"And so, on the 75th annual Hunger games, and the third Quarter Quell, as a stark reminder to the rebels that their choices carried consequences far beyond themselves — staining not only their own hands with blood but also those of their friends, neighbors, and loved ones — this year's tributes will enter the arena as teams representing their respective districts. They will face the arena together and leave together. Fallen or alive."
President Snow's words echo in my mind as I stand among the seventeen-year-olds before the stage in the town square. At first, I hadn't grasped the meaning, never having witnessed a Quarter Quell before. I knew they were notoriously brutal, which made the idea of allowing two tributes to live instead of one seem puzzling. But the longer I thought about it, the clearer the cruelty became. In a normal year, District Twelve's chances of winning the Games are nearly nonexistent. This year, they're impossible. If your district partner dies in the arena, you're eliminated. Dead. And our district haven't had both tributes survive the initial bloodbath in ten years.
This year, the stage is slightly larger than before. Flowers surround its edges, but they're already fading to grey under the relentless coal dust. Trying to make this district beautiful is futile, the coal dust consumes everything, Capitol made or otherwise. The dress I'm wearing is yet another example of that. It used to be a pale blue. It's grey now. Grey and moth eaten but it's still the best piece of clothing I own. Technically it's my mother's, but she has no real use for it anymore. Unfortunately I still do.
I'm only vaguely aware of Effie Trinket welcoming us to the reaping. This is my sixth year standing in this square, and if luck is on my side, next year will be my last. The odds aren't in my favor with my twenty-four slips in the bowl. My sister have two, less than most but far more than I would've wished.
"Ladies first!" Effie's shrill voice pierces through the silence, echoing across the square. Despite the fact that every citizen of District Twelve is here, the reaping is always eerily quiet — a silence so heavy it feels like a physical thing pressing against my chest. Effie is a blur of orange as she glides towards the large glass bowl containing the names of every eligible girl. The garish color stings my eyes, though it's still better than last year when she resembled a bright pink peacock. As her hand dips into the bowl, one thought pounds in my head, over and over. Not her. Not her. Anyone but her.
I search the crowd and find Prim's wide, frightened eyes. I meet her gaze, forcing myself to nod reassuringly, though the lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe. Effie plucks a slip from the bowl and unfolds it with agonizing slowness. Every second feels stretched, unbearable. My nails dig into my palms as I fight the urge to scream at her to get it over with.
The microphone crackles as Effie takes a breath, her voice crisp and clear. "Primrose Everdeen."
The world tilts. My vision darkens at the edges, and for a moment, I can't move, can't breathe. Then I see her, my little sister, stepping forward, her shirt untucked at the back, creating a small ducktail above her skirt. The imperfection created by her tiny frame snaps me back to life. My body moves before my mind catches up, and a raw, desperate shout rips from my throat.
"I volunteer!" My voice is shrill, almost unrecognizable. I push through the crowd, shoving bodies aside. "I volunteer!" The words tear out of me again, this time more steady, though my heart is racing. "I volunteer as tribute."
Effie looks at me and beckons me towards her and onto the flower-framed stage. "My, my, it looks like District Twelve has its very first volunteer." She says it more to the crowd than to me. "What is your name, dear?"
The microphone against my mouth feels cold and unfamiliar, carrying a faint metallic scent. My voice echoes through the square, thin and strained, making me cringe.
"Katniss Everdeen."
Effie claps her hands, her painted lips stretching into a delighted smile. "Oh, how exciting! I bet my hat it was your sister, wasn't it?" She offers me the microphone again, but I can't bring myself to answer. My eyes sweep over the crowd — their faces blurred, distant. This is the last time I'll ever see them. The thought lodges itself in my mind, cold and heavy.
When my silence stretches too long, Effie recovers quickly, plastering on her Capitol enthusiasm. "Well then, let's have a big round of applause for our courageous volunteer!"
But the crowd doesn't clap. The suffocating silence from earlier returns, even heavier now. Then, as one, they raise their hands to their lips and extend three fingers to the sky. A District Twelve goodbye. For me.
Because I'm a dead woman walking.
Effie, visibly unsettled, clears her throat and hurries on. "Let's move on to the boys, shall we?" Her voice is brittle with forced cheer.
The boy she picks will be my teammate. My fate is bound to his. If he dies, I die. If I die, he dies. My eyes flick to Gale. Even from across the square, I can see the fire burning behind his gaze. He's too old for the reaping now, but I can see from here what he's thinking. He's thinking about how he should stand here besides me. Maybe then District twelve would have a chance at winning. But he can't and my life now rests in the hands of whoever's name Effie pulls from that bowl.
"The male tribute from District Twelve is…" Effie unfolds the slip of paper. "Peeta Mellark!"
My head snaps towards him. Peeta Mellark. The baker's son. The boy with the bread.
Suddenly, I'm eleven again, starving and desperate, crouched behind the bakery in the freezing rain. Peeta, with his burned loaf of bread, saving my life when no one else would. And now, he's the one who will walk into the arena with me.
If I die, that debt will go unpaid forever.
His blue eyes meet mine as Effie asks us to shake hands. His grip is firm, though his eyes glisten with unshed tears. I look away, uncomfortable with the raw emotion in them. How will I ever repay him? Can I save him the way he once saved me? The questions swirl in my mind, making me dizzy. I can barely think of anything beyond my own survival, yet now my fate is intertwined with Peeta's.
I'm ushered into a dimly lit room, the colored windows casting soft shadows across the worn wooden floors. The Justice Building may be one of the few decent structures in District Twelve, but neglect still leaves its mark. Cracks snake through the glass, the fabric on the sofa hangs loose, and dust clings to every surface.
"Katniss!" Prim's voice, high and trembling, cuts through the silence as she throws her arms around me. She's shaking, her sobs wracking her small frame. "Why did you do that? You didn't have to do that." Her words are nearly lost in her hysteria. I crouch down to meet her eyes, trying to soothe her.
"I couldn't let you go into the Games." My voice wavers, but I force a small smile and tuck a stray piece of her hair behind her ear. "You have to stay here. You need to take care of Mom."
Prim shakes her head violently, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "Promise me you'll try to win. Maybe you can. Peeta is strong, and you can hunt. Maybe you can win together." Her hopeful gaze pierces through me, and though my own hope fades with every passing second, I nod.
"I promise. I'll win. For you."
Prim buries her face into my shoulder, her cries muffled against my shirt. Over her head, I meet my mother's eyes. She stands silently, her face pale and her expression shattered.
"You can't disappear again," I say quietly. "She needs you now. You're all she has."
My mother nods, but the heartbreak in her gaze is almost too much to bear.
"I won't."
I press a kiss to Prim's hair as the Peacekeepers arrive, their presence a heavy sign that our time is up. They pull her from my arms, and I watch helplessly as they lead my family away. The door closes behind them with a soft thud, leaving me alone in the dusty room, my heart heavier than ever. I'm not alone for more than a few seconds when Gale entered there room and throws me into a tight hug.
"You grab a bow and you win, Katniss," Gale whispers against my neck. His breath is warm, but his words send a chill through me. I pull back from the embrace, searching his face with uncertain eyes.
"There are twenty-four of us going in," I say quietly. "I can't win this year. Not on my own."
"Then you drag that baker boy with you, and you don't let him stop you from coming home." Gale's voice is fierce, his eyes burning with determination. "He's strong. He's not some twelve-year-old who doesn't stand a chance." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "And you can hunt."
I shake my head. "Animals."
"There's no difference." His whisper cuts through me, colder than the wind that seeps through the cracks of our broken house during winter. I shudder. Isn't there? As much as I don't want to, my mind spirals down a path I've tried to avoid.
"There might not even be a bow in the arena," I argue, grasping at anything to push the thought away.
"Then you make one. You know how." His fingers brush the end of my braid, gentle despite the urgency in his voice. I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, the Peacekeepers step in. Time's up.
Gale fights against their grip, shouting something I can't make out as the door slams behind him. The silence that follows feels heavier than any goodbye.
I don't expect any more visitors. That's why I'm surprised when Madge slips in, her face pale but determined. She doesn't say much — just wishes me luck and presses a small object into my palm. A pin. The golden Mockingjay catches the light, and for a moment, we just stand there, silent.
"Promise me you'll wear it," she says softly. I nod, unsure of what to say. I've never been good at the whole friendship thing, but maybe we were friends after all.
When Peeta's father comes in, I tense. He sits beside me in silence, the quiet stretching between us until it becomes almost unbearable. Finally, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small paper bag. Sugar cookies. I stare at them, confused.
"I'll look after Prim and your mother," he says quietly. The unexpected kindness makes my eyes sting with tears. I nod and mumble a thank you, unsure of what else to say.
As he stands to leave, I brace myself. Is he going to ask me to protect Peeta? To make sure his son comes home? But all he says is:
"I believe in you. Good luck."
And then he's gone, leaving me alone with nothing but questions. Did he mean that he expects me to save Peeta? Maybe he's just relieved I won't try to kill his son. I clutch the bag of cookies and stare into nothingness, my mind spinning.