Primrose's Odds

by Fancyclopedia

Katniss was a bit older, and died in the mine explosion with her father. Fifteen-year-old Prim does not hunt, but she gathers herbs and runs an apothecary shop with her mother. Mrs. Everdeen is emotionally unstable and slips in and out of reality, sometimes leaving Prim on her own for weeks on end. Prim does her best to deal with this, but of course, things go terribly wrong.

4. Ravenous Hands

I can hear fate cackling. These next few seconds will at the very least ruin (and most likely end) someone's life. Effie is drawing this moment out, painstakingly slowly unfolding the slip as she solemnly steps up to the microphone. She taps the mic once, and the sound rings out, reverberating over our bated breaths.

"Primrose Everdeen."

Nothing is real. I am floating

Falling

No

No

no.

People around me avert their eyes. They don't want me to see the relief in their eyes. They pity me, but at the same time are so grateful that they and their families are spared. So grateful. So sorry. An instant ago I was one of them: a chance, a statistic. Now I am outcast. Alone and condemned. I will never return to District 12.

But I have to be brave. Unfeeling. There is no one who would volunteer to take my place on this day.

I walk up to join Effie on the stage.

I am going to die.

Everyone stares, but no one dares to meet my eyes. At 15 years old, I am still young to be going to my death- and there is no doubt in anyone's mind that I am going to die. I will never again sneak out to gather herbs in the woods. Never again swim in the Katniss pond, never share a smile with Rory, never heal a patient out of the apothecary shop, never, never, nevernevernevernever. My life is over. There are so many things I have lost, but I don't even get a chance to mourn myself. My has broken the tension- half the crowd is now safe for another year. Some who are 18 have escaped the Games forever. Still, my death isn't enough for the bloodthirsty Capitol, and Effie's hands ravenously snatch up an name from the boy's bowl. She reads the name like it's delicious. A treat for her to enjoy slowly as she watches us murdered on television.

"Awren Santo."

My own self-pity vanishes as I watch Awren step up to the stage. He is twelve. Twelve years old and condemned. How can I possibly feel bad for myself when I have gotten three more years than him? I force myself to look over at him, and see the slightest relief bloom behind his terrified eyes as he sees me. I can tell that he is trying to appear brave, but his hands are shaking violently. My own lips are trembling, but I can't cry here.

"Your tributes," Effie is saying warmly. She steps behind the two of us, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. Her false fingernails dig into my back and I cringe. Apparently disappointed by the lack of applause, Effie brings her hands together in a delicate little clap. No one joins her.

They never do. They only stand there, in silence. In relief that they have survived, in shame that a twelve year old is going to die in their place, in horror that they themselves could so easily be standing in my place. Discouraged by their lack of enthusiasm, Effie says goodbye to the crowd and steers us around into the Justice building. Presumably our loved ones will now come and say their goodbyes. I wonder if my mother will have the strength to come. I wonder if she even cares.

It would probably be better for both of us if she doesn't come. I don't really mean it though. All I want is for my old mom (from before the mining accident) to come and hold me in her arms. Tell me it's going to be okay, and that she won't let them take me. These kinds of fantasies will only make it harder for me in the end.