A/N: Agh, long time, no update! I'm SO sorry to all of the reviewers/favorites/followers of my last chapter. I have just been super busy and I know that's a terrible excuse. BUT! Here is the second chapter and I will start working on the third ASAP so I can have it up as quickly as I can. I hope you like it.
Today is the one day of the year in which I live in a state of perpetual fear. The day of the Reaping. The day where two children are sent off to die. Coming from District 12, we don't have much hope to begin with, but when three fourths of our tributes are weak and malnourished, our chances are cut in half. If I got chosen, I wouldn't have a prayer of winning. I've never used a weapon, never had to fight to survive. My father does everything he can so I don't get reaped- because believe it or not, the people who are picked for the Games are oftentimes not picked randomly. If my father performs well in his duties, I have less of a chance of being picked. If he acts out, my chances double. I don't exactly know how it works this way, but I know that's what my dad has been told.
This morning has absolutely sucked. I woke up to the sounds of my mother's screams- she gets this way every year on Reaping Day. Her twin sister was chosen when they were my age, and clearly didn't make it back home. My mother has been scarred ever since. Then I tried to play the piano, just to calm my nerves a bit. When I can't go to the Meadow, I play music. It has the same soothing quality that being at my favorite place does. Problem was, my hands were so shaky because I was so scared that nothing I played actually sounded good. Now, I am sitting at my kitchen table, staring at a glass of water. Not drinking it, just staring. I am reminded of my first Reaping, being so afraid I couldn't eat or drink anything. I was so worried I'd end up like my aunt Maysilee. Now I am at the age she was when she was reaped, and I feel that old fear just as intensely as if it was yesterday.
There is a knock at the door, and I groan because I know exactly who it is. Gale and Katniss, come to sell strawberries. Ever since last summer in the Meadow, I have avoided Gale Hawthorne like the plague. I guess he was as equally weirded about by our little encounter as I was, because he never tried to say anything to me. Not once. Although, he does make a habit of staring at me with an evil look on his face whenever I even pass by him in the hallway. Classy.
I push myself up from the table and walk over to the door, swinging it open wide and leaning against the doorframe. I haven't even said a word when a flying dart comes out of his mouth. "Pretty dress," he says with a sneer. There is such a strong double meaning to that comment. Especially since I'm wearing the exact same dress as I was when we talked (well, argued) last year in the Meadow. His eyes flit over me for a moment, and I remember that I'm not wearing a sweater. And it's not dark out. Why did I choose this dress, again? But I won't let Gale get away with that kind of barb. Two can play at this game.
"Well, if I'm going to the Capitol, I want to look nice... Don't I?" I smirk as soon as the words have escaped my lips, staring straight back at him. This angers Gale, his eyes shining with that silver fire again. "You won't be going to the Capitol," he growls. Then his eyes fall on the solid gold pin resting against my chest. The pin is an encircled mockingjay, and I watch his eyes widen as he takes it an. A wealthy rebel? I doubt he's heard of such a thing. He struggles to recover from the double fisted blow I just dealt for a second. Then he speaks again. "What can you have, five slips? I had six when I was just twelve years old." This is a low cut, and I distinctly remember telling him off when he said something a lot like that in the Meadow.
"That's not her fault." Suddenly I remember that Katniss is here. She is standing on Gale's left, and looks thoroughly shocked at both of us. I wonder if Gale told her about what happened. I wonder if he even remembers it. He must, if he made that comment about the dress. "No, it's nobody's fault." Gale shakes his head, and I see how scared he truly is. Just for a second, I see him vulnerable. "Just the way it is." I press my lips together and place the money in Katniss' hand.
"Good luck," I say, giving Katniss a nod. "To both of you." I look at Gale now, and see that his eyes have become cold. They look like steel. Then I shut the door and go back inside, anxious for the day to come.
I walk into the square and scan the area quickly, looking for the check-in station. A rickety stage is set up in the middle of the square, with three chairs and a microphone, along with two tables with big glass balls on them. The bowls are filled with tiny slips of paper, each with someone's name on it. I have five. Katniss has twenty. And Gale has forty two. I can't imagine what that would be like, knowing that the odds really are not in my favor. That in fact, the odds are against me.
I walk over to the check-in table and stand in a quickly moving line of scared teenagers. While I wait, I look for Katniss and Prim. I've talked to Prim a few times, she's maybe the sweetest girl I've ever met. Everything about her is genuine. I spot Katniss first, standing in a clump of sixteens from the Seam. She's staring right across the square, at Gale. They seem to be having a conversation of some sort, with their eyes. "Next?" A Peacekeeper's voice breaks into my thoughts, alerting me to the fact that I had been staring at Katniss and Gale for the past few minutes. I hold out my hand and she takes a small device with a needle at the end and pricks my finger. It stings, but not too badly. A tiny drop of blood spurts out of it, and I wipe it away quickly on the table.
"Go ahead," the woman says briskly. I step past the table and push my way through the crowd, until I reach Delly, Peeta, and some other sixteens from Town. Delly is physically shaking at this point. The Reaping always terrifies her, even though she knows she has a slim chance of getting chosen. I place a hand on her arm. "Dell, it'll be okay. Promise," I say. "Madge is right," Peeta adds. He is cool as a cucumber, blond hair slicked back, hand me down white shirt buttoned perfectly. Peeta does not look scared, even if he is and is trying to hide it. "Your chances are so low. You will be fine." Delly doesn't respond, just shakes her head rapidly and continues to cower in fear.
Then the clock strikes two, and my father walks up to the microphone at the front of the stage, holding a rolled up piece of paper. This is the Treaty of the Treason, a document written by the Capitol at the end of the rebellion to show the districts who, exactly, was in charge. Dad unrolls the document and clears his throat. Then, he begins to read in a crisp, clear voice, describing the earthquakes, floods, droughts, and fires that ravaged the land we live on- a land that was once called North America. Then, out of the ashes, Panem was born. It consisted of a Capitol, the center of luxury, surrounded by 13 districts. The districts supplied the Capitol with all their needs and the Capitol, in turn, protected them. Then came the Dark Days, where the districts rebelled against the Capitol. They lost the war, but to show how utterly in control they are, the Capitol wiped out one district- 13 - and instituted something called The Hunger Games. Every year, at the same time, one boy and one girl tribute is chosen from each district, making 24 tributes in all. They are placed in an outdoor arena and forced to fight to the death until one remains. The victor is showered with wealth and food, given a new home in the Victors' Village in their district. But they are often used as Snow's puppets if they are a popular victor. There is no winner in the Hunger Games.
He finishes the reading with a statement that angers all of us, from the small children to the weathered elderly. "It is a time for repentance and a time for thanks." Yeah, right.
Dad then proceeds to read the short list of District 12 victors. We have had two in the past 75 years- only one is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, the district's resident victor and drunk, staggers onto the stage when his name is read. He is a middle-aged men with a beer belly, greasy hair, and a scruffy beard. He flops into the chair that is reserved for him and yells something that is slurred and un-intelligible. The audience claps for him, following protocol, but instead of responding he turns and gives Effie Trinket a bear hug. Effie is the district escort- she reaps the tributes and gets them everywhere they need to be in anticipation of the Games. Today she is wearing a well-tailored bright green suit and a hot pink wig- one of many. She stays at my house when she comes to the district and I've seen her extensive wig collection. Just another reminder of the unfairness of the Capitol. There are people who can't barely get anything to eat and she has a hundred or more different hair pieces. Disgusting.
Effie attempts to wriggle out of Haymitch's grasp, as my father watches in horror. This is reflecting badly on District 12, and will make his attempts to work with the Capitol even more futile than they already are. Media is everything to the government- they pour their resources into districts that are popular in the Capitol. District 12 is one of the least favorite districts- our export, coal, is boring although essential, and our only celebrity is a fat drunk man. This means we get the least support from the Capitol, making everyone's lives harder.
Finally, Effie gets away from Haymitch and begins her walk to the microphone, simultaneously straightening her suit and placing a hand to her wig so it doesn't fall off of her head. When she reaches it, she plasters a large smile on her face and says, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She practices this in front of the mirror at home.
"As always... Ladies first!" It is time for the corpses to be chosen. She walks over to the big glass ball filled with the names of all the eligible girls in the district, reaches her hand deep into it, and pulls out a slip. It feels as though time slows down a she walks back to the microphone. Everyone is afraid in this moment. Even if they have the smallest chance of getting picked, like me. The air is heavy. Effie makes it to the microphone without her wig falling off and then opens the slip. She takes a deep breath and reads in a crisp voice, "Primrose Everdeen."
And that's when everything changes.
A/N: OOH, cliffhanger! Lol, not really if you've read the book which you undoubtedly have because why else would you be reading fan fiction? But anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. Please review and tell me what you thought!
Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect of The Hunger Games, duh.