Chapter One, The Beginning of the End
It's the day of the reaping, and I haven't thought once about the safety of myself. All I can get through the buzzing that's filling my brain is the girl in the red dress. Katniss. I know that she has at least 5 slips of paper with her name in the reaping ball. Allthough I'm sure it's more. She's taken tesserae for every member of her family, her mother, her sister, who's name is Primrose, and herself, ever since she could. At twelve. Twenty. My mandatory five doesn't even come close to comparing. I have never had the need to take out tesserae. My family has always gotten along fine, eating the stale, leftover bread and pastries that no one else will buy.
My mother, father, brothers and I walk to the square in silence. Every year since my oldest brother turned twelve, we have taken this walk in silence. Before that, we didn't have anything to worry about, so we would talk occasionally. Not anymore. Now, don't get me wrong, we're not cold-hearted people who support the games and look forward to them every year. Mostly, it was because we were little, and didn't really have a clue what was going on. We are nothing like the Capitol's people. We will never be like them.
When we reach the square, I take my place with the sixteen year old boys. My brother goes into the area roped off for the ones who are eighteen. My mother, father, and oldest brother walk to their place in the crowd that is filing into the town square. Roughly five minutes later, while I am scanning the crowd, I catch sight of her. She is guiding her trembling sister into the section for the twelve-year-olds, and then she takes her place. She is my age, sixteen. I keep my eyes on her, afraid that if I look away, she will disappear. I'm being silly, of course, but it's always like this on reaping days. Anyone could be chosen as a tribute, though more than likely it will be someone like Katniss' friend, Gale, who must have his name in at least forty times. It doen't always happen like that, though. Occasionally, someone will be selected against all odds.
As the clock strikes two, the mayor steps onto the stage and begins to give a speech. It's the same every year, about the history of Panem, the rebellion, and why the Hunger Games were established. Once the mayor finishes, Haymitch Abernathy, District Twelve's only surviving winner of the Games, clambers onto the stage, obviously very drunk. Effie Trinket, the maniacly upbeat woman who comes to District Twelve every year to read the names of the tributes, sidesteps him, and practically bounces to the podium. She has pink hair and is wearing a green suit. She recites her siganture, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I suddenly think of Katniss, and how the odds are not in her favor. Not by a long shot.
"There are thousands of slips," I tell myself. It does no good. My heart is pounding wildly.
If I thought it was going wild now, it almost jumps out of my chest when Effie announces, "Ladies first!"
I am praying so hard that I don't even think when I hear the name, Primrose Everdeen, because I am so relieved that it is not Katniss. Then it hits me. Everdeen. Katniss' sister. Primrose's hands are clenched, walking slow, stiff steps up to the stage, where Effie Trinket stands, waiting. My eyes go immedietly to Katniss. She is standing, stunned, watching her sister. She suddenly stumbles, as though pushed, and calls out.
"Prim! Prim!" She cries. The crowd makes a path for her, and she catches Prim just as she is about to place her foot onto the steps and holds her fast, "I volunteer! I volunteer as a tribute!"
No. No. This can't be happening.
There is confusion. In District Twelve, we haven't had anyone volunteer to be a tribute in quite a while. Effie Trinket says, "Lovely! But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth, then we, um..." She trails off, unsure.
The mayor intervenes, "What does it matter?" he says with a pained look on his face. His daughter, Madge and Katniss are friends. They sit together at lunch, and it is commonly known that Katniss sells him strawberries. "What does it matter? Let her come forward," He repeats, more gruffly.
Prim is screaming at the top of her has wrapped her arms around Katniss, trying to pull her back. Katniss says harshly, "Prim, let go. Let go!" Then, Gale pulls Prim away from Katniss, and says something softly to Katniss. Katniss ascends the steps.
Effie Trinket asks Katniss' name, and when Katniss tells her, she says, "I bet my buttons that was your sister! Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" I hate her. I hate her and all her perkiness, and her complete and utter lack of consideration! She has no excuse for acting this way! Yes, maybe she is from the Capital, where they have parties every night and think that the Games are good fun and no one is in danger of starvation or having to go into the arena, but she must know from years of being an escort for District Twelve that we aren't like Districts one, two and three. We don't like having to kill people, and we definetly don't so that we'll have glory! We fight because we have to, and to stay alive!
Katniss doesn't reply, so she continues, "Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"
I don't clap. Why would I? The girl that I love is going to be slaughtered. Then, I realize that no one is clapping. No one is making any noise at all. This makes me feel more proud to be from District Twelve than I have my entire life. Then, something unexpected happens. First one person, and then another, and finally, the whole crowd, touches their three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips, and raises them towards Katniss. I join in. It is a sign used rarely, mostly just at funerals, a sign of admiration or saying goodbye to someone you love. A tear runs down my face, but I brush it away quickly.
Suddenly, Haymitch has thrown his arm around Katniss, and is drunkenly shouting at the camera, ending the fiasco by plummetting headfirst off the stage. Effie Trinket quickly takes control of the situation as Haymitch is carried out on a strecher, saying, "What an exciting day! But more excitment to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"
Before I have time to even form a coherent thought, she trots across the stage and pulls out the first name she touches. I hear her call out the name. Peeta Mellark. It doesn't register at first. Then, I realize. Peeta Mellark. That's me. I make my way up onto stage, trying to force my face to remain emotionless, although I'm sure my eyes gave me away. Once I reach her, Effie asks for volunteers. No one comes forward. I'm not surprised. Family devotion only goes so far on reaping days. What Katniss did is practically unheard of. The mayor steps back up to the podium and reads the Treaty of Treason. Then Katniss and I have to shake hands. This may be the last time I ever get to touch her, so I try to memorize the way her hand feels in mine. I give her a reassuring squeeze, and let go.
Thank you all a million Draco Malfoys for reading! Keep checking back, I'll have a new chapter up soon!