The Hunger Games (Peeta's Point of View)

Chapter Two

"Primrose Everdeen!"

The whole crowd begins to murmur. They might not know little Primrose Everdeen well, but they know her well enough to recognize her age. Twelve. Twelve years old. And she's Panem's newest tribute.

She looks even younger in her pink skirt and blouse, the back of the blouse untucked from the skirt. She's small for her age and dwarfed by the other girls. Her tiny hands are clenched into fists at her sides. The steps she takes are small and stiff and rigid and I know she's trying so hard not to cry. The redness in her nose and cheeks against her pale face show how vehemently she's trying. How many times was her name in? One, I'm sure. One in hundreds, probably thousands. What were the chances? It's not fair! How can a little twelve-year old girl stand a chance in the Hunger Games arena? She won't! Primrose will surely die early in the arena.

She looks even more vulnerable now as she passes the older kids. Smaller, weaker... The Careers won't hesitate to pick her off. What will she get in her trials? One? Two? She certainly has no skills I'm aware of. But it's not Katniss. It's not Katniss, it's not Katniss, it's not Katniss. That's all I'm thinking of and I completely miss that it's Katniss' sister's name. The relief that floods through me is short-lived. I should have known what Katniss was going to do next.

"Prim!" The whole crowd turns to look in the direction of the voice. "Prim!" Katniss' voice. The girls instantly move to allow Katniss a straight path to the front. She reaches Primrose just in time, just before the steps. I fear the worst. Oh no, what is she doing? But I know what she's doing.

My fears are confirmed.

"I volunteer!" Katniss screams as she pushes little Primrose behind her. "I volunteer as tribute!" No. No. No! They can't accept this! They can't accept her! No!

She can't compete in the Hunger Games! It's certain death! She can't volunteer when I saved her from starvation all those years ago! I remember.

My mother was screeching at something at the back of the bakery. I thought she had burned herself or something, so I abandoned the bread I was cooking so I could calm her ire. Then I saw she was shouting outside at something. My first thought was the pig. Then I heard her mention the Seam. My second thought was Katniss.

So I sneaked up behind mother and peered over her shoulder. Collapsed by our bins was a bedraggled, scrawny, limp thing that could only be Katniss. I knew her so well so I knew this wreck was her. My mother's words were twisted and vile and I wanted to slap her. Anything to take those words back. I could see how bad a state Katniss was in- soaked to the bone and her bones you could see. The rain was pelting and each raindrop that fell on her seemed to scourge her and the bundle of clothes she had. Then she dropped the bundle. The sight was so devastating I don't know how my mother could just stand there and say those things to her.

What if Katniss had died there and then? What if she had just collapsed and died in the wind and the rain and the cold? I suppose then they could have passed it off as pneumonia- those skinny bodies so obviously the victim of starvation were all passed off as something else- but... If she had died there would my mother even had known? Would she even have cared? No to both counts. My mother was paying more attention to the words she used to wound Katniss.

So I took my chance when mother walked away. I ran back to the loaves I had been nursing in the oven. The loaves were superior; full of raisins, seeds and nuts. They were done. But I couldn't get away with good loaves. So I thrust them further in until the smell of scorched bread emanated from the oven. I quickly pulled the loaves back out. The crusts were perfectly blackened but most of the bread was fine. I was about to pick them up but I heard footsteps behind me, loud like the pounding of my heart. I knew it was my mother. I didn't dare turn round.