Chapter 1

: The Day of the Reaping

The walls are grey. All around, stores surround me, the other twelve year olds cluttered around, and the entire population of District 12. Eight thousand, approximately.

As more people begin to fill into the square, latecomers are lead by the Peacekeepers to nearby streets. They won't have to worry about missing the ceremony though, as it will be broadcasted live and displayed on large screens around the district.

Sweat accumulates in my palms, and I have to wipe them against my skirt. It is tight against my stomach, and I feel sick. Perhaps it is just because of the reaping. Yes, that must be it.

But there are thousands of slips, I think to myself. And only one of them has my name.

Clip. Clip. The clicks of Effie Trinket's high heels sound magnified to my ears. Everything I see is blurred except for her heals. Then my vision focuses in on her face, the shiny, over-applied makeup, and then just her red, red lips as she spits out a cheerful, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The scene rushes to her pale hand reaching into a perfectly round glass bowl, her wine colored finger nails matching her eyes. Pure wine-colored eyes. I shudder as they lock with mine. I must be imagining things.

A slip of paper is drawn from the myriad of slips, and opened with quick, practiced fingers. Like the other twelve year olds around me, I breath in nervous gasps, awaiting the bubbly escort to speak.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

. . .

I wake up. My breathing is no longer slow, but fast. My heart accelerates and adrenaline courses through my body. My hands are cold, my hair drenched in sweat. I let the tears fall silently down my pale cheeks and onto the thin blanket that covers both me and my older sister, Katniss.

I make an effort not to wake her up. She must be tired. She comes to bed late after long days of hunting, with her best friend Gale. During these trips, they catch game to trade, to feed our families. Katniss for Mother and I, Gale for his mother Hazelle and younger siblings, Rory, Vick and Posy.

I am thankful for Rory. He's always been there for me throughout harsh times. As Gale and Katniss began to hunt longer hours, we often were needed to take care of young Vick, twelve months old at the time of our fathers' deaths, and little Posy, who was born just shortly after. Both our families starved many days, and Posy almost died. But gratefully, Hazelle and I were able to nurse her back to health.

When life started running downhill, Rory and I kept each other company. And as time passed, we learned to enjoy each other's company. We learned to become friends.

Little by little, with each thought, my breathing returns to a normal rate, but flutters a little each time I'm reminded of my dream. Carefully, I crawl out of the covers and make my way to our mother's bed. Her blonde hair has fallen across her face, and I brush it away to see her. She looks so young when she sleeps. Stress marks and wrinkles seem to fade away, and I'm reminded of the mom I knew before the loss of our father.

Periodically, I can still see parts of my young Mother, but many days she's wrapped in veils of sadness. Katniss, who took over the family at the age of eleven following Dad's death, is not very fond of her. And because of this, I feel the need to love our mother thrice as much. To make up for the love of Katniss and our father.

I climb into her bed, quietly, as to not wake her up, and try hard not to think of the imminent reaping. It's nearly impossible, but I must have done it. I feel myself fall asleep.

. . .

My face feels moist. I rub my eyes, wondering if I had cried in my sleep. Then I feel his warm tongue scrape against my cheek, and I know I've had a peaceful rest of my night.

Buttercup. Not all girls would find him beautiful, but he is perfect to me. With his cute, mashed-in nose, slightly clipped ear, and buttercup-colored coat, he is my beautiful cat.

I still remember when I found him on the streets while playing with Rory, Vick, and Posy. The kitten was beautiful, but infested with insects and probably diseases, so Rory and I tried our hardest to keep him away from the younger ones. I brought the kitty home, and was devastated when Katniss wouldn't let me keep him. To her, he was just a buttercup-colored mouth to feed.

"But we have to keep him," I had insisted, "On the streets, he'll die!" I cried at the thought of the cute creature dying, and Katniss finally let him stay. Mom helped rid him of the vermin, and he soon proved himself to be quite a mouser. I think that's when Katniss started to tolerate him.

Again, I am attacked by the little ball of fur, as his paws urge me to get out of bed. When I reach over for Mom, my fingers only brush against the rough canvas that covers our bed. She must be up already.

I sit up and notice how bright it is. When I get up and look out the window, however, I notice most houses have their grey shutters down, their doors closed. The reaping isn't until 2 o'clock in the afternoon. Might as well sleep in.

In the kitchen, a small marked off area with a table and stove, I find a wooden bowl knocked over. Yesterday night, I had left some cheese from our goat, Lady, for Katniss. She must have taken it on her way out for her final hunt before the reaping.

I shudder at the memory of the dream. It seemed so vivid, so real. I, Primrose Everdeen, age 12, had been chosen as tribute for the 74th annual Hunger Games. I had been chosen to fight twenty three others in a televised fight to the death. And in a couple hours, this dream might no longer be a dream, but reality.

One slip, I keep whispering to myself, only one slip has my name. But the fact that there's even the slightest chance I'd be reaped for the Games scares me. And Katniss, my brain goes on, Katniss has twenty slips in the bowl. Gale's got close to fifty, and Rory's got three.

Tesserae. Just another way the Capitol reminds us that we're poor. As those of us in the Seam, the poorer area of District 12, add extra slips into the reaping bowls for a small ration of oil and grain, our chances of being reaped are often doubled, sometimes tripled or even sextupled in Gale's case, who takes five extra slips every year in addition to his regular slip added for every extra year in the reaping.

Gale did not allow Rory to take any tessera at first, but Rory insisted so strongly that his brother could no longer argue. As for me, Katniss would never let me take tessera. But now, in her fifth year of reaping, supporting a family of three, she's got twenty slips of her own.

In a smaller area of the house where we keep our possessions and few articles of clothing, I see my mom. She's taking out clothes for Katniss and I to wear to the reaping ceremony this afternoon. The reaping ceremony. One slip, two slip, twenty little slips of paper.

"For you, Primrose," she tells me when she notices me standing by. She hands me a ruffled blouse and a skirt. Katniss' first reaping outfit. For my sister, she pulls out one of her own blue dresses with matching shoes. It's gorgeous, and I can tell she's taken time to choose it. Perhaps the twenty slips of "Katniss" scare her more than she shows.

"Thank you, Mom. You look beautiful." And she does. In a gorgeous dress from her days working at the apothecary, and her hair pinned up in a bun, you can properly see her clear, blue eyes that light up her face.

"And you look beautiful as well, like always. Now, do you want to try on your outfit, my primrose?"

. . .

The young girl in the chipped mirror stares back at me with broken eyes. Her spirits are as broken as the reflective plane, once whole. Twenty slips, I am reminded, Katniss has her name entered twenty times. I can only hope the odds are in her favor.

Using safety pins, Mom helps secure my dress around my waist. Unlike my dream, my dress is a little too big for me, and my blouse hangs loosely around it. It was just a dream. You're going to be just fine. Katniss is going to be fine.

When she comes home, she's amazed to see the dress our mother has laid out for us to wear.

"Really? For me?"

Mom replies with a nod, then retrieves a brush and towel to dry and comb Katniss's wet, showered, hair. She braids a beautiful braid for Katniss with her thin fingers.

"You look really pretty," I comment in a hushed voice, sitting beside her with a smile.

"But nothing like myself," Katniss replies with a weak smile. She then takes me into a big hug. Again, I feel queasy as I'm reminded of the twenty slips. After releasing me, Katniss takes a step back to look at my outfit. She smiles.

"You might as well tuck your tail in," Katniss says, "Little Duck." She smoothens out my blouse and tucks in the ends into the skirt.

I let out a small giggle, and call back: "Quack quack!" Katniss always makes me feel better.

"Quack yourself," Katniss replies with a wider grin. "Now let's go eat." She plants a small kiss on top of my head and gives me another hug.

On the table are slices of rough bread made from the tesserae, and milk from Lady. We're saving the good food Katniss has brought for dinner, after the reapings. To make it special. Besides, none of us really have an appetite for a large meal. We eat in silence.

. . .

When the clock reads 1, we start to head for the square. This is where the reapings are held every year. In my dream, the walls were plain grey, but out here, it's even worse. Bright banners are strung from building to building, in the Capitol's attempt to create a festive mood. But none of the children who file into the square share the Capitol's enthusiasm. On the roofs, I see large cameras, tracking our every move. My heart thumps in my chest.

I sign in with Katniss. Primrose Everdeen, age 12. Katniss holds my hand, gives it a reassuring squeeze, then is lead away to stand with the other 16 year olds. I'm lead to the back of the crowd to stand with the 12 year olds girls. We are the youngest. This is our first reaping.

"First reaping," someone whispers beside me. I'd recognize the voice in my sleep.

"First reaping," I reply back in a quiet whisper. Rory Hawthorne, age 12. Our eyes meet shortly, he gives me a reassuring smile, and walks by to stand with the boys his age. I follow him with my eyes for a couple more seconds before returning my gaze to the stage.

There's the podium, a few chairs, and of course, two glass bowls containing the names of the children standing here in the square. One bowl for guys. One bowl for girls. One slip for me. Twenty slips for Katniss.

On the stage, seated, are Mayor Undersee, and District 12's escort, Effie Trinket. Fresh from the Capitol.

I stare at Effie, trying to figure out if all her facial features are authentic. Probably not. She wears a wine colored outfit to match her wine stained lips and wine colored fingernails. Thankfully, her eyes are not wine colored, like in my dream. Beside Effie, there is an empty chair, which she examines with a frown plastered on her face.

When it's finally 2 o'clock, Mayor Undersee walks up to the podium and begins to read. First reaping. I listen carefully, though I have heard the speech every year whilst at the square for past reapings. Mandatory attendance for all residents, old and young alike.

Like always, the mayor begins with the history of our country: Panem. A small country that was built on the ashes of a place once called North America. Plagued with earthquakes, fires, droughts, and tsunamis that swallowed much of the land, a long war was fought for the remains of old, broken America. And up rose Panem, with a strong Capitol, which upheld and received the strength of it surrounding 13 Districts.

The the Dark Days came and devastation reigned, and districts rebelled against the Capitol. Twelve were put back to their place, and the thirteenth completely obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us a new set of laws to bring peace to the country, and the Hunger Games began to remind the Districts that the Dark Days should never be taken as a precedent.

The rules are simple. In result of our rebellion seventy-four years ago, one female and one male tribute between the age of 12 and 18 must be provided by each district to participate. These twenty four tributes would be locked in a large outdoor arena for several weeks where they would fight to the death. One of the twenty four unlucky children makes it out alive, but with the memory of slaughter and terror. I would never want to be crowned the victor of a killing contest.

One slip. One slip. I must repeat the two words to myself to keep from shaking. Despite this, I feel myself tremble a little. I feel a nudge from the right. A girl I know by face but not name, a classmate, takes in a deep breath, insisting I take one too, then exhales, which I follow. She offers me a weak smile. I am thankful for the strength she lends me. But twenty slips. Katniss has twenty slips with her name.

"And now, for a reading of the proud victors of District 12." The list isn't long. Just two names, one dead, and one drunk as he now stumbles onto the stage. Mayor Undersee, quickly tries to avert our attention to Effie instead.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" she exclaims in a Capitol accent, rushing to the mic. "It is such an honor to be here with you today! I can't wait for the reaping! Let's get started!"

She skips over to the girl's bowl. "Ladies first!" She reaches in, fishes around a bit, then picks a slip of paper. She skips back to the podium and smoothens out the slip. I freeze. One slip. But one slip is still one more than zero. And it's this one slip that allows dream to come true. Like I heard in my sleep last night, I hear two clear words ring through the square once again.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

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First rewritten chapter. Why is it so long? Why did it take so long? I will never know. You will never know. No one will ever know.

I threw in a Hamilton reference in the middle of those 2521 words though HAHAHA. Couldn't help it. 

AS FOR THE STORY: I was planning to just take the old story and tweak it, fixing little things, adding details, but I ended up basically rewriting the entire chapter. There were just too many things to fix. It's been four years since I wrote THGP and my writing has grown since then. 

So I apologise for the length, I apologise for the wait, but I worked pretty hard on this. I really hope you enjoyed!! A lot of you guys asked for more development of characters and relationships, so the new, rewritten chapters will be a lot longer than my first draft. Please keep that in mind.

(did anyone catch the Hamilton reference though...)

| illiterate-writer |

aka Monica