Have you ever heard a silence so broad that it makes it seem like ime has just completely stopped in its tracks? Nothing can move or change and the moment is frozen in this place. At least that's how I feel. This silence is ironically deafening, not a single shuffle is heard, not a breath, and if it were possible to hear someone blink, I doubt anyone is right now, as the name resounds and sits in our thoughts. Primrose Everdeen. Hadn't she just turned of eligible age for this reaping?
One slip amongst thousands, and hers was taken up and clutched onto by Death.
The crowd begins to murmur softly to each other, looks of remorse filing on their facial expression. I clench my fists together. It's now grown hard to swallow. She's only 12. 12 and already has a death sentence to her head. Actually, that isn't true. The moment she was born at the Seam, death was waiting. The girls from her section move from side to side. They all honestly look completely petrified as if she had just become a plagued being. The little girl with blonde hair, Prim, wearing an ensemble obviously too big for her, a plague? That was just too impossible to even put together rationally. She stiffly moves, trying to keep her skirt up, and as I watch her walk up towards the stage, there's a ruffle coming out from behind, oddly mirroring a duck tail. She barely makes it to the top when a strangled scream comes out.
"Prim!" A familiar voice yells out.
Suddenly the blood in my veins freezes. Is it her voice? It can't be.
"Prim!" She yells out again. The girl I've seen so many times before in town, the girl I kept tabs on. The girl who probably didn't know my name, she's calling out for her sister. Of course Katniss would be calling out for Prim. They were sisters. She was her protector. No other voice could sound so demanding, strong, and eerily beautiful. Her strong, fearless demeanor continues to show as the section moves out of her way, her command completely passionate as she reaches and pushes Prim with one fell swoop of her arm behind her. What is she doing?
"I volunteer." She says, with a gasp. "I volunteer as tribute!"
The crowd is stunned, the murmuring growing louder, mimicking the sound of a swarm of bees. She can't be serious. I take one step forward in my section, and suddenly feel helpless. Would I have the gall to volunteer for this girl? The girl who commanded everything with an air I couldn't even dream of touching. This girl dressed in the blue, her hair in an intricate braid, with the olive skin. This girl, who at the moment I cannot deter my eyes from. This girl who I realize has just volunteered to take her sisters place, to take on death. Prim is gripping onto Katniss' arm, pleading with her now not to take it, her cries begin to fill the entire space. Effie looks puzzled for a moment before she recuperates and turns back to the crowd.
"Lovely!" She begins, before turning back to Katniss, a quizzical look consuming her again. "But I believe there is small matter of introducing the tribute and then asking for any volunteers to take their place. And if one does come forth , then we um…" The woman is clearly unsure of what to do.
The idea of volunteering is so rare that even the crowd is puzzled. Does it happen this way?
Mayor Undersee takes a step up behind Effie and shakes his head. "What does it matter?"
He's now locking eyes with Katniss, the look on his face impenetrable. Is it of regret? Sadness that he can't change the rules of the games? As I remembered currently, he traded with Katniss and her bearings, or so Madge tells me. She always managed to bring him strawberries whenever they were in season. He keeps this gaze on her for a few moments longer before clearing his throat, the same strangled gruff sound coming out. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."
Prim has now gone into hysterics as the tiny girl wraps her arms around Katniss' waist. She's crying out her name, telling her no repeatedly, holding on to her as if this plea will be enough to have a Capitol voice ring over our heads and tell us it's too much, they couldn't possibly tear them apart. But the voice never comes. Katniss turns to the little girl stoic, and tells her firmly if not with a bit of brashness to let go. She doesn't comply, and now she is trying to pry the little girl away from her. A male, with dark hair and the same skin tone as Katniss goes up and swiftly gets Prim to unclasp her grip around her.
"NO GALE, LET ME GO!" Prim cries out.
No matter how much poor little Prim writhes and screams, clutching at the air to try to claw her way back to Katniss, the efforts are futile. Gale keeps a strong grip on Prim. He utters something to Katniss that I can't make out, and as they release from eye contact she turns back to the stage. She's become emotionless as she makes her way to Effie Trinket.
"And what's your name?" Effie asks.
"Katniss Everdeen." She replies hoarsely.
"Bravo!" Effie says, literally brimming with excitement. This turn of events must either be great publicity or she's gone mental with thinking anything like this would be acceptable. "I bet my buttons that's your sister isn't it? Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" Come on everyone! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" She chimes in brightly.
Effie turns Katniss around to face the crowd, I look up to the screen and see her face is null from emotion. I'm waiting to hear applauds but nothing comes, just silence again, But this time something else is stirring. No one claps, not even the ones who had hastily posted their bets into the square before. A tap on my shoulder alerts me to a wave that is forming from section to section.
"Put your three middle fingers on your left hand up and hold them your lips." A voice says beside me
"What for?" I ask quietly.
"It's a sign, of respect. For her." They reply.
I turn and look and one by one nearly everyone is doing this cast off. It's a symbol I vaguely know, but if it's to give our respects, to make some form of a connection with this girl, I will gladly do it. Hesitantly, I look at her face, a brief glimmer of emotion strikes her. Whatever this motion means, it must be something that hits home. Holding my three middle fingers to my lips, I whisper her name softly, they land on the pads of my finger tips and I only wish they could land into her hearing. I am rooting for her, and for some reason I am desperate at this point to see that she makes it back alive.
After a few brief moments, Haymitch stumbles over to her, slinging his arm around her. A look of disgust has crossed over as Haymitch spouts on about how she has spunk, how he likes how she volunteered, how she is much more admirable than the lot of us. He says this last stint and points to a camera, I'm unsure if his mental capacity is sending a message to us as a District or to the Capitol as a whole. But just as we think he has more to say, Haymitch plummets off the stage, face down. Katniss regains her composure, staring off into space. And as Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, Effie gets things started again. We have the female tribute, now what's left is the male. She makes her way back to the glass balls and takes out a slip making her way back to the podium. She takes her sweet time to smooth out the paper before uttering, "Peeta Mellark!"
My name.
I have been called to the stage.
I am the male tribute.
Without a word or a flinch to the boys surrounding me in the section, I make my way towards the stage. I make eye contact with Katniss, but nothing passes, it's just a simple glance. Every cell in my body is screaming as I come to the realization even further now that I am walking to my death. I take my place beside her, keeping my hands clasped together behind my back. I try to feign the same emotionless look as Katniss is but I feel I am failing as I look up to the screen. I am bewildered. I feel as if someone has knocked out a major piece of my brain out. What do I do? Effie swiftly asks for any volunteers. There is only silence. No one steps up for the Bakers son. No sibling of mine can because they are not of age nor would I want them to volunteer. And the heightened spark in my mind tells me they probably wouldn't.
No other family can show as much devotion as the Everdeen's possess.
Mayor Undersee goes behind the podium. The air between myself and Katniss feels electrified. I want to embrace her, but I can't. I want to tell her, with these odds turning us against each other, I have no wish to end her life. Now that I'm here, I have my wish. I can protect her, I can save her from death for as long as I can with my own life. He rambles on about the treaty, and the words blur together. In my mind I'm battling with myself about these feelings that seem to flare whenever she is near. What is it about her that makes me want to sacrifice everything?
I stare off to see the horizon of the skies right near the fences that gate us in District 12. The clouds seem to gray out the sky, it reminds me of rain.
Rain. It rained very hard, the day I wanted to save her the most.
She must have been at her absolute low. It was the day I saw her digging in through the bakery garbage, I'm assuming to find scraps to get by. Word had gotten around the Seam about her fathers death at the coal mines, and without her father to support herself, the mother, and Prim, I couldn't imagine what it must have been like to slowly ebb away in your own skin. She looked too frail, and wild almost like an animal trying so hard to survive. I couldn't bare it. This girl with such a lovely voice, who commanded the very air around her, she shouldn't have to live this way. I'm staring for far too long I suppose, as it gives away her snooping. My mother goes out with a rolling pin, screaming her head off at her.
"Get away there's nothing in there for you!" She screams.
Getting back into the bakery she mutters under her breath about good for nothing seam kids trying to scrap by on our crumbs when we were suffering. Which wasn't entirely true. We ran a bakery, we baked bread for consumption and for sale. The only thing my mother must have been bitter about was the fact we couldn't afford fine meats or fruits, even cheeses or wine, not like the Mayor could. I look out the window and find the yelling must have broken her spirit.
Katniss takes a seat by the pig pens, it's raining terribly and the only cover she has is a leather jacket that looks too big to suit her. My mother's ramblings are still going on in my head as I watch Katniss look so forlorn. What can I do to help her? I had to think quickly
"Let them call the Peacekeepers, send those Seam kids to community homes, they can rot together in there." She huffs.
The comment infuriates me more than it should and as I stare at the nob of the oven, I ignite it to a temperature that causes the flame of the oven to scorch the bread currently cooking in the oven. She realizes this and in one motion she corrals over to me, knocking down pans and pots and ingredients in her wake and slams down on my face hard with the rolling pin.
Instinctively I turn away and go straight for the bread, taking it into my arms. It burns and it's an uncomfortable feeling on the forearms but I take them and I run straight towards the pen. I don't look her way as I scramble to make the bread still eatable. The scorched marks I can feed the pigs, she needn't eat blackened and hollow bread.
"FEED IT TO THE PIG, YOU STUPID CREATURE. NO ONE DECENT WILL BUY BURNED BREAD." My mother bellows from the window, before rushing back in as the bell of the bakery door rings, a new customer has just entered there's no doubt about that.
Once I finish tearing the parts that are no longer edible at least for a human, I take a look back to the window to make sure my mother isn't in view of what I will do next. I throw a loaf towards her feet. She stares at the loaf and back at me incredulously. I do the same motions again as I throw the second loaf and quickly run back into the bakery. My mother seats me back at the table to knead dough for the next batch of bread.
"Don't burn this batch boy, or I swear to you." She threatens as she raises the rolling pin.
I think she expects me to flinch, but when I don't it sends her in a huff, a sort of daze that it's left me unaffected. I nod to her as she turns her back on me to help more customers. I look out towards the window and I see her staring at the breads and back at the bakery. Just take it, please. You're starving and I can't watch it any longer, I think. I watch as the confusion turns into a resolution on her face. She opens up the leather jacket and stuffs a loaf into the right side and the other loaf into her left, she takes a final glance back to the bakery, I could swear that she has said thank you before running off, faster than I've ever seen anyone run.
When the customers leave, a stinging pain starts to seize my face. I want to grab something cold to hold against it, but we've got nothing to give it relieve. I settle for some water, and more scolding. It seems my mother has forgotten that she is the one who has hit me this hard with a rolling pin, to cause my skin to gorge and rise up, enough to even blacken the edges of the eye that has the unfortunate joy of being near where the bruises start to form.
During the night, I toss and turn in bed, hoping Katniss has made back safely to her home, that the bread had not been too far gone that she couldn't eat it. I hoped that her stomach would be full for the first time in months. I hoped that she would be happy.
The next day in school, I take the sparring from my friends who ask where I've gotten my new shiner. I tell them I tripped over a bag of flour right onto a pot that had been turned with its bottom up. They laugh it off and go about heckling me. It's a lot better than explaining the latter anyways. During the school day, I feel invigorated as I see the little girl Prim skipping along to her class. I overhear a conversation she has with a friend, explaining how she hasn't felt full in months, but last night was a feast that must have been brought on by someone very special. She had explained that for the first time she finally ate with her family again instead of alone at the table. She spoke about the delicious raisins inside the bread and how Katniss let her have seconds. The pure joy Prim spoke about made me feel it was well worth it to receive the welt I had on my face, knowing that I helped feed this family, bringing back together, it was more than I could have hoped for.
But I couldn't help but wonder if Katniss was just as appreciative. And just as if she knew I had been thinking about her, she comes striding in, looking a lot better than the sobbing mess I watched cry in defeat in the rain near the pig troughs. She had straightened up and had a look of determination on her face, but when she got to Prim, it softened, looking of nothing else but joy and love. She takes Prim's hand in hers as they walk away from the school. My friends ramble on about something I don't care for, my attention fixated on Katniss and Prim walking along, the fence of the school now separating me from a clear view.
Then it happens.
My eyes are locked on hers, if only for the briefest moment, and it's enough for me to know she is grateful. Sheepishly I turn my gaze away and back to the friends surrounding me. My mind is spinning at this point as I think about the girl again, and the way she had looked in my direction. I shouldn't have looked away. I give a silent thanks that I had managed to help her in someway, and make it a goal to continue to do so whenever and if ever she should ever come near the bakery in dire need.
Coming back from the memory, Mayor Undersee clears his throat, finishing off the last of the dreary treaty of treason. The treaty that has now put me alongside Katniss and has stamped a seal of death on our heads. He motions for myself and Katniss to face each other, implying we should shake hands. I turn to face her, keeping my eyes locked on hers. She raises her hand delicately, my hand moves at the same pace as hers and within seconds they're clasped together. I don't know why, but I cling on with a reassuring squeeze to her delicate hand.
The resolution of protecting her even stronger in my mind.
I will not watch Katniss Everdeen die.
We turn back to the crowd and the blaring sounds of the Panem anthem drones on as the final seal and closing to this reaping.
There will be twenty four of us fighting to the death. Two of them will be myself and Katniss. The odds have been tampered with, and yet has given me an unfavorable yet favorable choice.
Fight to the death, keep the girl alive.
May the odds be ever in my favor, indeed.