Into The Wilderness: A Hunger Games Story

2: Tearless Goodbyes

I stood there, shell shocked, before receiving a nudge from the person to my right. I turned in the nudger's direction only to receive a hissed "Go," and far too many sympathetic glances from the crowd than I was prepared to field. Nobody likes it when a thirteen year old goes to the Games. Nobody thinks it's fair – nobody thinks a little girl can win. But not this time. This time, the thirteen year old will not only prove them wrong, but this time, the thirteen year old will win.

I begin my slow shuffle from my spot in the square to the stage in front of the Justice Building. I can feel the countless stares, and I can feel the unspoken whispers that people are trying to conceal. As I make it up onto the stage, I make a decent effort not to cry, but instead to replace my sadness with determined vigor. I find my sister in the crowd by her eyes, which are locked on me, begging, pleading her not to volunteer. Before anything can happen, her light grey eyes suddenly are shining, and so quickly I think I imagined it, a tear makes a slow, agonizing trail down her face.

When Effie Trinket asks for volunteers, it's all I can do not to scream her name. All I hear is the whisper of the wind in the trees. The only thought running through my head is I don't want to die. I can hear her heels trot over to the other glass ball with forty-two of Gale's names in there. I suddenly get nervous, praying to any and every deity that exists that I won't have to go to the Games with my sister's best friend.

Instead the name I hear is one I only vaguely recognize. As the escort for our District announces the name of the male tribute I feel sorrow and pain for my family's savior. I have only a slightly decent memory of the time after my father died...the months of grief and sorrow our family felt for months at a time. We were near starvation – this was when Katniss didn't hunt by herself – and we were on the brink of death. You could see the skin and bones of us all. Katniss told me that this was the period that my mother was gone, and so far past gone that we both felt she was irretrievable.

Eventually though, she slowly started to return to us. It took time, but this...this boy with the bread had literally saved our family. I was only about seven years old at the time, so I don't remember all of this too well, but I do remember being the feeling of being really hungry.

That night, we enjoyed a meal of bakery bread and goat cheese before falling into a deep, peaceful sleep.

I am shaken from the memory by Effie Trinket's command for the two of us to shake hands. I lock eyes with this ashen-haired boy, and almost feel the tears prick behind my eyes. I shove them back down. There will be time for that later.

After we are ushered harshly into the justice building and the big, reinforced (times at least three, would be my guess) doors, we are shown to the room where we would say our final goodbyes.

I am, for some reason, surprised by the simplicity of the room. There is only a small couch, a small end table on one side, a shelf on the far left wall, and a pitcher of ice water and a box of tissues on the table. The walls are a bland beige, but the door is made of a strikingly beautiful dark wood.

I pour myself a glass of ice water, and slowly sip it in hopes of keeping my emotions under control. I tried my best to ignore how my hands shook as I drank. But all hope is lost when my mother and sister push through the door. This time, I let the tears shine in my eyes. I run into my mother's arms, only to feel the soft tears of my family fall into my hair, on my clothing and face. I soak them up, grateful for a piece of them that's impossible to get rid of. Katniss kneels down to my level. "You have to win," she whispers softly. I nod, unable to speak because my throat is blocked by the lump that has suddenly appeared there, and throw my arms around her, nearly strangling her.

I look at them, and with the tears in my eyes threatening to spill over, say as forcefully as I can, "I love you. More than anything." This is where Katniss loses it. It's almost scary to see her cry, because she's always been so strong, so good at wiping her face clean of emotions. This is a side of my sister that I've rarely seen.

They are ushered out after another minute and thirty seconds of a small group hug. This is the only place I feel safe, the only people I'm sure I love more than my own life.

My next visitor is unexpected. I turn, still sniffling, to see my sister's best friend standing not three feet away from me. I don't hesitate to run into his arms for a bear hug, just like I did when I was little. "Oh, Gale," I say trying to hold back the sobs. This results in hiccups, but when I check my reflection in the water jug, I see that my face looks completely tear-less.

I hug him tightly. "I love you big brother." I pull back, holding his shoulders and looking him square in the face. "Don't let them starve. And try to name one of your kids after me?" I manage a sad smile, and he gives a humorless laugh. "I won't. I love you too Prim. You have to win, okay?" That's the third person I've been told to win by in the past twenty minutes.

"Tell the kids I love them," I whisper, reaching up and giving him a sisterly peck on the cheek. "I will." He stands up from his crouching position and blows me a kiss. "You're gonna win, Prim. I know it." I can't answer to that, so I only wave. My eyes are telling him everything my lips can't.

I sit on the couch, and in walks my next visitor. Madge Undersee? What is she doing here? Not that I resent it, of course, but why? She wordlessly hugs me. It's a bit awkward, considering I'm sitting and she's standing, but still, it's a sweet gesture. Still without saying anything, she pulls out a gold, shiny item and hands it to me. I turn it around in my hands, pondering what it is. She answers my unspoken question. "It's a Mockingjay." She gently touches the golden wing tips that attaches it to the circle surrounding it. "It's beautiful," I whisper. "Thank you." This time, I stand up and give her a hug. We stand like that until the Peacekeepers usher her away.

Later, we are standing on the platform of the train, waving to the crowd. It's been a good idea not to cry, because reporters are swarming over like crazy, and I can't see because of all the flashes and bright lights. I take one look at Peeta's face and see that he has, indeed, been crying. His face is still red and puffy. I can't help but wonder what the Capitol sponsors will think of it.

I wave for what seems like hours before mercifully the train doors close behind us. I turn to face my newfound enemy. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, I kiss him gently on the cheek.