the open book

the hunger games | the substitute

Name: Primrose Everdeen

Story: The Hunger Games

Author: Suzanne Collins

Event: The Reaping

***

Today was the reaping. Mother stood in front of me as she adjusts my blouse and skirt- Katniss' first reaping outfit. It's a bit big for me, but Mother tucked it in with pins so it just fit, but not perfectly. 

Katniss dressed, and Mother helped her into a dress and braided her hair up. I looked in her in awe. Mother hardly let us wear her own clothes, and Katniss looked really, really good in it. 

"You look beautiful," I said in a hushed voice. 

"And nothing like myself," Katniss replied, and pulled me into a hug. I cling to her, seeking comfort in the embrace. My first reaping, and I was terrified. Not just for myself, but also for Katniss. She didn't let me take any tesserae, but she took some every year. This might just be the year that- no, I could not think about it.

Just then, she looks at my blouse and notices that the blouse has pulled out of the skirt and forms a little tail. She smoothed it back into place.

"Tuck your tail in, little duck," she smiled playfully, but slightly tense. 

I giggled and gave a small 'quack', relieved to have something to take my mind of the event that was going to happen. 

"Quack yourself," Katniss laughed lightly, "Come on, let's eat."

At the square, I filled in and signed up silently, heading to the back, seperated from my sister and mother. I huddled in the midst of the other twelve year old, trying to keep my mind from staying to the thought of getting selected, my sister getting selected...

I hardly notice as the mayor reads the story of Panem. The victor, Haymitch Abernathy, heads up the stage, in a drunken stupor. I can only imagine why he is like that half the time. Then, Effie Trinket heads up the stage, welcomes everyone and gives a speech, in that far too bright, falsely cheery voice of hers. I hate it. I have always hated it. No one likes it. 

Now it's time for the drawing. Ladies first. Effie pulls out a slip of paper and smooths it. I hold my breath, hoping that it is not Katniss, not me.

No. Katniss is safe.

But I've been chosen.

The crowd mummers around me, but I block them out. Pale and trembling, I head up the stage, hands clenched by my side. My chances were remote, but I still got chosen. Katniss... she sacrificed so much for me, but it was all in vain. I walk with stiff, small steps, past my sister, who watches my back silently. I can't think. I have completely frozen in time.

Suddenly, I hear a voice behind me. My sister, screaming out. 

"Prim!" She shouted. I continued walking, ignoring, blocking out. I'm just not sure who I am blocking out - my own beating heart or her gasping breaths. In that moment, I wonder, wonder what it would have been like if I was in her position - seeing her depart from me. 

"Prim!"

With a sweep of her arm, she pushed me behind her. Gasping out, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" For a spilt second, I feel relief. Then traitorous. Not Katniss! I am shocked, trembling, worse than when I was selected. She can't! I can't let her! I can't watch her die, knowing that she died for me. For me. The words stab my heart. Die. Dead. Death. It is certain that whoever goes might as well have been killed.

I screamed behind her, wrapping my arms around her. It was a futile effort, but anything to stop her from going up the stage, to certain death. 

"No, Katniss! No! You can't go!" I yell hysterically.

"Prim, let go," She says harshly. I cry louder.

"Let go!" She shouts, louder. I don't let go. But Gale lifts me up, and I thrash in his arms. Struggling to hold Katniss back. 

"Off you go, Catnip," he says. Why does he betray us! Why didn't he hold her back, not letting her go. He grips me and carries me towards Mother. I cry, loudly. One last time. Then I fall silent.

"Well, bravo!" Effie Trinket says cheerfully. "That's the spirit of the Games!" No, it isn't. Katniss went because she loved me. To protect me. But I can't do the same. 

"Let's give a round of applause to our newest tribute!" She chirps. No one claps. There is a pained silence.

Then, every member of the crowd touches three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to Katniss. It means thanks, admiration, and goodbye to someone you love. It suddenly strikes me just as I mimic their actions. 

I'm going to have to say goodbye to her. 

Forever.