Chapter Text
"This year, as a reprieve to families in all districts, and to show the mercy I have to remind you that I am a fair and just president; The tributes will be reaped from all adults aged 18-25."
Well, I think after watching the announcement from my home in the Victors Village, I think I can stomach losing an adult as opposed to a child this year. I don't even try to keep up the pretense that I have hope that I could win. Snow had made sure that every tribute from 12, since I had won, had died in horrendous ways. Punishment, I know, for what I pulled in my own games.
Five years ago, I was sixteen year old Katniss Everdeen, reaped from 12. I was the first victor since Haymitch, my mentor, who had won his games 25 years prior. What we pulled off together, no one could have anticipated it, which is why we've been suffering ever since.
A knock at my door releases me from the grip of memories that would paralyze even the numbers soul. I walk to open the door quickly, but don't stay to greet the guest. I only ever have one.
"Hey," Haymitch grumbles as he closes the door behind him.
"Hey," I respond. There isn't much love between the two of us, but we recognize how the bond we have is unshakeable. You cant go through what we've gone through and not have gilded an impenetrable link between us.
"An adult this year...." he trails off. They both feel a sense of relief, but are ashamed to admit it. Whoever this person is, their life wont grieve them nearly as much as the life of another child. Their life, doesnt hold the same amount of weight.
You would think that each year would get easier. That each year would just dull the senses a little bit more until there wasn't a possibility for any emotional reaction left. I had held firm to that belief, but watching Haymitch changed all of that. He has done this for thirty years now, and each time the damage to him is remarkable. Somehow his spirit builds back up year after year, against his will, just to be crushed again. That's why he drinks, I know.
"Eighteen to twenty-five though," I point out. "It will be someone from my years at school most likely. Maybe some a year older or younger." I didn't realize this until I spoke it out loud. I takes a measured deep breath and rub circles into my temples. This will be just like my. reaping, except there isn't the possibility of my name being called. I will know the person going into these games, I am sure of it.
At least there is no chance of it being anyone I love. There is no one left to fill out that category.
"Ugh," I sigh, suddenly inundated with thoughts of people that I have tried so hard to forget. There is a part of me that knows its selfish to forget these people who died because of me. I should always revere and think of them, but there would be no living that way. No, I think, its better to forget.
"We have two weeks until the reaping," Haymitch starts. "They'll be replaying the moments of the games the whole time, per usual. Which means hell starts now."
I nod my head in silent agreement. Since my games, the Capitol has done everything they could do to make them the most unlikeble victors ever, its never worked. For some reason Panem has always responded to us favorably. So Snow found new ways to torture us. Aside from bringing their tributes to the worst end possible, they'd constantly replay their specific games, and request interviews that forced them to answer question after question about their horrendous losses. If Snow can't taint their reputations, than he will keep them reliving their worst moments more than any other victors year after year. It's the best way to make them suffer these days. There isn't anyone left for him to kill.
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The bright lights always bothered me. It was as if the more light that shined upon me would illuminate every fault more clearly. It exposes me. I sit patiently, however, as the capitolite make up artist finishes me up and Caesar Flickerman went over his notes. Another games and countless interviews; it has become a regrettable routine.
"Showtime," says the producer, as Katniss steadies herself. "In 3, 2, 1..."
"Katniss," Caesar starts with his voice taking on feigned empathy, "After all you'd endured, there was still more devastation to come wasn't there?"
I take a moment before I respond. I knows the story I need to tell, I tell it year after year after all. I just wish I could tell the truth instead. That will just be taken out on my tribute though, so I keep the lie alive.
"Yes," I answers solemnly. The bile starts turning in my stomach. It sickens me to no end to feel complicit in perpetuating this bull shit. "After my games there was an accident."
"Mmm, yes," Caesar responds clearly relishing the dramatic story as he does each and every time. "Involving your sister and mother, correct?"
I bite the inside of my mouth and hope the pain will keep me tethered to the present. He knows very well who was involved in the accident, and why it came to be. "Yes," I answer, voice cold and detached.
"And what was it that happened?" He continued, and I can see the spark behind his eyes.
"It was parcel day," I start, trying hard to keep my composure. "Somehow my mother and my sis.." I trail off for a brief second to the delight of the talk show host, "my sister got stuck on the tracks right as the train arrived." I stop. I don't say anything more. Everyone knows what happened.
"Poor dear, they were run over were they not?"
I tense. Normally Caesar doesn't push me this far. Hatred courses through me and threatens to boil over. Its what Snow must want, I think. To give him another reason to torture my future tribute. I wont give him the satisfaction.
"Yes," I answer icily.
"Oh Katniss, it is awful, truly. To have endured and survived the games triumphantly, only to have your family quite literally torn apart, and out of your life forever."
Keep breathing Katniss, I think to myself. Keep breathing. It's almost over... almost over. I don't respond, but continue to look forward into Flickerman's eyes. I will not let him ruin me... at least not here in front of the entire damn country.
"Yes," he continues, clearly seeing that I will go no further. "Such a sad irony in life isn't it? Volunteer for your sister, and then she is gone," he snaps his fingers, "just like that."
I am two seconds away from strangling his throat.
"Well that's all from district twelve my lovely viewers!" He says animatedly, "Thank you for watching, and Katniss? Good luck this year." He smiles, and I do my best to receive that horse shit well wish gracefully.
"Cut!!!" Yells the director, and everyone starts to disperse.
"Fuck you Caesar." I deadpan. I look right into his eyes, clearly showing my absolute disgust at this facade of a man in front of me. On camera I will play my part, but all bets are off when the broadcasts are over.
"Oh there you are, Girl on Fire," Caesar laughs, "I'd thought you'd seemed a bit muted today."
I grab my coat and march out of the justice building to head home. Girl on Fire, I think. The nickname given to me by Caesar himself during my games. I hate it- hate what it represents, where it came from, and that everyone calls me by it. If they only knew that there really was no fire left; not even a spark.
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Reaping Day is here, and myself and Haymitch sit motionless, without expression, on the stage. As usual Effie Trinkett is here in her lavish attire, waiting for the camera to go live for her moment in the spotlight. I've noticed that each year that goes by, Effie seems less eager to pull the names from their respective bowls. It helps me deal with her, by believing that maybe Effie is starting to see the games for what they really are.
The video that plays in the beginning is finished, and Effie returns to the microphone.
"It is time, ladies and gentleman, to meet our tributes from District Twelve. Ladies, as always, first." She hesitates for just a moment as she plunges her long manicured fingers into the clear glass bowl. When she pulls the name, "Eryn Grinwel", I see my old classmate approach the stage. What I did not anticipate, would be that some of these people would have children that they would leave behind, as two young boys cling to their mother as she is led away.
"Mommmy," they cry. "Please, please dont go." The youngest just sits on the ground as his large doe-eyes fill with tears. It's too much to bear. I look to Haymitch and steal the flask he is gulping from, and finishes it off myself. It burns, but not nearly as badly as I wish it did. How will they get through this?
As Eryn climbs the stairs to the stage, she looks back at her husband and children, for a moment she falters, and I think she might try to run back to them, but she resets her resolve and finishes her walk to Effie.
"I volunteer!! I volunteer!" A girl shouts from the audience, and the entire district stands there stunned. Katniss' mouth drops open as she sees a younger girl run up to the stage. "I'm 18, I can volunteer!" She shouts again.
"NO!" Eryn cries, "No I'm already here, I was called!" The girl runs up to her and they embrace tightly with tears running down their faces. "Ellyn, please dont do this, it will be okay."
Effie perks up a bit at the drama and looks back at me with astonishment upon her face. I know what she is thinking. They're sisters. This girl has just volunteered to take her older sisters place, and try as I might, I cant stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. Prim.
"Now now, Eryn, you know once someone volunteers they take the place of official tribute. Back to your place now dear," Effie tries to get Eryn back down the stage, but she is sobbing while holding for dear life onto her baby sister.
"The babies," Ellyn says, "They need you, Eryn they need you. I couldn't let you go."
With that, the guards have forcefully taken Eryn back down to her family, and she looks in horror at her sister, while her children cling to her.
The commotion has settled, we learn the girls name is Ellyn Berger, and Effie walks to the bowl that contains the name of the men. As she does so I think of the children that were spared their mother. I imagine the future birthdays and holidays they will all have together, and my head throbs with the pain of knowing that's what I was trying to save for Prim when she volunteered. She died anyway.
"The male tribute for District Twelve is, Peeta Mellark!!" Effie states triumphantly.
I feel nearly faint. My breathing has picked up and Haymitch puts a hand on my thigh to try and steady me. "Shh, Katniss, you gotta pull it together."
I look out, and there he is, walking to the stage. Even from my vantage point I can see the blue of his eyes. His jaw is set and resolved determination is etched on his face. When he walks to Effie his eyes meet mine for just a moment, and when they do his face softens almost imperceptibly, but I notice it.
"Wonderful!" Effie exclaims, "Our District Twelve tributes are Ellyn Bergere and Peeta Mellark!"
The Twelvians are emotionally spent, enduring another reaping is never easy, and this one was emotional in all too familiar ways. The sister connection is not lost on anyone there. No one applauds, and no one even seems relieved that their names weren't called. There is just sadness here.
"Until next year my friends," Effie states. "Be sure to cheer on your tributes, we are off to the Capitol!"
Haymitch and I stand, as the tributes are led back into the Justice building, and again I makes eye contact with Peeta. I wonder if he remembers, if he knows how indebted to him I am. It's improbable, I think, it was so so long ago. Still..... the way he is looking at me.....
"Well, so much for this year being any easier than the rest," Haymitch laments. "God this fucking sucks," he mumbles as he pulls out a second flask that was hiding in his pants. I again reach out and grab it.
"Geez girl, that's a good way to lose your fucking hand. Get your own!"
I ignore him as I take another long swig from the tiny metal containers. I need to lie down, or at least find a way to calm down. This could not have been a coincidence, I think. Snow somehow made this happen. There is no way that this year could have a sister volunteer, and my boy with the bread in the same reaping unless someone made sure it happened that way, right? I moan to myself. Or maybe... I really am just that fucking unlucky.