Okay, here's chapter three.
MY CATS ARE AWESOME! They are Pluto, Cloudy, and Nosy. Nosy is a little less awesome right now, because he's been a little moody ever since we adopted Pluto, but he's still cute and furry and awesome!
Disclaimer: Do I need to do a new disclaimer for every chapter? I mean, I already said it twice, what makes you think I'll change my mind? Anyway, I don't own any of the Hunger Games books or characters.
Claimer: I don't know if anyone else has used this idea yet, but if not, then I own the idea of Prim participating in the 74th Hunger Games.
A NOTE TO MY LOYAL READERS: I need your help! Yes, YOU there, reading this! I need your help! See, I don't know what to do about Prim. I mean, It's seems logical that she would die, but I REALLY don't want for Prim to die! Send me a PM, about what you think I will do for her. DO NOT answer this in a review, 'cuz if I use your idea, it would spoil it for anyone who reads the reviews (does anyone bother to read review? I usually don't)!
Yes, I must win. But, I'm not a survivor. A healer, yes, I can use medicine, and I can use plants to feed myself. But a few berries won't keep me going. I'll need meat. But I can't hunt. And I'm so small. Everyone is going to be bigger, stronger, faster, smarter than me. Well, maybe not smarter. But the Careers don't need brains, when they've got brute force on their side.
I want to cry until I have no tears left, but I suspect the bedroom is being filmed. So instead, I sit on a chair in my room, and look out the window. It is raining now. Pouring. I guess if I can't cry, the sky will cry for me. It is cold in the room, and I'm still in my Reaping dress. I get a blanket off the bed, and wrap it around me. I feel tears stinging in my eyes, blurring my vision. I want so badly to let them go, to have them fall like the rain, but if I want to win the Games, I might as well start now. The television flicks on, even though I haven't turned it on. No surprise there. Capitol broadcasts are mandatory to watch. Everyone in Panem is issued a television. That's why we have it. Otherwise, we'd never be able to afford it.
I glance over the television, curious to see what is being broadcasted. Of course. I should've known. The Recap Reapings. They always show those a few hours after the original Reapings, so you can see the other Distrcict's tributes. I'm scared to see what I'm up against, but I manage to watch the full thing.
I write down the names of all the tributes. Just to keep things orderly. So, I carefully record:
District 1: Marvel Onely, Glimmer Shine
District 2: Cato Garcia, Clove Erb (Cato looks evil)
District 3: Hardee Snofmurger, Delcia Carince
District 4: Solemn Trout, Envy Salmon (these two are cousins)
District 5: Slayte Carmer, Emarra Foxx (Emarra looks crafty)
District 6: Jolt Black, Mina Xill
District 7: Denis Hammer, Milli Salford
District 8: Bull Horn, Cherry Pick
District 9: Hunter Camo, Shura Deysmones
District 10: Blick Alfonzo, Isa Prit
District 11: Thresh Thompson, Rue Fieldings (Rue is my age, Thresh is tough)
I don't write District 12. Too depressing.
I sit there, with my blanket wrapped around, watching the storm. Storms always comfort me. It's was always such a nice feeling to be snuggled under a blanket with Buttercup purring next to me, on our old, sagging sofa, next to Katniss, while my mother made us tea. To be saf inside, despite the storm, has always been one of the most comforting things I could imagine. Today, it brings no comfort. My stomach rumbles along with the thunder. It's 8:00. I refuse to give into my hunger. I don't want to go down to dinner, and no one can make me. Nothing can make me. I just want to be alone. I click off the TV. The recap Reapings are over, and it is showing the Capitol, where bettings and sponsoring are already beginning to be made.
I wonder if anyone is betting on me.
Probably not.
I'm just a weak 12-year-old girl from District 12, after all. Why would anyone sponsor or bet on me?
But maybe, a 10-year-old from the Capitol, a girl too fresh, too young, too innocent, to have been contaminated by the Capitol, is begging her mother to sponsor me. And maybe that mother loves her child, and goes into the place where money for District 12 is being collected. And maybe, she gives money, to be used for me. The thought comforts me, like Buttercup, purring by side, protecting me. I cling onto this idea, now feeling a little less hopeless than before. I must not lose sight of this hope. It may be the only thing I have.
My stomach screams in protest, but, living in District 12, I'm used to that. I can go without dinner tonight. I've done it many times before. I sit in the chair numbly, not thinking about anything, when I hear a knock at the door. "Come in," I say in a whisper. I'm afraid if I speak to much, I'll start crying. But, then I realize that whoever is behind the door can't hear me. "Come in!" I say, a little bit louder this time.
"It's locked," a voice says. Oh. It's Peeta. With some effort, I drag myself off the chair, still draped in my the blanket.
I open the door. The first thing I notice about Peeta is that he has changed clothes. He no longer is in his tuxedo that he was in at the Reapings, but a pair of sweatpants, and a hoodie. Of course. How stupid of me. There probably are clothes for me in the drawer. The second thing I notice is that he is carrying a platter of food. He comes in my compartment, and places it on a table. "Here," Peeta says. "I figured you might be hungry."
"Yeah," I say, trying to act casual.
"So, why weren't you at dinner?" Peeta asks me. His blue eyes search me, looking for an answer.
"I dunno. I didn't really feel like listening to Haymitch's drunk conversations, and how excited Effie is about the Games. It doesn't matter for them, does it? I mean, Haymitch is drunk and protected. He already survived. And Effie's in no danger. Their sympathy isn't real," I tell him.
"My sympathy is real," he tells me. "I'm going through the same thing you are."
"Yes, you say that. But we both know it isn't true. Everyone wants to win. You're fighting against me," I say. We both know I'm right.
All Peeta says is, "Be sure to eat it before it gets cold."
Although I'm ashamed, I give into the temptation of eating, after Peeta leaves. It is smells soooo good. Besides, it makes sense that I fatten myself up, before the Games. Peeta gave me a lot of food. The Capitol is clever. They dine on all of the District's specialty. Peeta has given me a small portion of each of the Districts. It's actually really clever. From District 1, there is a some sort of delicious-looking pastry. From 2, there is a small sampling of wine. From 3, peas and carrots, or as the neat little paper card Peeta included says "nuts and volts." District 4 supplies some salmon. District 5 is beef and cheese. District 6 is a lollipop, which I've never heard of before. District 7 has "Ham-mer Slammer," which is small chunks of ham, in some sort of sauce. District 8 is represented by a small slice of bread. District 9 is a bit of wild turkey. District 10, frog legs- yuck. District 11, hearty bread, with fruit jam. District 12 is left out. I wonder what it had been at dinner. Peeta has given me only a small sample of each, so I'd have room for everything. He's too nice. Trying t win me over, before we even arrive at the Capitol.
I eat everything, even the froglegs from 10. They're actually very good. So is the "lollipop" from 6.
I don't bother to change into the pajamas that have been provided, when I crawl into bed. If this dress is all I have of District 12, then I will take it with me. The thunderstorm keeps on raging all throught the night. The thunderstorm. I've begun to think of it as Prim's Thunderstorm. My thunderstorm. To show the Capitol that I am angry. To show the Capitol they've made a mistake. Prim's Thunderstorm is loud, but I am alsleep within minutes.
The next morning, I am at loss for what to do. I usually go to school, during the day. When I'm back, I snuggle with Buttercup, and play with Lady. Sometimes, I am allowed to play with Cici or Kaysen. A few times, Katniss took me out to the woods with her, but she never taught me how to hunt. She just showed me her favorite spots. But I can't do any of those things here.
I ask a Train Worker if we're allowed to write and send letters. I want to tell Katniss and my mother everthing I couldn't when we were being monitered during that last hour together. Come to think of it, mail is probably read, too. I'll have to be careful of what I say, if I write any letters.
I ask for some paper and an envelope, and the Train Worker gives me some, and a stamp. On the first piece of paper, I write:
Dear Mother,
I love you. Very, very much. More than you could possibly imagine. I forgive you for those bad years. When I die, please, do not do that to Katniss. You both must be strong. Katniss will care for you, of course, but you must care for her. Tell Cici and Kaysen that they were amazing friends, better than I could ever hope for. When I am in the arena, I intend on surviving. I intend on seeing you again. I intend on living a long life, where my coffin won't appear for a long time. If my plans go wrong, I need you to not join me. I need you to stay, until your time is up.
Mother, this is so hard for me. To accept that I will probably die within a month. Please, try to accept it, as well. I can''t promise my safety, for it would be a lie. But I promise, I will fight to stay alive. I will never let my gaurd down. I will train hard. I will make a splash during the interviews. I'll stay away from other tributes. I'll think like the enemy. I WILL DO EVERYTHING I CAN, BUT SOME THINGS WILL BE BEYOND MY CONTROL.
But always remember that I love you.
Your daughter,
Primrose Everdeen "Prim"
P.S. If you want to write back to me, the adress is
The Capitol
Tribute Center, Room 12B
ZIP 53296
To: Primrose Everdeen
Via: TribMail
For TribMail, go to the Justice Building. They send letters to the tibutes free of charge.
P.P.S. I want primroses for my funeral.
I am crying as I write that last sentence. I was holding back tears, as my words to my mother spilled out. Now, I cry and cry, and cannot stop. Finally, I dry my eyes, and begin my next letter. To Katniss.
Dear Katniss,
I had always dreaded you being Reaped. Who ever would have thought it was me whose name was being called? I know you couldn't volunteer. I know how much you wanted to. I forgive you. I love you. And, please never forget that.
I already told mother this, but I need to tell you as well. When I am in the arena, I have no intent of dying. I want to win, need to win. I'm so scared, Katniss. Very, very scared. You would've been brave, and have already have come up with battle plans, I bet. But I'm not as strong as you. But, you know what? I'm glad that you weren't chosen. Because you'll be more useful around home than I would ever be.
I love you so much.
Your sister,
Prim
P.S. I told Mother how to reply to my letter. Ask her, if you want to respond.
I am still crying. And I don't care who sees me. I just want to cry until I have no tears left. So, I cry like there's no tomorrow. Which, in my current situation, there probably isn't. When I realize this, I just cry harder, and harder, until there I've used the whole tissue box, and I don't even remember why I'm crying. I have a headache, and my face is all red. And I'm hungry. I've missed breakfast and lunch.
I sit in my room, until my breathing is under control, and I can talk without sobbing uncontrollably. I get off the chair, and shakily walk to the door. I open it, and head down to the dining area. As I suspected, they have snacks there, in case we get hungry before dinner. I take a slice of just-out-of-the-oven bread, and some goat's cheese, just like I'd have at home. I sit down, and scarf it down. Then, I walk around the train, until I find a door labelled "Peeta Mellark." I knock.
"Come in!" Peeta's muffled voice replies. So, I enter.
"Hello," I say.
"Ah, Prim. I've been wanting you." Peeta's voice is calm, and friendly, yet formal, at the same time. He knows that we can't become to close.
"Oh, really?" I ask. My voice is not challenging, just surprised. We speak as if adressing complete strangers, not daring to act friendly, yet not really acting hostile either. You never know whether he would make a good alley.
"Yes." Peeta replies. "I wanted to draw you, as a matter of fact. Would you allow me to?" What the heck is this guy talking about. "You see," he says, as if he knew I was confused, "I want to draw everything in my world before I die. And, you, a fellow tribute, would be a perfect place to start. I already have the tributes from all the other Districts, you see." He motions his arms to a bunch of other canvas's. The people I recongnize are spot-on. The lesser-known tributes, I can't really tell. He has also drawn family scenes, and flowers, and school and Seam. I am stunned.
"You must have been busy," I observed.
"Oh, I have."
"Well, you can draw me," I tell him. After all, it's not like I have anything better to do. So, I sit down, and he begins. I don't smile for my picture. I don't know if I can smile anymore. He examines me. I sit, absolutely still. After 45 minutes, Peeta declares that it is ready.
He flips it around. I gasp. He has made me beautiful, exactly like me, but... better. "Can I send this to my family?" I ask him. He nods. I exit.
I spend the rest of the day doing nothing. At 6:30, I attend dinner. The food is fabulous. Then, for dessert, we feast on, Fudge. It is delicious, and I would love to eat the whole platter of it- if I wouldn't get sick from it. I begin to turn a little green from all the food, and the motion on the train, but I try to ignore it.
Suddenly Effie Trinket looks up, and runs to the window. "We're almost there!" she shrieks. "The Capitol!"
I look out the window. As much as I hate to admit it, the Capitol is stunning. I rush to the window to get a better look. Neon lights blind me, and it is beautiful beyond belief. Next to me, I hear Peeta gasp in awe. And then, I hate the Capitol even more, with all it's shining glory.
And that's all for this chapter! See you next time! -.-"
~SpunkySpartan31