Chapter 1: Take a Leap Into the Abyss

Prim's POV

It isn't even light out when I wake up from a nightmare, screaming in terror. The horrifying vision of a boy standing over me with a knife is still flashing behind my eyes, the image refusing to fade even as my consciousness slowly begins to discern that I am not in a dark and scary wood, but rather, safe in my own bed.

I still scream, though. Until my throat becomes raw, and until the sounds I make morph into sobs, I scream. I am only just aware of the door to my bedroom opening, and then I am in gentle arms, which now rock me. My face pressed to her bosom, I lift my eyes to take in the crooning countenance of my older sister, Katniss, her nightdress clinging to sweaty skin. District 12 summers are oppressively hot, and very few people here can afford air conditioning. Folks like us in the Seam, we like to sleep with the windows open in the summertime, for we believe it can help. It usually doesn't.

"Sssssh….. Ssssh…. You were dreaming…. You were dreaming…."

"It was me!" I blubber, and I am cheered – by just the smallest degree – that my sister knows me well enough that I need not explain myself further.

"It's your first year, Prim; your name's only in there once. They're not gonna pick you…."

Leaning me back onto the bed, Katniss tucks me in, softly singing The Meadow Song.

"…. A bed of grass, a soft, green pillow…." I echo the words, grinning impishly. It is moments like these where I still feel like a child – her child, almost, in a strange way (Mother has been sick for quite some time). For people who don't know me, it is hard to fathom that I celebrated my 12th birthday just last month, thereby clearing the way for my entrance into my first Reaping for the Hunger Games.

It's the 74th edition this year, in which the dozen districts of Panem each send one boy and girl between the ages of 12 and 18 into an outdoor arena to fight to the death. The children offered up as tribute battle and survive for days, sometimes weeks at a time until a lone Victor remains, who is then lavished with riches the rest of his or her life. In return, Victors have to mentor future tributes from their district.

"You remember that song, right?" Katniss murmurs. I nod. "OK. I gotta go."

"Go where?"

"I just gotta go," Katniss whispers. I know what she means. Hunting. Katniss has gone hunting to feed us since Daddy died in a mining accident several years back. I was 7. "But I'll be back in a couple of hours. We'll go somewhere together. The Reaping isn't until 2…. I love you."

And clad in Daddy's hunting jacket, Katniss slips out of my room. I hear the latch fall as the door leading into our little homestead closes behind her.

My sister is as good as her word. By the time I am up and dressed, and helping to cook Mother breakfast, Katniss is back from her hunt. She doesn't say much of anything when I ask how it went, and hardly bothers to spare a glance to Mother. As soon as I have presented Mother with her plate, Katniss takes my hand and leads me out of the house, ignoring Mother's soft and weak voice that we are to be back by 1.

Katniss and I cross over the dividing line from Seam into Town. This is where all the Merchants live. They tend to have fairer skin (Katniss and I share our father's more olive complexion), golden hair and run businesses that keep District 12 stocked in perishable goods. Whereas folks like us in the Seam, there is only one profession that awaits us: coal mining. And if not that, homemaking and childrearing, especially for us women.

Glancing at the hard frown on Katniss's face, I know well that she would sooner risk her life down the mine shafts than share a bed with some man and bear his children. Plenty of men in our district find her attractive – I've seen boys at school stare at her, though she never appears to notice.

Speaking of school, we pass by the play-yard on our way deeper into Town. A pair of large stone statues loom overhead, casting a long shadow as we make our way under them. They are supposed to depict likenesses of District 12's Victors in the Hunger Games. Whether or not they are actually accurate renditions is difficult to tell. The cut from stone nose of the boy at the statue on the right almost sneers down at me, and I grip my sister's hand all the tighter.

When we emerge onto one of the main streets, I take in where Katniss is probably leading us, and I smile for the first time all day. Once we are close enough, I feel safe in letting go of her hand and dashing forward, pressing my nose against the glass.

"Oooh, Katty, look! Look at all the cakes!" I gush.

Sidling up to me, Katniss allows herself a small tender smile. I adore it when she does show happiness – my sister almost never smiles. Very rarely does she have a reason to, and when she does, it usually has something to do with me.

"The icing is beautiful!" I sigh. "Almost too good to eat!"

"They do look tempting," Katniss murmurs to me conspiratorially. "Remember last month, when I got a cupcake for you for your birthday?"

I nod. "You traded for it." My smile turns into a teasing smirk.

Katniss's eyes narrow bemusedly. "What are you up to….?"

But before I can land a tease in jest, the bell tinkles over the front door of the bakery, and we girls glance up.

A strapping young man of sixteen is wiping his hands on a dishtowel. His lips upturn into a soft smile, but his eyes – eyes as blue as a summer sky – are entirely focused on my sister, who I now notice is running a hand through her braid and is sporting a flush of pink on her cheeks. Katniss is trying to scowl to make up for this flustered state – especially after being caught off-guard – but her cool facial expression seems forced.

"Good morning, ladies," The Baker's youngest son greets. "Just window shopping?"

Katniss nods stiffly. Her free hand is now bunching up the hem of our father's hunting jacket, hopelessly creasing the leather.

"The cupcakes and cookies are so beautiful!" I bubble. "Who does the icing?"

The young man chuckles – I think his name is Peeta – and smiles bashfully. He seems pleased that someone thought to ask. "I do the designs."

"I guess I should be thanking you, then, for the cupcake on my birthday," I chirp. "It was quite lovely."

Peeta dips his head in acknowledgement. "You're very welcome… Primrose, is it?"

I nod eagerly. Peeta is back to looking at my sister.

"And…. Katniss, right?"

My sister's stormy grey eyes expand a bit, like she's stunned that he actually knows her name. She tries to cover it up by keeping her lips in a thin line, but bobs her head once in affirmation.

There is an uncomfortable silence for a moment, filled only by my sister and Peeta glancing at each other, then just as quickly looking away.

"Nervous for the Reaping?" Peeta floats gently.

There is a slight pause before Katniss finds it within herself to answer.

"More for her than for me," she gestures in my direction. "I mean, I'll have been through five myself when today is said and done."

Peeta nods slowly, absorbing her words. Then he blurts out:

"Either of you stolen a Reaping Kiss?"

Katniss's mouth falls open prettily, and I resist the urge to giggle. The Reaping Kiss is an old superstition in District 12. Legend has it that if you share a kiss with someone who is also Reaping eligible on Reaping morning, both of you are guaranteed not to be picked. My sister's face is now positively aflame, and she ducks her head shyly. An odd little noise escapes her, which sounds almost like…. a giggle.

"Oh, no, I…. I don't believe in that stuff. Superstitious crap."

Peeta nods, though his sapphire eyes appear to dim. "Well, would you all like to come inside? Have a cookie, perhaps?"

"We don't have anything to trade," Katniss points out.

"Oh, that isn't necessary. Besides, it's a holiday, which really should be reason enough for free samples." Peeta jokes, even as laughs off a bit of frustration. "My mother doesn't like just giving inventory away, but I can sneak it…"

"No, thank you," Katniss cuts across him. "We were just about to head back anyway. Have to get ready for the Reaping. Come along, Primrose." And she tugs me by the hand back through the district and towards the border of Seam and Town. I glance back once to see Peeta observing us before he turns to head inside. Katniss doesn't say a word as we make the return journey home, though the pink stains on her cheeks have refused to disappear.

I can confront her about it (though I have yet to, outside of some light teasing). She can fiercely deny it. But I know my sister has a crush on Peeta Mellark, the Baker's youngest boy. She gets all hot and bothered when around him in a way that she never has with any other young man, and that includes Gale Hawthorne, her hunting partner.

When we return home, it's a quarter to 1, and I see Mother is laying out a dress for me. Katniss gets around to skinning some of the game she brought back while Mother helps me into my frock. It's beige in color, matched by a white blouse. By the time I am glancing in the mirror, Katniss is down dressing the venison, and when she crosses into the living room to inspect me, she smiles radiantly.

"Oh, look at you! You look beautiful!" Kneeling before me, she adjusts the hem of my blouse, tucking it into my skirt. "Better tuck in that tail, Little Duck."

"I laid something out for you too." Mother's voice is soft, barely a whisper. Even then, Katniss doesn't even turn her head. She seems to freeze, stuttering out an "OK," before the brief visit by coldness to her face ends and she flashes me another smile, though more feigned than before.

Katniss bathes in the washtub, and I watch from the settee loveseat as she dresses in a sky-blue Reaping frock. My sister allows Mother to pin up her chestnut tresses in a single braid running down her back. Both mother and daughter admire the sight in the grimy mirror, my mother's smile tired, but satisfied.

"Now you look beautiful too."

"I wish I looked like you," I mutter. I've always maintained that my sister is one of the prettiest girls in the district, even if she is clueless when it comes to boys.

"Oh no…. I wish I looked like you, Little Duck," Katniss coos, taking a seat next to me on the settee. I glance up to see her grinning easily at me. "Hey, wanna see what I got for you today?" And she holds out a pendant. The shine to it has faded, but I still thrill at the possibility that the metal is pure gold. "It's a mockingjay pin. And as long as you have it… nothing bad will happen to you. I promise." She pins it on the bodice of my dress, then kisses my forehead sweetly.

Katty holds my hand throughout the entire walk to the district Square where the Reaping is to be held. As we near the check-in point, I blanche when I see what the Peacekeepers are doing to register all the teenage children. Before this year, Mother and I would drop Katniss at right about this point, then circle around the perimeter of the Square to find a good place to stand and watch. But now, I am an eligible possible tribute, and the Peacekeepers are taking blood to identify us.

Drawing back, I whimper. Noticing, Katniss takes me out of line and caresses my face, shushing me and whispering sweet nothings.

"Prim, Prim, it's OK…. They're just gonna prick your finger, so we can sign in. It doesn't hurt much, just a little. Then you can go stand with the other twelve-year-olds, and I'll find you after. OK?"

With her at my back, I find the strength to step back into line and let the Peacekeeper officer on duty draw blood. The copper fingerprint, pressed into the pages of a registry book, is then scanned for authenticity, and I see my name flash on a scanner.

"Go ahead." Katniss is right behind me, and I'm comforted to see she winces when the Peacekeeper takes her blood.

I manage to smile a little when I find a place in the twelve-year-olds' pen with Rory Hawthorne, the younger brother of my sister's hunting partner. We're in the same grade in school, and have played together since we were in diapers.

"It feels weird…. being in the Square. The middle of it, I mean. Doesn't it?" Rory side-eyes me, smile nervous.

I nod. "How many slips do you have?"

"Just one, same as you. I'd have more, but Gale won't let me take out tesserae." We both glance at our feet, hugging ourselves. There is an awkward silence.

"Stolen a Reaping Kiss yet?" Rory tries too hard to keep his tone buoyant.

I shake my head No. "Katty says it's superstitious crap."

"Some boy just needs to up and plant one on her. Make her sound less high and mighty. My brother could do it, if she needed luck badly enough; it's his last year."

"She'd slap him if he tried. Besides, my sister's the most sensible lady in the district!" I sniff. I won't let anyone criticize my Katniss, not even my best friend.

Rory shrugs. "Suit yourself." I have to shush him quickly, as Mayor Undersee is stepping up to the microphone.

First, the Treaty of Treason is read. Then a video straight from the Capitol is played on jumboscreens surrounding the square, the narrator extolling the glory of the Games. Then, Mayor Undersee reads the names of past District 12 Victors. It isn't a very long list. In 74 years, we have had exactly two. Only one is still alive.

"The Victor of the 10th Hunger Games: Lucy Gray Baird!" We all bow our heads in a moment of silence. We don't really know much about this woman – there isn't even that much listed in the school's textbooks. I know; I leafed through Katty's Hunger Games History textbook once, and there was next to nothing about our first Victor. Apparently Hunger Games History is the toughest subject in Upper School. All we know about her is what the statue of her in the school play-yard tells us, which depicts a young lady in a sundress. Her teeth are bared, and she holds a rattlesnake in her fist, the little beast lifted on high. Our train station is named after her. Beyond that, it's all pure speculation. People say that Lucy Gray Baird disappeared not long after she returned from her arena, and parents will often invoke her ghost to discipline wayward children.

"The Victor of the 50th Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell: Haymitch Abernathy!" And then there is our living relic, who, at the call of his name, is staggering up out of his seat as he tries to give our escort, Effie Trinket, a hug. There is a clear stain on the button-down shirt of his suit, his hair barely combed. Even from this far away, I don't need to see much else to tell: Haymitch is drunk. Very. But then again, Katty says he's drunk every year.

It takes two men to wrestle Haymitch back into his seat as though he's some kind of toddler, and a shaken Effie Trinket now steps forward to formally begin the Reaping. "Welcome, welcome, as we select one young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Ladies first!"

I feel skin against the palm of my hand as it gropes down to grasp Rory's fingers tightly. He squeezes back comfortingly. I may have only one slip in there, same as him, but still….. it only takes one.

Please don't be me….. please don't be me….

When Effie selects the slip of paper and unfurls it, it isn't me. She calls someone far worse:

"Katniss Everdeen!"