A Hunger Games Fanfiction: Prim's Games ||Book One||

Chapter 1

Please Read:

Hello! Thank you for choosing to read my Hunger Games Fanfic. You can read this book even if you have not read Catching Fire or Mockingjay, so please, please do not post any spoilers. This is what I think would have happened if Katniss and Prim had switched places.

I know that the way Suzanne Collins wrote it was slightly different and not used much. It was 1st person-present. With 'I'm doing this,' or 'I'm falling,' rather than 'I did this,' or 'I fell.' Odd, but that is the style I'm choosing, because I feel it keeps you in suspense. I it was, 'I did this,' that means the storyteller is still alive. I feel this writing style means that at any moment, the writer could die.

One last detail, one of the tributes shall be my own character, because I want to. He'll probably from District 7.

So please, enjoy.

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"And our next girl tribute is...."

I stare at the ground, unable to keep myself from shaking. What if they pick me? What if they draw my name and force me to fight to death in the Hunger Games?

Katniss assured me that it was more likely that her or Gale's name would be drawn then mine. Maybe it will be okay...

"Katniss Everdeen!"

A mixture of fear and shock fills my body. No! This can't be happening! I can't let her risk her life, and possibly die!

I swallow my saliva and begin to walk forward. Step. Step. Don't fall. Step, step.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

I see Katniss whirl around, staring at me in shock and anger.

"No, Prim!" She screams. "No, don't let her! Please!"

"No, Katniss!" I yell. I turn to Effie Trinket on the stage. "I volunteered."

"Well, this has never happened in District Twelve before!" Effie exclaims. "We have a volunteer. Come here, dear."

How could I have done that? I didn't even think before speaking. Katniss will be so upset. But it's done. I step up on the stage, and she asks for my name.

"Primrose Everdeen."

"Well, I'll bet my hat she's your sister."

"Correct."

Katniss just stares at me as she's pushed back into the crowd by the Peacekeepers.

"And now for our boy tribute." Effie walks over to the big glass bowl, full of boys' names.

What if Gale is drawn? He would never hurt me. Katniss would never forgive him. But the Gamemakers require all but one tribute dies. And if two won't die, they can make one of them.

"Peeta Mellark!"

No! I don't know Peeta very well, but I know his father. He's very kind to me. He buys my goat cheese and gives me lots of bread. Plus, I think he's quite strong. I won't last two seconds against him.

"Now come with me, Primrose and Peeta."

Effie and some guards lead me to a gorgeous room. It's decorated quite nicely. But I can't think about that now.

I wait a few minutes before Katniss and my mother barge into the room.

"Why would you do that?" She cries, holding me tightly. "You stupid, stupid girl."

I should be hurt for her calling me stupid, but it's true. I'm going to die.

"You need to hunt for you and Mother. I can't hunt. I'll be no help." I whisper.

"That's why they'll destroy you alive in the Hunger Games! Oh, Prim."

Katniss hardly moves, but there's enough space for Mother to squeeze in.

"Oh, Primrose, I'm so sorry." She wails.

"It's not your fault, Mama." I don't want her to let me go. But after another minute in silence, they're required to leave.

"I love you both!" I call after them.

Another moment passes, Gale comes in. I immediately jump into his arm.

"You shouldn't have done that," he reprimands. "Katniss could have handled herself in there. But you..."

I should be upset by everyone's lack of faith in me. But I'm not. It's true. I cry when I go hunting with Katniss. I can't bear to see anyone in pain, that's why I always do my best to heal people. Not hurt them.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't let her go in those games...starving...hurt... I'm sorry."

"Just...do your best, Prim."

I give a tiny smile. "I'll do my best."

As weird as it sounds, I've always had a slight crush on Gale. But he's more like a big brother to me.

Lastly, Mr. Mellark comes in with a bag in his hand. He sits down on a couch in front of me, looking awkward. "Hi," he says.

"Hi." I smile. Mr. Mellark doesn't talk much. But he buys my goat cheese, and gives me lots of bread in return.

"I told my son to watch out for you out there."

"Mr. Mellark he can't--"

"No, dear, I know he'd never intentionally hurt you. Trust him."

I fight back the urge to argue more. I know there's no way I can possibly trust him. In that arena, even the nicest person could do the worst things. And that's what worries me.

We sit there for a moment before he gives me the paper bag he held. I peek inside, seeing two thick cookies with chocolate chunks in them. I breathe in the smell I'd never had the privilege of smelling. We could never afford to buy them, but I often peek in the windows of the bakery, wistfully wishing for them.

"Thank you so much," I whisper gratefully.

Then he has to leave and I'm alone again. After that I'm taken to a train where Peeta and I sit, looking at each other.

"That was nice," Peeta says, "what you did for your sister."

I look down, embarrassed. "Thank you."

We sit in silence again, until Effie comes in, with no sign of our mentor, Haymitch Abernathy coming behind her. We settle around a table in the dining car where a feast is prepared. I don't think I've ever seen this much food at once before. Each course comes with more and more food. Carrot soup, salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, and more.

I try to hold decent table manners, but my efforts fail in attempt to eat more food than I've ever been able to eat.

"My, you have nice table manners, Peeta," Effie exclaims. "Don't worry, Primrose, we'll whip you up into someone with amazing manners before the games."

What does having nice table manners have to do with staying alive? But, I figure I need to make nice with Effie. "You can call me Prim," I reply.

Halfway through the meal, I can't eat another bite. Peeta looks the same, and we just wait until Effie has eaten every bite of her food before excusing ourselves for bed. As I walk down the hallway, Haymitch stumbles past us, a bottle of liquor in hand.

I'm going to have to do something about it. Ask him kindly to stop drinking or something because I do not want a drunk mentor.

I lay up in bed all night, worrying about the coming day. We will arrive in the Capitol, with a long day of preparing for the parade where all the tributes come dressed in costumes will show off. I don't want to. I don't want to be here. I can only blame myself, though.

But an even heavier thought weighs me down. In no time, I'll be in the games, and I'll have to kill Peeta.

Or he'll have to kill me.