My heart drops into my stomach, it seems, and I don't tear my eyes away. I can't believe it.
Katniss Everdeen.
Her face is wary. Does she sense the strong sense of foreboding in the air? Does she feel my gaze probing her while she watches her sister helplessly? I don't know the answer to these questions, only that she's here. And within my field of sight.
A mulled silence falls on the crowd and I feel my palms slicken with sweat. The mayor, looking nervous and making darted glances at the chair next to Effie Trinket, district twelve's Reaper, before he puts his mouth to the microphone and begins to speak.
His speech is the usual, long and winded. But more seriously, is about the history of Panem. I ponder momentarily what it must have been like, before Panem rose from the "ashes of North America". What the people were like. Did they train young children to kill one another? Did they use their power to punish those weaker than them? Was it a dictatorship of destruction and chaos?
Our history has no record of these things, and even if it did, it's likely the Capitol keeps it well hidden from the general public. That way no one gets any funny ideas, I suppose.
Because of my daydreaming, I miss most of the speech the mayor is giving, only tuning in when he begins to mention the names of previous victors. Our first victor, the mayor explains, was the winner of the third annual hunger games. He had passed away long before I was born, so it made little difference to me what games he'd won. Our current victor, Haymitch Abernathy, as if on cue, stumbled onto stage at the calling of his name.
Immediately I groan in protest. He is very drunk, and looks entirely sloppy. Again, embarrassing our district in a way only he can. He sinks into the chair next to the stationary miss Trinket, and an awkward applause is started.
I decide to take this moment to glance over at Katniss again. She is still sneaking glances back at her sister, very quickly, and then mostly paying attention to the scene up at the stage. I can't help but feel like I should be doing something to get her attention, which is a strange thought, because I've only ever had one real interaction with Katniss.
At any rate, I turn my attention back to the podium where Effie now stands, looking a tad bit ruffled, but altogether excitable.
Most of the district can't stand her. Not just for the fact of her Capitol upbringing, but also for her obviously oblivious nature in choosing the children, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, cousins and friends, that will fight and ultimately die in the name of the Capitol's sick twisted treaty. It was no secret that some districts, namely 2, trained early on, seeing the win as a glory that should not be passed up. It wasn't supposed to be allowed, but the Capitol overlooked it in their case.
She clears her throat in what is to be assumed to be a lady like manner, and then proceeds to say, as she does every year, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She turns to smile at the mayor and then back at us, her unassuming prey.
"It is such a wonderful honor to be here among the wonderful youth of this district, in order to choose two lucky victors to participate in these games! It is a wonderful privilege for our young participants, for a chance at such glory and fame!" I tune her out at this point. We all know she just wants to get out of our district. We seem to be the only one that has drunken men molesting her on stage. Ah well. It is what it is. But she has finished her little speech and has moved onto the main event: The reaping.
I close my eyes and begin to pray. Hard. I don't want Katniss' name to be chosen. As horrible as it is, I'm hoping someone else, anyone else, is chosen instead of her. I know I couldn't bear it if I had to watch her on live television, hacked up by some crazed teenager, and attend her funeral, out of place among those who know her so much better than I.
The din of the chat within the crowds has become non-existent, and everyone looks up anxiously at the screens. Effie smiles, and approaches the giant orb that contains the girls' names.
My heart drops and my palms are pressed hard against my legs, as Effie begins, "Ladies First!" I count.
I'm not sure what to think. I know Katniss has done the Tesserae. She provides for her family that way. I also know that her name is in there at least a dozen, if not more times. A risk, to take care of her family. What would they do without her, if she was chosen, if she died? The world seemed so cold suddenly, and it was almost painful. The thought of a world without Katniss.
I mean, I myself shouldn't give way to such talk. I've never so much as spoken a word to her. However, she captivates me. I cannot breath without knowing somewhere, she is there, safe. Alive. Singing.
No, I've never been close to Katniss Everdeen. But if her name was chosen among the hundreds, even thousands there… I never would.
Effie's hand dunked into the deep bowl to fish out a name. The district as a whole, held its breath, awaiting the name that would inevitable create a rift of horror and sorrow.
I kept my eyes on Katniss, and it seemed that she, like the rest, was holding her breath. I heard the tell tale crinkle of unfolding paper, and then-
"Primrose Everdeen."
My initial reaction is relief. Sweet, sweet relief. Katniss has not been chosen to endure this horrible game of life and death. Immediately following this is horror. No. It's not Katniss. It's her little sister.
The little girl is even more fragile than her sister. Small bone structure, her blue eyes wide in terror. Her shoulders quiver and I see her shirt is slightly untucked at the back. She is taking stiff steps out of her penned area, and two peacekeepers come to lead her to the stage.
A lamb to the slaughter.
"Prim?" I hear Katniss call after a few moments. Whatever shock she had gone into, it had disappeared and reverted to panic, to feral rage. She was already breaking rank to intercept her sister.
"PRIM!"
It is customary for shock, sorrow, even weeping when a sibling is chosen. There is never a scene such as this. I move to try to intercept Katniss, to tell her there's nothing she can do, but am left empty. For the moment I just begin to break rank, she shoves her sister behind her and screams the words that just begin to make my world go black.
"I Volunteer!" She cries. "I volunteer as tribute!" A collective gasp goes through the crowd and a hush falls on the square. There is no such thing as a volunteer as tribute in District Twelve. It is a declaration of suicide.
"Lovely!" Effie Trinket's voice breaks through the haze that clouds my mind. I can't believe it. Katniss Everdeen. Effie is talking about something to do with rules but no one pays her any mind. The mayor looks downright sick as he beckons Katniss to the stage, telling Effie to allow her to come forward.
Primrose Everdeen begins to scream, hollering that her sister shouldn't go, can't do this. I don't make much sense of it I'm so disoriented. I do notice Katniss brush off her sister, her expression unreadable. Then I see Gale, coming out of nowhere, who heaves her over his shoulder like a bag of flour, and, after a quick word or two to Katniss, heads back to deposit her sister to her mother.
I don't blink. My mind is blank. Katniss Everdeen, the only girl in all of District Twelve who could hold me in such captivation, has sentenced herself to death.
Her walk to the stage is strong. She climbs the stairs and is rushed over to Effie's side, whom holds the microphone to her face in a cheerful sort of manner.
"Well bravo! That's the spirit of the games! What's your name?"
Katniss is hesitant, knowing the whole district, and those in the capitol, are watching her, wondering about her. She has captivated them all.
"Katniss Everdeen." There it is; it's final. Effie claps her hands together in excitement.
"I bet my buttons that was your sister!" She says, her high pitched voice trilling. "Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"
No one does. I touch my hand to my lips and find the three forefingers leaving it to rise in the air with the thousands of others that are now rising. It is an old gesture in Twelve, one to say goodbye to someone respected, someone loved; someone who is going to die.
Suddenly I am very afraid. What will happen when the male tribute is chosen? Will he be the one to kill Katniss? To snap her frail neck, or to stab her in the back as she runs away? Will he be a young child, like Prim, unable to defend himself, totally and utterly at the mercy of the Games? Will Katniss try to protect them, and inevitably die at the hand of a Career?
I think, suddenly, that it should be someone who can protect her. Ensure she comes home safe. But who would do it? Who would give up their life, to save hers?
Katniss wasn't well known for being kind. She was quiet, and very wary of people. Her father's death left a dent in her heart that no one, that I'd noticed, had begun to repair. She was a good hunter, though, and perhaps that, if anything else, would save her from the ruthless end that was almost a guarantee.
Haymitch staggers across the stage to meet Katniss. Immediately I become concerned, having seen his behavior with Effie.
"Look at her. Look at this one!" His voice is loud, booming, and it becomes very clear just how drunk he is. He throws an arm around her shoulders and I feel a slight twinge of something go through my body. I don't pay much mind to it.
"I like her! Lots of… Spunk!" He pauses and then releases Katniss, whom looks relieved to be out of his clutches. But to his credit, Haymitch then points at the cameras and says, "More than you! More than you!"
We all are aware of Haymitch's… habits. But this is something else. He seems to be directing it at the capitol, almost as if to goad them. However almost as quickly as he earns the respect and awe, he loses it, tripping off the stage and into unconsciousness. That was short lived. I look back to Katniss.
Then, I ask myself. If someone that I knew would kill Katniss was chosen, would I volunteer? Volunteer to take his place, to protect her?
I thought hard about it. I've been harboring such a love for Katniss for so long… It would only seem right that she lives. Even if it meant the deaths of twenty three others. Even if one of them had to be me.
I decide that I would. I know I'm terrified of it, but I would want to. I'd want to ensure she came home. Her family needs her. Mine would not miss me.