The Third Tribute

Chapter one: The chosen ones

I awake with the sun and look to m left.

My sister, Prim, is not there. This alarms me, so I check my mother's bed, and she is fast asleep in my mother's arms. I should have known. It's reaping day, of course she would have nightmares.

I watch over them for a few minutes, taking in their sight to comfort me if I need it. Their breaths are synchronized, and their blonde hair and svelte figures make them look like versions of each other at different ages. This is the classic look of the people of the seam, but we live in the sector of district twelve where mining is the major occupation. My mother moved here from the seam to marry my father. Prim was given my mother's traits, and I, my father's.

I sneak out the door of the household only seconds before I hear the rustling of sheets, followed by footsteps. I sprint to the woods, trying desperately not to be seen by others. If I am, I will be reported and punished greatly.

I always meet my hunting companion on Sundays. Gale is the only one whom I can be myself with, and the closest thing to a friend I've ever been. I examine him from a distance to make sure he is the same eighteen year old he was a week ago. As usual, his appearance remains the same. His dark hair is untouched, and his brown eyes are still filled with wonder. He looks strong and well built, and he towers over many things, like me. It's crazy to think that we are so alike, yet we aren't siblings. Although, that is the look most families tend to take on in our community.
"Do you think it will be one of us?" He asks, hesitantly, finally acknowledging my presence.
"I try not to think of it, but for the most part, we do have the odds in our favor. It's not uncommon here to have a lot of slips entered."
"Let's say we go in together-"
"I don't want to think about it like that-" I interrupt.
"But if we did, who would win?"
"You have a pretty good shot," this makes him smile, "but mine is better." I grab my bow and shoot a bird mid-flight barely a moment after it comes into our view.
"I don't know about better," he says, grabbing my bow. I cross my arms and watch him, as he attempts to impress me. He pulls the arrow back, and shoots a squirrel perched on a nearby tree right in the eye. "See? Dinner."
"Well... Mine was moving, and it's larger."
"Yeah, well that bird was fat and slow. No wonder you shot it, it's an easy one," he jokes.
I shake my head in disagreement. "Look, we've got to go to the reaping." As quickly as we'd met, we depart, and before I know it, I'm standing in the town square, standing before the justice building and pulling myself together. I have been awake, but numb the entire morning. It is almost as if I have been in a dream, or rather- a nightmare.

I've been to a reaping three times in the past, but this one is putting me on edge, and I don't know why.

This is the day that two innocent people are chosen to be tributes for the Hunger Games. And as tragic as it sounds, I could be that person. My sister, Prim, could be that person. Gale could be that person. Anyone could be. My name is in twenty times, Gale, forty-two, and Prim, once. That's 63 times just for the three of us. The odds are not exactly in our favors as they say they are. No, the odds are not in my favor today.

I frantically search for the few people I recognize in the mortified crowd. My eyes trace the perimeter of the boys section until I meet eye contact with Gale. He gives me one last reassuring smile, then looks away. Effie Trinket, a spunky Capitol woman who comes out to district twelve on reaping day each year, steps up to the podium, smiling maniacally.

I brace myself for the worst, and move a little closer to Prim. I can tell she is holding back tears. She hasn't dealt with this in the past before. Effie Trinket taps on the microphone to test it, and it works. She smiles a huge smile, which is disturbing to everyone but her, and I can tell she's anxious for this year's tributes to entertain the citizens of the Capitol by being tortured on live television. She clears her throat and tells us about how much the Capitol cares and such just to mess with us, and she plays a video about how the games were formed and the rebellion. Afterwards, she comments, "Oh I just love that! Don't you?" An eerie silence blankets the crowd.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor." She says enthusiastically. She just looks disappointed by our gloominess and points out that it's ladies first. She takes the last dreadful steps before the fate of a child is revealed, and gladly shouts, "Primrose Everdeeen." My innocent little sister's face floods with terror as she gasps. She's only twelve! The odds are supposed to be in her favor! I take it all in as Effie calls her onto the stage. "Come on up, no need to be afraid."

The words trigger me to come back to reality, as I was lost in thought. I notice the other children make a pathway for her, frightened as if she has a contagious disease and they are the next victims.

I realize what I have to do before Prim seals her torturous fate by stepping onto the stage. I shove up to the front of the crowd.
"Prim!" I can't help but panic, and hope they will let me take her place. I scream at the top of my lungs, prepared to take over her death sentence.
"I volunteer as tribute!" Everything goes silent. No one has volunteered in district twelve for as long as anyone can remember, and I broke that chain. I take my first few steps on my journey towards the torture that awaits me, and the entire crowd is hushed to a silence, awestruck by my bravery and selflessness.

Maybe my life is worth more than I thought. Maybe I can change everything. And it turns out, I can. I am mesmerized by the crowd's next move. One, two, three, eight people are gradually pressing three fingers to their lips, and raising their kissed fingers in my direction. This startles me. This is a sign rarely used, and used only for funerals and when someone is leaving for a long time. It's a sign. A sign that resembles the deliverer as a special someone, it's a formal, yet dismal goodbye. A lasting farewell to someone you love. What shocks me, is the fact that I am the one they love, the one who is leaving forever. And everyone in my district joins. Everyone is saying goodbye, and I kindly return the favor to them.

Effie looks oddly pleased at what I have done. Unable to speak clearly or focus, I stand on the stage in silence, numb, and enjoying the peace while I can. Soon the reality of my destiny will hit me like a train and I will never be capable of a good thought again. I can zone out and ignore most sounds, but in my mind I only hear the muffled voice of Effie Trinket announcing the boy tribute.
"Peeta Mellark," she demandingly announces. Again, a path is formed and people back away from him. He slowly creeps up onto the stage and glances at me with his bright blue eyes. I remember him. As a child I had seen him. I was outside of his house sitting under the tree in the pouring rain when I saw a boy slightly older than me stumbling out the door. An older woman, assumably his mother, was scolding him for what looked like burnt bread. After all, he is the baker's son. His mother stomped back inside muttering insults toward him. She looked highly frustrated and came back to demand him to give the burnt bread to the pigs. She marched inside and instead of giving it all to the pigs, he tore it in half and threw one half to the pigs. He looked around and stared in my direction, blank faced. He tossed the other half to me and hurried inside.

This boy, the boy with the bread, gave me hope. Gave me the realization that I could make it. Even though my father died, I could still find food. I didn't have to starve, I could teach myself to hunt with memories of my father. The next day at school I'd seen a little dandelion, the first of the spring, and saw it as a sign of new life. I then went home and snuck out to hunt. We had a good dinner for once that day, and from that day forward, we almost always did. We started selling Prim's goat cheese and living as close to a normal life as we could manage in district twelve, and I met Gale soon after. We became hunting companions and shared our spoils well enough to make it. Together we could feed two families. Together, we were strong. Strong enough to survive.

I awaken from my flashback realizing the ceremony is nearly over. But to my surprise, Effie isn't leaving. She's still talking, which is odd. She never says extra. "This year, the gamemakers decided they were not settling for only two district twelve participants." Panic strikes the crowd. They know what's coming next. We are being forced to offer an extra tribute because of last year's incident. Last year, the female tribute from our district committed suicide before the games. This year we are paying for her foolishness. We are having an extra participant who will suffer a cruel death in the games, and it could be anyone.

The extra tribute is being called in under a minute. I brace myself for the worst, as I clench my fists out of anger, not at Effie, not at myself, not at last year's foolish tribute, but at the Capitol. For putting another child into a living hell. For preventing another month of life for some "lucky" person. Effie Trinket combines both bowls together and mixes them. Swirling her hand around the bowl, she reaches for the bottom. She announces the name I'd hoped not to be spoken. Of hundreds of kids, it had to be him, it had to be Gale.