rye nattering away about carpets and furniture.
A flutter seeps into the bottom of his stomach and the girl with the bow crosses his mind again with uncertainty attached to her fate.
Whatever it is that makes her different never fails to entice him in, like a spider that traps a fly in its web.
Peeta doesn't even know her name, but that doesn't matter, he feels for her, admires her and longs for her although he knows he shouldn't.
A startled flock of mockingjays flee from the clearing as she pulls on the rope that's fastened to the long, slender legs of the doe, her hunting bag full with the medicinal herbs and plants for Prim to practice with in her homemade remedies and concoctions. Four wild turkeys hang from her belt, rhythmically brushing and banging against her thighs as she trudges through the thick brush of the clearing.
A clamour of noise interrupts her thoughts, the rope immediately slips from her nimble fingers and she drops to the ground in blind panic.
Scrambling to the nearby scrub for coverage, she makes sure that she's hidden completely.
Any minute a Capitol hovercraft could appear out of the sky, invisible and deadly. Disappearances were few and far between in the Seam; the people knew better, and were perhaps too broken to fight or retaliate against the Capitol. After the uproar of the Dark Days, there had been an unspoken consensus throughout Panem; too much blood had been spilled and at too great a loss to make the end justify the means, and so the tyranny and injustice of the Reapings had doomed the lives of many young girls, their fates sealed away before they were even born.
They could turn her into a mute, severing her tongue, preventing her from all capable manner of speech, or worse. Death would be the easier option, yet the brutality of President Snow would never let the end come. They'd torture her, make it seem that the only escape or feasible option would be to die; to cease to exist. Or they would leave her in a cell to rot in the Capitol, selling her to the highest bidder, not as a surrogate, but as a mere prostitute, exploiting her, degrading her, dismantling her person until all that would be left was her fundamental reason to exist: to pro- create.
That her existence and sex condemns her very life, without choice or explanation.
The girl with the bow watches the sky as the thunderous sound of the invisible hovercraft passes overhead, scattering the doe's corpse with the autumn foliage.
The new crop of children will all be born in early May this year she thinks, counting the months of her fingers, the dirt caked under her already bitten nails; jagged and uneven.
If all the available surrogates are not wanted by the merchants, another reaping will probably be held in the next four months if there's a greater desire for children in winter. It's a never ending process, an endless reminder to ensure that they never forget their place in society.
But she can't forget.
Her father was taken in repentance for the Dark Days. The memories of that cold winter night still haunts her dreams from time to time, not as frequently as they had when she was younger, but from time to time, they flood her vision. The Reapings had been in place for five years by this time, as a warning to the rebels that if they gave themselves up, the Reapings would stop.
Five years had passed, and gradually, the Capitol had made its way around Panem, executing the entire male population randomly, some 'freak accidents' like the large tidal wave that drowned the men of District Four or the logging accident that killed the men of District Seven.
She had watched how he had come back from working in the mines that day. The way the leather gloves he had worn were scratched and ripped in places from years of wear and damage. His broad shoulders, big and rounded, with specks of blue bruises in awkward places; she'd presumed that the lack of light and cramped space of the underground had caused theses unusual injuries.
He'd been called out after dark, another unusual occurrence.
The memory of him being hoarded into a formation in the Seam, standing beside his best friend, Seanan Hawthorne. Katniss lost herself as she recalled how her best friend, Gale had come over to hold her hand, because that's what best friends do; they look after each other and hold each other's hands when they get worried.
Peacekeepers came, holding what seemed like a large shower curtain, stretching around the men, covering them entirely, until only their silhouettes were visible through the material before hammering it securely to the ground.
The men shuffled around, irritable and annoyed. Tired and wondering why they were called out so late at night when there was work for them to go to in the morning.
She hold Gale's hand a little tighter, feels the sweat from her worrying coat both of their palms, as what seemed to be large vats of water are pumped into the enclosure that surrounds the men.
She squeezes Gale's hand until he physically pulls her into a hug, her head facing away from the carnage of the enclosure as the Seam fills with the shrieks and cries of the men as the vapour washes over them.
Gale had held her to his chest, a mere two years older than her and already a man, a comforter in his own way. She had turned around to find her mother and Hazelle Hawthorne running towards the curtain, followed by numerous other wives, screaming to their husbands, only to run into the unbreakable barrier of heavily armed Peacekeepers.
She remembered her mother calling loudly to him as a Peacekeeper had grabbed her shoulders, pinning her back from the barrier.
She still hears the words as clear as if they were spoken in her ear.
" THOM! THOOM!"
Her mother and father's last words to each other, forever imprinted in their daughter's mind.
"NEASS! NEASS! I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU KATNISS! NEVER FORGET!"
Gradually, the screams that had filled the night sky had ceased, until there was nothing but the faint lull as the bodies hit the floor, motionless and still before the Peacekeepers restrained the women and cornered off the area where they had massacred the men.
The night was filled with the sounds of her heavily pregnant mother and Hazelle Hawthorne, weeping bitterly at the loss of their husbands as Gale and Katniss held each other whilst they slept in the same bed, comforting each other through their tears with tights hugs and cuddles.
Two days later, Primrose Everdeen had entered the world, and whilst she was still alive medically, Neassa had descended into this unknown grey expanse, a half- life, one that had overcome her so much as to neglect and her young daughters.
The smell of acid, fused with coal dust had never left the district since.
The hovercraft lands in the distance, obviously carrying the necessary provisions for the Reaping to the Justice Building and the extra Peacekeepers needed to control the onslaught of the crowds during the process.
Yet the Capitol also needs children… children to make their own, desired brats by stealing the youth and innocence of the Districts. They needed the most well-bred and beautiful girls to carry their 'privileged' and 'noble' heirs; the future of Panem, a generation that would continue to keep the inferior districts that surrounded them in complete oppression.
She scrambles frantically away from the scrub of a bush once the danger has passed, dragging the doe from underneath it's blanket of golden coloured leaves, shedding them as she moves through the green of the forest. Shrugging the thoughts that her sister may be reaped. Forgetting, if only temporarily, the loss of her father; the lack of a masculine presence in her family's life for so long.
She returns to find Prim preened and cleaned up, a slight flush of colour hinting at her cheeks, her hair braided in an elaborate style whilst a plain white dress clings to her boyish frame.
"You look beautiful little Duck. Are you okay from this morning?" she whispers, saving the embarrassment of her little sister's bleeding from her mother.
Neassa watches the interaction between her two daughters, saying nothing, but staring at them with lifeless, dead eyes.
"I've laid something out for you too" her voice is quiet, like a timid child that's been told to sit in the corner after being naughty.
She looks from Prim to her older daughter before retreating back to her bedroom, her eyes inhabiting that horrible glaze that separates her from reality and her own dream like state.
She won't follow them today; she never has since her own Reapings, leaving Katniss to face the harshness all by herself. It had angered her, driven her crazy that her mother, her only parent, the last remaining link to her father was only half alive and unable to be there for her or for Prim.
She changes quickly, slipping on the faint blue garment, bringing her hair to the side so that she can plait it before up styling it for a change before the shrill cry of the siren calls them to the Justice building.
Prim clutches her hand, similar to the way she had when she was younger when her mother cried and screamed endlessly into the night.
They line-up accordingly, waiting to be processed by the Peacekeepers who prick their fingers, ensuring that the girls are of age to breed, before crossing the courtyard towards the neat segments of females of all different ages, standing in unison on the dusty ground, under the blinding midday sun.
Prim lets go of her hand, her body trembling.
"Ssh…Ssh! Prim it's gonna be okay, just go line up with the little kids and I'll come find you, okay?"
Her blonde head bobs in acknowledgement as she turns to find a friend and join her segment.
The Treaty of Treason is read as nerves heighten between the ranks before the Capitol representative, a ridiculously dressed woman with purple hair presents herself as Effie Trinket.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome, ladies! We are so very grateful to have you here! Oh I just love the Reapings! So! In order to access you accurately, and to make sure that everyone has a shot at becoming a surrogate, we have entered the most fertile candidates into the draw several times. These will be young women from the ages of sixteen to twenty three. All other segments will be entered once to compensate for future Reapings within the year. Now! The moment is upon us, to select twenty prime, young women for the honour of carrying the children of the merchant quarters. Let's begin!"
The thought of blood threatens her insides to throw up, yet the reassurance that Prim will not be entered more than once keeps the bile down.
Prim will be safe, even if Katniss herself is reaped to carry a leech for the merchants.
Effie's long fingers reach into an enormous glass bowl, filled with thousands of slips of paper.
Numerous names are called out; none of them mean that much to her, they're just an endless list of young girls whose innocence will be shattered through no dictation of their own.
Nineteen girls pass through, climbing up onto the stage to go to the waiting area inside the Justice building where the merchants will inspect them like cattle fit for the slaughter before being auctioned off for a high price.
Just when she thinks it's safe to breathe again, the one thing that fractures her world into a million pieces comes true.
"Primrose Everdeen!" cries Effie, triumphant and confident in the last member of the Reaping.
The world turns quiet and spins in slow motion as Katniss fights her way through, trying desperately to fight off the Peacekeeper before she slips away for good.
She had promised herself to protect Prim and had subsequently failed.
He takes his seat alongside his parents in the viewing hall, the consistent loud chatter of the crowd.
A pang of guilt and disgust courses through him as the cold plastic of the chair hits his back.
A barrage of girls, ranging in age shuffle across the front of the room, each holding a number on a white card with a large black number on it. He can't get over how fragile they are, how vulnerable they are to the selfish and greedy eyes of the merchants who see them as nothing more than breeding mammals.
A man by the name of Caesar Flickerman stands at a large wooden podium, a carved gavel in his hand, ready to start auctioning off the line of girls.
"What a good crop of recruits this year, eh Rye? So much variety, I'm spoilt for choice!" squeals Carberry, his hands knotting together in order to contain his obvious delight.
Rye looks at him with a wide smile, his delight equally matched like that of his husbands.
Peeta's stomach churns into a tight, painful knot.
The entire thing is nothing but a sick joke to them, a means of making a little bastard of their own that will grow up only knowing half of its identity, until it's faced to go off, marry and pick out a surrogate to help create a little virgin replica of themselves and live happily ever after.
Caesar waves his arm, indicating for the crowd to hush and to let auction commence.
He can feel the tension in the air, as the bidding begins, the injustice of it all, the trafficking of these poor girls into nothing more than slavery for nine months is exactly what is about to happen.
"Welcome, welcome, one and all! I'm sure you're very excited to see this year's surrogacy tributes from the Seam region of District 12! A few conditions before the bidding begins! Only one surrogate may be reaped per couple. Once a surrogate is reaped, there is no change of mind facility available, so please choose and bid wisely. Bidding will start at the according fee of …."
Peeta tunes out, unable to listen to any more of this nonsense.
A number of girls walk the expanse of the stage, some staggering with nerves, others staggering from lack of strength, twirling at the end so that the prospective parents can view their surrogate, deciding what sort of physical traits they want in order to create a child.
Many girls pass, some so emaciated, that he knows for sure that they won't survive the ordeal of the pregnancies. Madge had confirmed that the sheer toll of carrying a child in the womb was a painful and strained process, only made tougher by the surrogate being weak herself.
Carberry surveys the girls like a lion looks upon its prey, waiting for the ultimate moment to strike.
A small gasp escapes his mouth when he sees a small, doll- like girl, her eyelashes long and fluttering like the wings of a butterfly as she walks cautiously towards where the Mellarks are sitting.
"Oh…" breathes Carberry, a sigh omitting from his pink lips.
Peeta knows that this is the one; that this poor little soul will be the surrogate, her blonde hair and blue eyes, genetics that are desirable to prospective parents.
"And now, the last available surrogate! Newly developed and at the tender age of thirteen, she's has a lot of potential for the future! Not to mention a natural beauty, with a kind, docile nature. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Primrose Everdeen! Shall we start the bidding?" calls Caesar, his voice triumphant.
The speed that Carberry's arm shoots up is unnatural, inhumane even. A reaction that should never occur.
Yes sir! I have an offer! Thank you! Will there be a higher bid for this little blonde specimen other than the gentleman in the corner?" Caesar beams, his arm with the gavel swaying frantically.
Another arm shoots up, a challenger, raising the bid.
It's a persistent battle, and Peeta knows that Carberry is relentless; not stopping until he achieves what he set out to get.
The crowd lets out a communal sigh at the back and forth motions of the bidding, until only one victor remains.
Carberry beams at Rye, before hugging Peeta tightly.
Unrest settles in his chest, as he breaks from his father's clutches, feeling nothing but empathy and loss for the blonde girl who is escorted to their seats, her eyes large and filled with worry.
Suddenly, the murmurs of the viewing hall are interrupted by shouts and screams from the back, as a dark haired girl bursts through, screaming at the top of her lungs, the merchants silenced.
Peacekeepers immediately grasp her arms, dragging her away from the viewing hall as she continues to struggle profusely, her heels digging into the ground before breaking away.
"PRIM! PRRIM! I'LL DO IT, NO! I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER!"
Peeta's head whips around in disbelief as she runs directly towards him, her hair falling down around her shoulders and lower back.
It's only then that he realises the connection.
The surrogate that Carberry has chosen is Primrose Everdeen, sister of the girl that he has admired from afar.
Katniss Everdeen.
The girl with the bow is about to make the ultimate sacrifice, all in the act of love for her sister.
And Peeta can do nothing but stare as she clings to Prim, holding her, shielding her, giving up her life for her sister's innocence.
Carberry shrieks as he and the rest of his family are escorted from the viewing hall to a separate room, the Everdeen sisters following swiftly after Peeta…