𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙚 ; the hunger games

chapter 𝐨𝐧𝐞.

ᵗʳⁱᵇᵘᵗᵉ

‧₊˚🏹✩ ₊˚⊹

[ the reaping ]

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩. Our house was small, like every shack and cabin in District 12, and sound travelled quickly.

I immediately sprang up from the bed, dashing over to her shaking body as she shrieked, "NO! NO!"

I cradled her close, and she clung tightly to my body. I softly hushed her, "Shh. Shh. It's okay. It's okay." Her shaky breaths came out ragged as I stroked her hair. "You were just dreaming. You were dreaming."

"It was me," Prim croaked out. 

"I know. I know. But it's not," I reassured. "It's your first year, Prim. Your name's only been in there once. They're not gonna pick you." She sniffed, and I continued the soothing act. "Try to go to sleep."

"I can't," she whimpered.

"Just try. Just try." She slowly leaned up towards me, whispering in my ear and after a moment, I hummed, nodding my head. Prim fell back onto the bed, and I tucked the blanket around her small frame, stroking the wispy blonde hair from her sweaty face. I then heeded her wish, singing, "Deep in the meadow. Under the willow."

She smiled, joining in the gentle melody. "A bed of grass,
A soft green pillow."

"You remember that song? Okay. You finish it. I've gotta go." I leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

"Where?" she asked.

"I've just gotta go. But I'll be back. I love you."

I walked down the stairs, grabbing my brown jacket from the coat hanger. Prim's cat, Buttercup, violently hissed at me, but I merely rolled my eyes. "I'll still cook you," I threatened, before stepping outside. 

I ran through District 12, casting glances to my neighbors. I watched as the first group of minors marched down the road, their metal buckets and tools clanking against each other with each step. 

I jumped over the stone railing, landing on the dam. The sun was now high in the sky, the white light allowing my shadow to return. 

Soon, I was at the fence. I disregarded the warnings of electric shock and boundary alerts, as I have done for the past couple years. I bent down through one of the safe wires, quickly entering the forest ahead. 

I looked around but found nothing suspicious. I stopped by a large fallen tree trunk and stuck my hand beneath it. There, the trusty polished wood of my bow came into contact with my fingers. I pulled it from its home, smiling slightly, before I made my way across some bushes. Another tree, though standing upright, was the hiding spot for my arrows. 

With my weapon, I wandered for a while through the forest, keeping my footsteps light and my breathing soft to not attract any attention. 

I finally came across some game; a deer. It stood still, and I would've missed it if it didn't move from its place to sniff the air. But just as I was about to fire the arrow, the deer moved again.