Review! Please! So, as you see Peeta is going in the games….
I may not be able to edit the story very often, because I'm traveling a lot, but I'll try to get a chapter in at least every week.
I do not own the Hunger Games or the characters. If I did, Finnick, Prim and Rue wouldn't have died.
As if in a trance, I can sense what will happen next. Primrose walks towards the stage determinedly, her face clenched determinedly, the back of her blouse hanging out like the tail of a duck. Katniss, Prim's sister, cries out, "Prim!" She shoves her way through the crowd, pushing past Lenya. She reaches Prim, and pushes her out of the way. "I volunteer!" She shouts. "I volunteer as tribute!" I knew it.
Prim is protesting now, but the guy who was in our bakery this morning, Yale-no wait, it was Gale, picks her up and takes her away, despite the protests. "Well, bravo!" Effie gushes, proud to have some action in our district for once. "That's the spirit of the games! What's your name?" Katniss is obviously scared, yet trying to conceal it. "Katniss Everdeen," she says. "I bet my buttons that was your sister. 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!" Effie says, delighted.
I don't clap. Nobody does. The horror of the idea that Katniss volunteered for glory, not that I like her, the very idea of the hunger games. It's barbaric. This is the best we can do to say we do not approve. That this is wrong, the Capitol is wrong. Somewhere in the crowd, an old man holds three fingers of his left hand to his lips, and hold it out to Katniss. Another, and another repeat the farewell. I do to. It is the most meaningful goodbye we can give, and though I do not like Katniss, I recognize her spirit in saving her sister.
Suddenly, Haymitch comes staggering across stage to "congragulate" Katniss. He throws an arm around her shoulders totally drunk. I hold back a laugh. "Look at her! Look at this one!" He says, swaying. "I like her! She's got lots of spunk! More than you! And you!" I share an amused glance with Lenya, though the situation is serious. Haymitch might actually be mocking the capitol, but we never get to find out, because Haymitch falls off the stage, and knocks himself out.
A stretcher whisks Haymitch away, and Effie, in an effort to dismiss him, hurriedly reaches into the boy's ball and pulls out a name. I don't even have time to wish that it isn't me before she's reading it out loud. "Peeta Mellark!"
The odds are definently not in my favor today. Not only am I tribute, but with Katniss Everdeen! My mind flashes back to our interaction 5 years ago. I was in the bakery, with my mother, baking. My mind wasn't there though, because I knew Lenya, who at the time was my best friend, and her family were going hungry tonight. So I burnt the bread. My mother slapt me, and told me to feed it to the pigs.
I went outside, and started tossing small pieces, waiting for her to go away. She finally did, and with a final, anxious glance towards the window, I prepared to sprint to Lenya's house. I would toss the loaves in the window. They couldn't reject them. Then, I saw her. At the time, I wasn't thinking straight. I thought she was Lenya, with her brown hair pulled back in a bun. So I tossed her the loaves, and jogged back inside. My mother beat me, because she had seen me. Seen me tossing the loaves to Katniss Everdeen.
That's how I remember Katniss. The girl who costed me a beating, and Lenya dinner. Since then, I've learned she's a whiny, arrogant brat who thinks she's better than everyone else, but that's not the point.
I see Lenya looking at me, panicked as I make my way up on stage. I can't afford to cry. It would be seen as a weakness, and that might just get me killed. Effie Trinket asks for volunteers, and I stare out hopefully, because just maybe Yamen will volunteer, just maybe I won't have to die. But that's not to be. Family devotion usually only goes so far on reaping day. The mayor begins to read the long dull Treaty of Treason as he does every year, but I'm not listening, hoping desperately that this is all a dream, that I won't have to kill. Well, with 24 of us in there, the odds are I'll be killed. First.
Of course, the odds have not been very dependable of late.