Prim's screams wake Peeta and myself at five in the morning. It's most likely that she's had a nightmare.
I hold her close to me, whispering to her; comforting her as tears roll down her face. Peeta turns on the light and goes down to the kitchen to fetch Prim some warm milk. She'll need it; whatever she had encountered in her nightmares would never be pleasant. What she actually dreamt of, there are endless possibilities.
Eventually, she calmed down enough so that she could speak. We drape a sheet over her shoulders, hand her the warm mild and ask her what she dreamt about. She doesn't reply for a minute or so.
"I... I was in th-the... arena, a-and it w-was d-d-down to the last-t i-it didn't s-seem t-too bad, but then a c-ca-career came out of
n-nowhere and... he k-ki-killed me. N-not quick a-and easy, no, h-he took his t-time, making it a-as slow and p-pai-painful as poss-s-ible..." She stutters, sniffling and wiping tears as away as she does so.
"Oh Prim, don't worry; that won't happen. You'll be fine. It's the Careers who should be afraid." I console.
"No," she says, her voice raising with a tone of anger, "It's the Capitol that should be afraid." This takes me aback.
"Prim, you'll get them back. Eventually..." Peeta consoles. Since when are we staging another rebellion? I ask myself.
"Just don't stage a rebellion. Well, not yet, anyways..." I joke. Prim laughs through her tears. I stroke her hair until I fall asleep.
*"^"*
Prim screams again at around seven. She's worse than last time. We try to soothe her, but so far, nothing has worked. Unsure of what else to do, I sing to her.
Are you, are you, coming to the tree,
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it seem,
Had we met up at midnight in the Hanging Tree.
Are you, are you, coming to the tree,
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee?
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it seem,
Had we met up at midnight in the Hanging Tree.
At this stage, she begins to sing along.
Are you, are you, coming to the tree,
Where I told you to run so we'd both me free?
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it seem,
Had we met up at midnight in the Hanging Tree.
Finnick comes in now, and says to Prim exactly what Johanna Mason said to me at the interviews, twenty years ago: Make him pay. This is a surprise to me, as I never expected him to be so rebellious at such a young age. She smiles a devious smile in reply. It seems that everyone has decided to stage a rebellion without telling me. Again, I think.
Peeta now enters the room, holding a tray, and smiles "How about some breakfast in bed?". We all shout "Yes!" at him in reply. Peeta gives us our breakfasts. He knows that I eat light on reapings, so he gives me toast and a glass of milk. I don't pay attention to what he gave the kids. We eat and drink in almost complete silence. Over the past few days, we've come to realize that this is the last day we'll be in this house for almost a month. It's also one of the last days of Prim's childish-ness, and, if all goes drastically, her life.
*"^"*
Once we finish, which takes almost forty-five minutes, Finnick and Prim clean themselves, one after the other. I take out their reaping clothes; for Prim, her daffodil yellow dress, which was tailored only three days ago, yet seems like forever ago, and for Finnick, some dark-denim jeans and a pastel blue shirt. I figure that Peeta and I will also be bathing, so I grab some smokey-grey slacks and a snow-white shirt for Peeta, and for myself, one of Cinna's designs; a knee-lenght dress, covered in flames, and of course, my mockingjay pin. Good, I think, just what Snow doesn't want to see.
*"^"*
After we've all cleaned ourselves and dressed, I step outside. The district is quiet. Eerily quiet.
"Katniss, it's only ten-thirty." Peeta tells me. I stay still, embracing the silence. Then I nod and walk back in. It's a magnificent day; hot, yet not too hot. Humid, but easily bearable. Prim and Finnick turn on the GameCube, and start playing. This time it involves a short plumber wearing red, and his tall brother in green. They try to reach the princess. Peeta and I lie on one of the chairs, watching the characters on the screen.
They play to try entertain themselves, and to forget the current situation. After they complete three levels, I can't watch any more. I walk into the dining room and rub my temples. I'm too stressed to watch them paly a game. I can't take my mind off of the Games. This is probably what Snow wants. Oh well, I think, at least this year they will feel the agonizing wait for a name to be called.
I run my hand through my hair in exasperation. I want to scream until my voice is hoarse. Instead, I make myself a cup of calmomile tea. All that goes through my head is, I really don't want to go through what I'm about to go through... Why does it have to be her? She's so good, but it still happens to her. Although, that's the thing about odds. They don't care about that. They're just either with or against you. I sip my tea to calm myself. God, I hate these Games. All to make a point. Peeta walks in, and once his arms wrap around me, all the bad thoughts disappear. All there is is us. No worries of Hunger Games or the Capitol. Just my love and I.
*"^"*
We're ready to leave, and Prim's shaking like a leaf. I whisper to Peeta, telling him to bring Finnick out while I talk to Prim.
"Prim?" I call.
"Yeah?" She replies.
"Rate how nervous you are. Then your confidence."
"Out of ten... Eight. Then around four."
"Okay, well, how about we switch those numbers around, hey?"
"Erm... okay..."
"Prim, look. This year, there's some spoilt Capitol little girl who cheers for death every year who is currently terrified. Her name is Melissa Snow. She is thirteen. And she's probably crying to her rich President great-grandfather who's over 100. And he's probably telling her he bribed her safety. Now think of you. A strong girl from District 12, born of rebels, who has trained for the punishment of that same man. Who's really better off? You, or Melissa? Who gets to disagree about the country and its rulers and stay alive, unlike anyone else?" I tell her. I know it's what she needs to hear.
"Me."
"Andd who's gonna stay strong for their own good? Yet still be a rebel too?"
"Me! I will! Because that's odds for ya."
"Good. Now, let's go." We walk out of our house for the last time in a month with our heads high. We catch up with the boys fairly quickly.
The walk is much too short for my liking. We reach the town square within ten minutes. Dillon comes up to Prim and hugs her, wishing her luck. Before I know it, we have to leave Prim to sign in. We make our way onstage. There are five seats; three for us, one for Mayor Lucius and one for our escort, Cornelia Eaton.
Cornelia starts her annual video and speech of the Dark Days; of Panem's creation; of the Games' birth; of the rebellion; of me. I zone out for most of it, focusing on Prim and Dillon. Eventually, the video and speech end after around five minutes, and I'm on another world, one in my head. Where there is no such thing as Hunger Games. I'm snapped back into reality by Cornelia announcing that she is about to pick the girl tribute. I see Prim squeezing her hands together. I wipe my brow, and hope it's not Her name called, but of course, it is.
"Primrose Rue Mellark!" Cornelia calls. Audible gasps fill the silence that follows. People look at me sorrowfully, but I just put my hands on my face, pretending to be surprised and devestated. I watch Prim walk up the steps of the stage through my fingers. She's walking with her head high. Once again everything is silent. It's so quiet that I can hear Prim's deep breaths. I just hope Dillon isn't the male.
Cornelia's hand mixes the slips inside the second glass bowl for a minute, before pulling one out. All my fears have come true.
Cornelia calls out the name. It's Dillon Cartwright
A/N: Look, I know I'm a deplorable human being, but I never forgot about the fic. And I have excuses. First, I wrote the chapter, way back in November, but then lost the files... like four times... then started self-harming... and kinda got banned from the internet... then got really suicidal, and almost attempted suicide. But now I get help! Yay! And I wrote this! And I have another chapter written, which I'll try do later in the week. But if it's late, it's because I'm crying with feels for TFiOS. Goodbye readers! Please stick around ;)
