That first night was really hard. Mom and I didn't touch the stew and didn't even remember to take it off the coals until it had partially burned. We didn't speak either after Gale left. I didn't know what to say. Nothing felt right.
When we finally went to bed, I found the coolness of the sheets distressing and I tossed and turned until finally resigning to Mom's bed where she held me until I fell asleep.
I didn't go to school the next morning, since you can get away with a day off if someone in your family goes to the Hunger Games. Only one though. I guess having crying kids and parents in public is supposed to be limited as much as possible. Still, you can recognize the families of the tributes by their dazed, empty expressions, the way they shuffle their feet instead of take full steps.
Maybe that's what I look like right now. My fingers curl through Lady's rough white fur, petting the goat around her spots. My eyes stare at her and I try work up the urge to milk. It's a much easier than some of the other chores like cleaning out her makeshift stall each day. It's as though my body is still asleep, just not accepting commands from my mind.
I close my eyes and sigh, feeling a pit of loneliness. Lady licks my face and I turn away a light grin breaking out. Ok, I can do this, I think. Once Lady is milked and a rope leash is tied around her neck, the two of us leave the stall and cross out of the Seam into a ratty Meadow. Usually, if there's any grass at all in the meadow that's beside our house, I let Lady eat from there, instead of making Katniss bring home extra food.
The wind howls its whispers at me in a breezy, deafening silence as Lady eats. I sit against a scraggly tree that's long since dead and tuck my knees up against my chest, wishing this emptiness would just leave me alone.
After Lady is back in her stall, I see to the other chores, checking the cheese from yesterday afternoon. It's sat a little too long and is drying too quickly. I cut it into sections and then tuck the whole wheel into a bag that has a shoulder strap; Mom stitched it together for my trading with businessmen.
Bringing the milk along, I make the normal rounds, this time before school is out. Only adults are on the streets, no kids at all. I finish making my trades early and decide to head home straight away. Something besides Katinss' going to the Games is bothering me.
Adults like to say that if you keep making a face, it'll stick and you'll always look that way. I don't know if Katniss always had a face that scowls but she usually looks angry. So, what bothers me is whether Katniss was scowling on stage because that's what her face does or whether it was something else.
The simple truth is chewing me up inside, overshadowing the hunger that every Seam-resident knows too well; Katniss wouldn't even be going to the Hunger Games if it weren't for me. She took out tesserae every year she could and had something like twenty entries this year. I had only one, and still it didn't matter! Were the twelve-year-olds the last entries to go in the pot and Effie Trinket had just grabbed one from the top of the pile?
That doesn't matter, really. What matters is that I'm the reason Katniss is gone, and I can already feel the weight of that truth sinking my heart. Was Katniss scowling because she was angry with me? I don't think so, probably not. At least if she was, she was over it by the time we got to see her last. Almost without warning, shame grabs my stomach, my face flushing hotly.
District 12's residents like me a lot because I'm 'adorable' and nice to people. They like Katniss too because she and Gale get lots of food on to the market and food matters a bit more than pleasant company. Some nights, it's all a girl can think about. I wonder if people are going to be angry with me. I know it's foolishness, but I drag Lady along, rushing home anyway, to hide my face from anyone who might recognize me. Probably everyone would, considering the big screens showing my fit and my sister's personal sacrifice.
Pretty much everyone I traded with today offered how sorry they are for Katniss and I didn't know what to say to any of them. Am I supposed to talk up my sister's talents when she's only in this mess because of me?
I lay down to hug a blanket for a long time. Buttercup snuggles up next to me, purring. I kiss the uneven fur on his head and rub my hands down his spine and for some reason, I feel a little better. My mind drags me through the memory of those precious minutes with Katniss.
She held me and said that she loved me. The only thing I can remember saying to her is that she has to win. What a stupid thing to say! Of course, Katniss was going to try to win. She's always done what it takes to survive and she would give it her best shot in the arena. What did my words mean to her, then? 'You have to win because we can't make it without you.'
The moment sticks in my mind the way coal dust sticks to everything in the Seam. If only I could have a chance to do that over, I would take back those words and say something else, almost anything else. Maybe tell her how much she's meant to us all these years, except that would sound like I've already given up on her. Maybe just tell Katniss one more time that we love her.
It's the Capitol that is responsible. They treat everyone like dirt, like they can just throw people away and not give it a second thought! I'm not as much sad or ashamed anymore as angry. How many kids do they kill ever year in the Hunger Games? Twenty-three every year for 70-some-odd years? The ones that survive are so different, either insane or depressed from the horror of the ordeal.
I've been laying down, not napping for about an hour, but all this frustration is working up my energy. There are always chores to be done so I set back to them, cleaning the house and Lady's stall. School is out by now, the trading is done and usually I would go to the apothecary shop to help Mom.
Right as I decide to leave the house again, Mom comes through the door. "Hi, Prim. I had to close the shop early."
A bit more harshly than I intend to my voice bursts, "But Katniss told us to keep doing what we were doing!"
Mom's eyes squint with pain, "I know, but it's just for today, because we're going to the mayor's house tonight."
I had forgotten that. I bite my tongue, while regret bites me for snapping at Mom. It's not like me to snap. She's right, most dinners would be happening in an hour or so, a hair before sundown. District 12's residents are accustomed to eating around sunset since candlelight is quite expensive. We still have to clean up and walk all the way through the business district to get to the mayor's house.
I force my voice to assume its usual gentleness. "I'm sorry, Mom. I just..." My words trail off. I don't want to talk about it. My head already hurts from thinking about it.
"I know, Prim. I am too." My body slides into a chair as I try to will my mind to shut off. Mom comes over and strokes her fingers through my hair. "She loves you very much, honey. Things should be different but they aren't. Katniss gave you the gift she wanted to give you."
Mom means that the Capitol shouldn't be able to do these things to us kids and that Katniss took my place out of love, out of her instinct to protect and provide for me. With every competing emotion that has flooded my head to the point of a splitting headache, I can't help but let it churn onward, dragging my heart upon a sea of agonized guilt. My face flushes again, throat whimpering, beyond my control.
Mom hugs me around the back of the chair, "Why don't we get cleaned up, ok?"
We're going to Mayor Undersee's house for dinner and I've been crying. After the fit from last night, will the Peacekeepers accept with my refusal to accept this as I'm supposed to? I rub some water onto my cheeks to wash away the evidence. Who cares what they think of my grief, I wonder.
I put on my other skirt, a darker, brown one. The blouse is the same thing I wore last night because there're just no other nice clothes that fit me. Mom is radiant in her dress with the fading velvet collar. Even though she washed her face, her own telltale redness of sorrow is still evident. Maybe she closed the shop down because she couldn't handle the constant reminders of sympathy. It's still a bit early to be leaving, even with the half an hour of walking before we arrive.
Buttercup bats a lazy paw at a piece of string that I tease him with when a sudden knock thumps at the door. Mom opens it and Gale steps in, dressed in an outfit of his father's nice clothes, a button down and even a fancy belt. "Hello, Gale." Mom says.
"Hi, Mrs. Everdeen." Gale replies and glances at me and the cat.
"I thought you weren't going to come." My voice rushes my thoughts into words. "Well, I mean, it sounded like you weren't going to come."
Gale shrugged indifferently. "The more food I eat for free, the more I can leave for my family." I hadn't really even thought about the dinner. I was struggling to discern my emotions from my physical needs. It made sense.
Few in the Seam ever have dinner parties because no one who lives here can afford it. Every scrimp of supplies and scrap of food has to be rationed for consumption since there's simply never enough.
If someone comes over for dinner, almost always they pay Mom for the food they eat. Seam residents can't afford charity. Most can't even afford to maintain themselves. We Everdeens are a bit better off because Katniss and Gale have always been such excellent scavengers and hunters. They risk venturing under the fence almost every single day, at least they did. Gale probably will continue to do so. The Peacekeepers here don't mind, as long as the food keeps coming in. Even the Capitol's police buy on the black market.
This is so like Gale. It's like Katniss too. They do anything they have to for the few people they love. Anything! I was very lucky to be born into this family. Dad used to sing to us, and though I miss him and the music. I still have the wonderful memories of his affection and care. I don't remember feeling hollow when I was that young. Until today, nothing I had felt held this weight. He did everything he could for us too, even work long days, in a coal mine deep in underground. I think that's what Katniss got from Dad mostly, his sense of duty to care for us.
The walk takes half an hour, as expected and no one talks. Gale is clearly uncomfortable. He may be willing, but he doesn't like going to the mayor's. I can understand. Mayor Undersee is involved in the reaping every year and the general administration of Capitol's dictates. It doesn't matter though. If it wasn't him, it would be someone else and Mayor Undersee really isn't all that bad. Some people say so sometimes, when the air is warm and there's a little extra food at the markets.
Mayor Undersee's house looms enormous on the street. Two levels! I can't imagine what we would do with all the extra space that's packed behind those walls. Madge Undersee sleeps in her own room and has her own dresser and there's even a second bathroom! The mayor's house has more rooms than I have pairs of socks. Our feet thud dully through the stairs as we climb onto the Undersee's elevated porch.
Mom knocks on the door lightly and Mrs. Undersee answers it. I don't see her much because she's sick a lot and has to stay in bed. The kids at school like to gossip about it from time to time. Madge once told Katniss it's just headaches. Maybe that's why she doesn't look up as she invites us in.
The front hallway is lined with several simple bookshelves against a wall. The room to the left is nicer, with deep red carpet, a few couches, and wallpaper boasting exquisite printed patterns. There's a television as large as the ones they put up in the square for people during the reapings, although it's not on. Not for lack of power, since the electricity is flowing once more. The Mellark family is already sitting on the couches talking easily with Mayor Undersee. When the mayor notices us, he stands up to greet us, shaking our hands as he did last night. "Welcome! Welcome, please, have a seat!"
Mom, Gale, and I sit, unsure of what to say or how to act. The Mellark family sits across from us; the two boys, one a bit older than Gale and the other a bit younger, also dressed in nice clothes. Mr. Mellark is wearing a faded suit that doesn't match his tie. I can't look past Mrs. Mellark's stern glare.
Mrs. Mellark is always angry, and I can never understand why. Peeta's selection in the reaping is a good reason to be mad. Still, she's glowering at us like we're at fault somehow. It's unsettling. The Mayor doesn't seem to notice as he tries to work Gale into a conversation. Why would Mrs. Mellark be mad at us? Because we want Katniss to win the Games and not Peeta? That makes no sense. She should be mad at the Capitol, fuming at the mayor.
Madge enters, dressed almost plainly, the same style she dresses in for school. She tells her father, "It's ready."
For once, the Mayor seems relieved. His vague questions to Gale had been almost entirely ignored. We stand and Mayor Undersee invites everyone into a broad dining room. The tablecloth is covered with enough dishes and entrees to last for a month in my house. I decide it's not time to compare lives since the mayor is paying for this feast which is quite expensive, even by his Capitol-funded salary. A thought flashes through my head that maybe the Capitol is paying for the expense of the food, but I can't see why they would. They're never very generous without a victor. I decide to leave it alone, for the sake of being a polite guest.
A man introduces himself as the cook and lists each of the foods he has prepared. My attention is riveted to a dish of deep red sauce draped over cheesy noodles layered by some sort of meat. Everyone takes a seat; mine between Mom and Madge, and in seconds the first basket of oven-warm rolls is emptied. Even the Mellarks, who live in the business district, are impressed with the food and I realize, no matter the reason for this meal, it is a nice gesture.
For several minutes, only the clinking of the shiny utensils on plates and bowls disturbs the air, ears ignored in response to oversaturated palates. I help myself to a serving-spoonful of the red stuff and then notice that everyone else is piling food onto their plates, except the Mayor who doesn't seem to mind the rapid feast, awaiting his turn for a ladle of soup. My self-consciousness disappears and I drop two more servings onto my plate.
The taste shocks my tongue. It's like nothing I've ever had before! Treats in the Seam are a glass of orange juice or, even more rare, a slice of cake. There's fantastic, filling richness in the sauce, the spices tantalize my mind. My eyes flutter closed as I savor the sensation. I can actually feel my pulse quicken.
Some kids in the Seam grow up without ever having experienced a full stomach. I've been really only been full a few times in my life, and I can say nothing compares to the exquisite senses that saturate me now. A few more bites follow and the warmth of the food dissipates the hollowness in my stomach.
When tributes are sent to the Capitol, they eat these sorts of expensive foods until the Games begin so they have extra energy for the fights. I'm suddenly filled with joy that at least Katniss will get to have experienced this. Shunning all thoughts to bask in this dinner, I scrape the plate clean before I realize how fast my appetite tore through the meal.
Conversation finally breaks out while I'm serving up another plateful of some sort of sliced meat with gravy and peas. Small talk about the weather and about the food dominates the table. The younger Mellark boy, Gale, and I keep quiet, letting the adults talk. I know Allen Mellark some because he's usually at the bakery when I bring in Lady's milk. He probably doesn't know what to add to the conversation, either.
For now, I content myself with another roll, dipping it in the soup that tastes like tomatoes. The drink that the cook serves to me and Allen is different than what the others are having. He calls it root beer, which doesn't sound appetizing one bit. It's dark, bubbling surface doesn't look like the beers that some men drink in the Seam. I sip it for a sample and instantly fall in love. Sugar and bubbles sting my tongue, but once I get over the surprise of the bite, it's delicious!
Eventually the topic of choice must have drifted upon the Games, but I'm still too deeply fascinated by the meal to notice until I hear Katniss' mentioned. Looking up from my plate, I see that Mom is talking about the provisions Katniss "retrieves". Openly mentioning the foraging could invite unwanted focus on Gale, for all Mom knows so she avoids mentioning where Katniss is "retrieving" from.
Mayor Undersee tilts his head. "You may not be aware that Katniss and Gale sell me some delightful strawberries on a pretty regular basis. Where you find them in District Twelve, Gale, I'll never know." The mayor chuckles lightly.
Gale leans forward adjusting the fork in his hand to cut a piece of the sliced meat on his plate. "Katniss has her ways." His response is almost sarcastic and I wonder if Gale will continue to trade the strawberries or start giving them to his younger siblings and widowed mother.
"Well, I know that it isn't easy for you folks to come together here, seeing as what is… going on with the Games," Mayor Undersee pauses to take a gulp from his glass. I glance around the table Madge is looking at her plate and I notice for the first time, she's hardly eaten anything. A half-eaten roll is soaking up some of the sauce from her first serving of the magnificent noodles.
Mrs. Mellark appears to have been soothed out of her eternal spite by whatever drink the adults are having from dusty old bottles. She cups her hands around the glass on the table, not wanting to let it go. Everyone else stares at the mayor who continues, "But the tradition is that the tribute's families eat together on the night of the introduction ceremony and watch the broadcast together, because the tributes always arrive together, as representatives of our district." My glances catch Gale nodding dimly at the words, as though the Mayor has said something that makes good sense to him.
That seems like weak reasoning to me. I had never heard of this tradition until the previous evening when he invited us. I thought we were going to watch the broadcast back at home on the tiny television that sits on a wooden crate.
Mayor Undersee continues waving an open palm over the food, "So, please enjoy this evening and have all you like."
Mom hesitates and then graciously replies, "Thank you for the meal."
The table is quiet again, until Mrs. Undersee begs our pardon and excuses herself. I lean over toward Madge to whisper. "Is your Mom okay?"
She nods, "Try the deviled eggs. You'll like them a lot." I'm not sure what she's referring to until I see the strange little whites cradling weird, creamy yolk sprinkled with some sort of red pepper. These weren't here when the meal began. The cook must have brought them while I was lost, wandering across my plate. Madge was right. They are exquisite, so much that I take two more.
Before long, deserts are presented; two flavors of pudding that I mix together in a small tin bowl the cook provides, and a whole cake. I've never seen an entire cake except in the window of Mr. Mellark's bakery.
Once I'm through my second piece of cake, that truly abnormal sensation of fullness insists within me. I worry that my appetite has convinced me to eat myself sick, but after a few minutes of awkward anxiety, the pressure in the back of my throat subsides and I know the food will stay down. Even with a full belly, I drink two more glasses of water before the mayor announces that the time for the broadcast to begin is approaching.
Everyone stands up slowly, revealing I am not the only one at risk of bursting open. As we saunter back to the sitting room, there's satisfied stomach patting and appreciative comments to the cook who readily absorbs the praise. I thank him timidly and Mayor Undersee too, before following Madge to a spot on a couch. Honestly, I'm thankful for the meal as an escape from my thoughts, a diversion from the Games. I don't think anything else would have been able to distract me from this misery.
Once everyone is settled, Gale tucking his broad shoulders between Allen and me, the mayor turns on the television with a remote control. Never seen one of those before either.
Text floats around the screen, "Please wait," and then the signal from the Capitol swims into view, enormous on this powerful monitor. The replays of yesterday's reapings are wrapping up. We didn't watch those when we got home so I have no idea what other tributes there are this year. Almost always, the tributes from 1, 2, and 4 are volunteers because those districts are richer, the kids are healthier, and participation in the Games is seen as a privilege. I guess if some strong kids were always volunteering, the weak, scared kids would be safe.
With a flourish of each Tribute's image flash up on the screen for a fraction of a second and the replays are finished. Now the introduction ceremony is to begin. The Hunger Games has a special opening theme that begins to play, a tune which sows dread across Panem and now heartache in this room. Then the image fades in; a straight-on shot of massive doors, opening slowly at the end of a broad street. On either side, crowds line the streets, cheering wildly, frantically bored from the months of easy living, raring up for the annual festivities.
The ceremony is a parade of the tributes through Capitol City in horse-drawn chariots for their arrival at the Training Center. It's really little more than a chance to showcase the children in outlandish and expensive outfits that are custom designed every year. They're supposed to relate to the main product of each district. Katniss and Peeta will probably be side by side in overalls with pick axes over their shoulders, just like the years I can remember.
District 1's chariot comes into view followed by District 2 and so on. The kids look strange, in fantastical uniforms and slathered with careful makeup. This year is no different from the usual endless procession of indignities. Some of the kids are barely wearing any clothes at all. The crowd cheers away, loving every minute of the human exhibit.
Suddenly the applause hushes in awe as the chariot carrying Peeta and Katniss emerges. Gasps fills in the sitting room. Peeta and Katniss hold hands and are... burning! Their clothes are simple and black but flames lick at their capes and crowns, tongues of fire spiral into the air behind them as their chariot moves forward. It takes a while to force my eyes to look at something other than the blaze and in that time the crowd in the Capitol has taken up cheering specially for District 12. That never happens. Suddenly, I have a non-edible reason to be glad we came.
Katniss glows with the embers, her face peeled into a beautiful smile, free hand waving to the crowd and even blowing kisses. I can hardly believe it's my sister on the screen!
The cameras abandon the rest of the parade, focusing on District 12's chariot almost exclusively. Chants of Katniss arise, even though Peeta looks just as amazing and lustrous. Something alluring about my sister, the crowd is latching onto. At one turn in the celebration, a rose is thrown from the crowd and Katniss catches it, sending a teasing kiss back in return.
My hand squeezes something and I look down to see Madge has taken my fingers in hers. She leans over to me and whispers, "Katniss is so gorgeous, isn't she?"
I nod faintly, tears blurring the massive image. The cameras stay on Katniss and Peeta for at least half of the celebration, even when President Snow greets the tributes and gives a speech. Dusk falls much later in the Capitol, it's been evening in District 12 for an hour. Now as the light dwindles around the tributes, the fire brightens, standing out even stronger. It must be some sort of false fire because it's so close them, it would scald and they'd tear off the crowns and capes in a hurry.
President Snow completes his speech and the chariots ride off into the maw of the Training Center. The commentators make an immediate beeline to talk about District 12's tributes. Everyone is stunned in the sitting room and we silently watch the replays again and again, seeing my sister: gorgeous, elegant, playful, and on fire! My sister Katniss, who took my place, was set aflame and burned upon the spirits of the Capitol. Katniss, the girl who was on fire.