Song Suggestion: Asaf Avidan—Reckoning Song (One Day)
Thank You: 3vlee, PainAndPanicReportingForDuty (For 2!), Guest, jkteen22, kylie, ShootinStar96, HeyBirdy, and two from a Guest.
The Reaping: Part 2
"Hannibal Carthage," the second name was called, and the crowd gasped. It became clear to them that this had been a set-up, much like it had been made clear to Prim not but a short time earlier.
"No... Don't do it," Hannibal panted on the ground. Prim thought for a moment that he was protesting going before the cameras panned to Cato.
He was already walking to the stage.
"Don't!" Hannibal managed to gasp louder, "Don't...die...for...me." By this point, Katla was with him, leaning down and grabbing his hand for strength.
"There are few people I'd save, little brother. Be grateful you're counted among them," Cato said this as he scaled the steps, not even looking down at Hannibal.
The announcer on the stage jittered with nerves. Cato's presence preceded him everywhere he went.
"So...does this mean-"
"Of course I'm fucking volunteering. Now do the rest of your pointless job, or I'll rip your throat out and make you further useless."
"Yes," the escort jumped, "Of course." He scurried to the middle of the tributes and straightened his tie and cleared his voice. "Ladies and gentleman, let's hear it for your tributes, Theodora Branton and Cato Carthage."
Cato and Theodora joined hands and sliced them upwards.
The crowd began to stomp the ground in approval. At first it was only the front rows, but soon the entire district joined in. It shook the energy through the television, a frantic pride and anger resembling the closest form of rebellion she had ever seen from the district.
The capitol quickly shut off the display of district pride, leaving a blue screen. Prim stared at the colorful emptiness until she couldn't. She bit her lip, containing a cry. She knew it would happen, but it didn't lessen the sting.
Effie wiggled, uncomfortable, next to her.
"The next one will come on in a few minutes. I'm sure of it."
Prim shook her head.
"I can't take anymore."
Effie blew a breath upwards, shifting a few out of place bangs.
"Very well," she stood up and turned the television off. After, she walked to the door."I'll go get you some tea."
Prim waited until the door clicked behind Effie Trinket before she broke down, sobbing in her pillow.
A Few Hours Later
The train rattled to a stop. A white uniformed guard came in and unshackled her wrists. Prim rubbed at her raw skin, attempting to return the circulation to them. The guard said something, but Prim didn't notice. All she could focus on was how the picture frame on the fabric-covered walls tiled slightly off-center, on how the tea cup slid off the table when the train stopped, on how the liquid made a puddle on the once-pristine carpet.
It struck Prim how simple things can be ruined. The force of something greater always resulted in casualties.
"The prisoner shall stand."
Prim obeyed, attempting to enjoy, even through her fear, the feeling of a good stretch. Blood flowed back into her legs. The simple pleasures in life were meant to be enjoyed. Who knew when she would experience relief again.
The guard led her to the main door to the train. It slid open, leaving her to gaze at a familiar landscape of dirt and trees and filthy survival. She took a deep breath of the soot-filled air. No one was waiting outside besides a few members of the media crew, who took a few videos and pictures of their arrival and then went back to talking.
The destination did not surprise her. She knew President Snow would send her back in time for the reaping.
"Welcome to District 12," Effie Trinket said, appearing at her side. Despite everything, she was glad to be home.
An Hour Later
The children next to Prim jittered like a pile of beetles waiting to be stepped on. Prim wore a smocked blue dress, a little nicer than her old attire. She had been given a few moments to change to assimilate into the crowds. At exactly four in the afternoon she was led out, gave a sample of blood, and went to go stand in line. She had done this routine so many times, she could continue with her eyes closed. Many of the kids turned to whisper when they saw her. Prim attempted to smile at first, but stopped when her nerves overcame her.
The sunlight shone down on them, bright and harsh, striking the earth with its rays. The glare made it hard to see on stage.
The waiting was over.
Effie Trinket walked on stage, the clicking of her shoes the only sound in the whole District. The whispers and jitters stopped, as if they were all paralyzed.
The familiar movie played. Prim's eyesight tried to focus on the details instead of the pictures, but it moved too fast.
Before she knew it, Effie turned to the two clear bowls in front of her. She stuck her hand inside rifling around. How many times had Prim been through this experience, dreading to hear her name again?
Today though, the usual nightmare did not scare her. The thought of death didn't either.
Effie Trinket pulled a piece of paper out of the bowl. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it as if she struggled with the name.
Finally, she looked up in the crowd.
"Primrose Everdeen."
There was a roar in her ears. She did not hear the reactions of the crowd; instead, she placed one foot in front of the other. She walked as calmly as she could to accept her fate.
No one volunteered for her.
A Few Minutes Later
Prim ascended the steps, sure that each of her footsteps could be heard as well. Effie was wearing a smile for her, but there was something apologizing and fragile behind her eyes.
Prim wondered how her face looked to the outside world. Was it pale? Did she shake? Did she look courageous? Scared? There was no use trying to control her facial expressions.
It hit Prim at that moment, as Effie Trinket rifled through the bowl with the male names: either she or Cato had to die. Snow planned this from the beginning. Even if Persephone hadn't revealed them, Snow probably would have thrown them into death together anyway. The expose had just been convenient.
Effie found her paper and brought it to the surface. Prim heard the crinkle of paper between fingers as she opened it.
"Rory Hawthorne."
No! Prim's heart seized. Out of all the names, she did not expect that.
"No," she said out loud. It was a whisper.
The crowd of children parted to reveal Rory. They offered up the sacrificial lamb, glad that for one more year, it wasn't them. Her sweet friend, so boisterous, so outrageous, stood frozen. Their eyes locked. It had been forever since they saw each other, but Prim wished more than anything he could disappear at the moment. No way could he survive the games.
Guards began walking to him, ready to drag him on stage if he did not move himself.
"I volunteer!" A voice said from the crowd, deep and cracking.
The once silent crowd gave a low hum of confusion.
The crowd searched and so did Prim. The voice sounded familiar.
No, it couldn't be.
A man with a hood walked forward with a large, ancient book under one arm. Madge trailed behind him.
Madge?
"Stop! I volunteer. It says in the laws that I can," he held up the book. The pages were frayed and yellowed, and it was bound with a brown spine.
The man tugged back his hood to reveal dark hair and grey eyes.
Prim's world, once again, narrowed to a singular point. Her mind felt fuzzy, and she leaned to the side as if sick.
"You're dead," she whispered. No one could hear her. "He lied."
"I volunteer," Gale Hawthorne shouted again.
Prim fainted.