Chapter 3

: Learning to Cherish Life

It's all over. I'm going to die. Maybe I'll meet Dad. Yes, that sounds pleasant. Real pleasant.

There's little any tribute could do when the Peacekeepers take you into the Justice Building. I remember in past years, people tried to make a run for it, but no one's ever been successful. I don't dare risk it. Peeta and I meekly follow into the building, like lambs to the slaughter.

The two of us are separated into different rooms, and I relish the few moments of peace before I'll have to greet people and say my farewells. The room is fancy, with thick carpet, fluffy chairs, and a sofa. It's iconic, really, how the Capitol dresses up their tributes before sending them to their deaths. Not only this, but by selling all the items in this room, this cursed room used once a year, you could feed the whole, bountiful population of our district. This world's messed up. It's messed up to the core, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Sitting down on the sofa, I'm unable to enjoy the rich velvet. I run my fingers across the soft surface but the thoughts that fill my head aren't as pleasant.

"Stay calm Prim, don't cry. You have to stay strong," I tell myself firmly. "Stay strong like Katniss."

. . .

Katniss and Mom come visit first. They brought along Buttercup, and I hold him in my arms, tight. Tears fill my eyes, and this time I don't try to stop them. I just let them flood out and pour onto Buttercup, and onto the rich, velvet couch. Katniss sits next to me and pulls me into a hug, then Mother, kneeling on the floor, wraps her arms around the three of us. And just like that, we hold each other for what will be the last time.

"Maybe I can win," I whisper softly, but only because it feels polite. I know I'll be dead soon. There's no question about it, and Katniss and Mom struggle to find a response. Buttercup purrs affectionally, and licks my face.

"Maybe you can," Katniss says weakly, eying Mom, then looking back at me. Her eyes are grey. Just like Dad's. "You may be small, and you may be weak, but you're smart, and you're quite a healer. Don't let anything discourage you." But we all know, we all know but don't dare say, that this is the final goodbye. There's no coming back.

"I know Katniss, I know." My voice is barely above a whisper.

Mom brings up her hand to cup my face, bring it lower to match her eyes to mine. "Primrose. You are loved, so, so much. Never forget that."

Tears flood from her eyes and I hold her tight for dear life. It hurts so much to think about our home, once bustling with love and joy of two parents and two children, now stripped down to a parent and child, a goat, and a cat. It's all too painful to think about.

"Prim, I believe in you. My hope is pinned on you. Watch the reapings, make alliances. Don't... don't let the Games be your last, painful memory. Prim, the Capitol's a nice place. Enjoy it for me, for Mom. For Dad. And with your beauty, your pure heart, you're bound to attract sponsors. Cherish each gift you get. Don't forget how much we love you.

"When the gong sounds, run for shelter Prim, run far, far away. You remember that movie, don't you Prim? We'd watch it with Dad on the small projector at home, you remember that, don't you?" I nod. I do remember. Run, Forrest, run.

"It'll be just like hide and seek. Don't let the others get to you, physically, mentally... Feed yourself, sustain yourself. Don't go and get yourself killed Prim. Hold on to the very end. Don't give up a good fight, do you hear me?" Her voice is stern and I nod again. I remember the smiles, the laughs we shared over long games of hide and seek around the neighborhood. All my favorite places to hide. The company Buttercup provided me during long, hot afternoons we'd spend hiding in the Seam.

"I'm sure you'll form good alliances Prim. Rely on them, learn to trust them, and they'll learn to trust you. Pick up good survival skills, learn to use your knowledge of plants, your knowledge of medicine. Use everything you've got. Every inch."

Being five feet tall, I know every inch isn't much, but I just smile and nod, holding onto Buttercup, tightly, like he might disappear if I'm not too careful. My heartbeat accelerates as I hear footsteps in the distance. Footsteps of Peacekeepers, coming to take Katniss and Mother away.

We all stand up. The hairs at the nape of my neck bristle and I feel so conscious of my own heartbeat. We pull each other into a tight hug, a final hug. No one says anything until we hear the door open.

"I love you, my Primrose." Mom is pulled away by the guard. Katniss is taken away too, but Buttercup stays near my legs, looking up at me with his large eyes. I bend over, and he licks my face again affectionately

"It's time to go, Buttercup." I smile and lead him out of the room, and the Peacekeepers close the door. And somehow, I find it in myself to remain calm.

. . .

The next visitor is quite unexpected. It's Peeta's dad, the baker. He's a kind, jolly, and taciturn man. Whenever I sell my cheese, I make sure to set aside two blocks, which Katniss trades with his bread. The man comes over and sits next to me on the couch. For a moment, we just sit there in the silence, but the next, he reaches into his pocket and brings out a white, paper bag. The smell of cookies wafts through the room and I can't help but smile. And when he hands the gift to me, I feel the package is warm. Fresh from the oven.

"Thank you, sir. These smell wonderful."

We pass the time by staring at our feet together, in silence. Why would someone like Mr. Mellark come to greet me before I leave? Someone who barely knows me? Not only did he make the effort to come visit me, but he brought me cookies as well. What a kind man. And in his face, I find that of Peeta, and then all I can think about is how comforting it will be to have Peeta by my side.

Mr. Mellark is a quiet man, but today especially, he has no words. Whether he is saving them for Peeta, or for our funeral, I'll never know. He's taken out soon enough and all that's left of him is the warmth of his cookies, now pressing lightly against my thigh in the pocket of my skirt.

. . .

My next visitor is just as, if not, even more unexpected. I look up in high hopes, hoping to see Rory's familiar face, but am greeted by Madge, the mayor's daughter, instead. She was Katniss' only friend at school, if you could even call her that. But I have a feeling Katniss is a lot more attached to her than she lets on. She liked to save strawberries for the mayor and her.

Like Mr. Mellark, Madge is rather quiet. She reaches into her pocket and brings out a small pin, shaped like a bird. I recognize it instantly as a mockingjay.

"For you," she says, placing it into the palm of my right hand and gently folding my fingers over it. "You get to have one item from your district. This can be yours." When death is at your door, fashion isn't a priority, but I know she only means the best for me. "For luck," she adds. She pulls me into a hug, tucks a strand of loose hair behind my ear, then escorts herself out of the room.

And just like that, I'm left alone to wonder, yet again, why people would be so kind. Imminent death sure does strange things.

I turn the pin over in my hand mindlessly, taking a seat on the couch once again. It's quite comfortable. I hold up the pin in front of my eyes to examine it, and smile to myself. Because somehow, this small little pin reminds me of so much, and it gives me so much hope.

During the Dark Days, we're told, the Capitol mutated birds in a lab— jabberjays— which could listen to and mimic people's speech perfectly— tone, intonation... Anything. Like a recording. The Capitol would send these birds into the districts to spy on them, and bring back private conversations to the Capitol. But the districts, having noticed this, started to feed the birds lies, and it became much more of a joke. The Capitol, in turn, having noticed this, released the jabberjays into the wild to die off.

But they didn't. They didn't die off like the Capitol wanted them to, but they mated with mockingbirds and created a new species: the mockingjay. These birds could no longer replicate speech, but they could still listen to and remember songs, and mimic them perfectly.

Another reason they give me hope: Dad used to sing with the mockingjays. He had a beautiful voice, and the birds would love coming by our house, resting on the branches of trees and listening in, echoing back his songs. Katniss and I would sit together on the grass and listen as she'd braid my hair. Such sweet memories bring such sorrow. And so, to numb the pain, I go back to turning the pin over and over in my hand.

. . .

Next is Rory and his family. Hazelle holds little four-year-old Posy in her arms. The little girl is healthy and happy. She doesn't have to know about nor worry about the Games just yet. But like every other child, she'll soon learn to, with time. Also at Hazelle's side is ten year old Vick, who always loved to run around the fields and cause ruckus. I'd always feel bad leaving him behind as Rory and I went off into town from time to time to hang out.

Rory is smiling, thankfully, but it just doesn't reach his eyes. Gale stands behind Hazelle, a strong hand gripping her shoulder, keeping the whole family steady. It's this image of the Hawthornes that I try to imprint in my mind. A strong family that will hold up even after I am gone. Sure, I was close to them all in some way, but soon, they'll learn to forget me, and life will go on. I plant a kiss on Posy's head, and give Vick a hug, squeezing his shoulders lightly as I pull away. Gale wraps a strong arm around me and ruffles my hair a little. He's the first to talk.

"I'll take good care of Katniss and your mother, I promise." It's encouraging, and I thank him quietly. "Remember scaling up the trees in the meadow with Rory and Vick? I'm sure those skills will come in handy in the arena." I laugh a little. It'd be one of the very few skills I'll take with me into the game of death.

"If they even have trees," I retort, glad for a short opportunity to laugh.

"Oh, I'm sure they will. That way, no one freezes to death. The year when they televised people on the floor, cuddled in little balls in the dark as they fell into eternal slumber, the Games were so drab you could feel even the Capitol didn't like the Games that year."

"Vick Hawthorne. That is not how we talk about the Games around here," Hazelle scorns him, but her voice is gentle. It also sounds quite tired. I can only but imagine what it's like raising five children alone in a district of poverty.

Soon, I'm engulfed by Rory, and as his arms tighten around me, I feel warmth spreading all throughout my body. I'm going to miss him a lot.

"Don't go, Prim," he whispers. "Stay with me." His voice is tense. I soon feel Posy's small arms wrap around my right leg in a tight hug. Then Vick joins in, albeit a bit reluctantly.

"So sentimental," he complains, but I can't help but smile when I notice him wiping his tears on the back of Rory's shirt. Rory doesn't complain and just holds me tight until the Peacekeepers come. Posy runs back to her Mom's arms.

"Mommy, where's Prim going? Can she come home with us today? I like when she reads me stories."

"No, my sweet Posy. She has another place to be today. Say bye, Posy."

"Bye Primrose! I'll see you soon!"

Gale leads his mother and younger sister out, and Vick follows too, grumbling about the chores he'll have to do when he's home, and Rory tries to stay a bit longer but the Peacekeepers rip him. "Prim! Remember, I-!" I don't get to hear the rest of his sentence.

. . .

The Hawethornes' visit lingers in my mind even as I board onto a Capitol issued car. I am careful not to trip as I enter, aware of all the cameras surrounding me, Peeta, and various Capitol escorts and officials. It's a short drive from the Justice Building to the District 12 train station, and I'm thankful for how much down time we're given. Being reaped for the Games is a lot to process.

When I get a better look at Peeta, as he watches out the window, I notice how his eyes are puffed up and his face wet from tears. We're both a wreck. Thinking back to Johanna Mason's game where she acted weak as a strategy, before coming back to wreck all the tributes, it only makes me feel worse because I know my own tears, and my own weakness are not an act.

Turning to look out the window, I begin to review all of Katniss' advice. Hopefully it'll keep me sane and occupied once we enter the arena. It's all a jumble of thoughts.

Watch the reapings, make alliances. Rely on your allies, learn to trust them.

I think about all the other tributes who must be in their cars as well, maybe excited, perhaps eager for the Games to start. And yet others, like me, terrified.

When the gong sounds, run for shelter. Don't let the others get to you. Just like hide and seek.

I replay scenes of the movie in my head, where Jenny tells Forrest not to be brave. To just run away. But the difference between him and I is Katniss told me to fight.

Don't give up a good fight. Pick up good survival skills.

And it's all because another difference between Forrest and I is that I'm fighting to stay alive.

Use everything you've got. Every inch.

Every, measly inch.

Cherish each gift you get.

Whether this be from a sponsor, or just a moment of silence, a moment of peace. Every happy moment. I'll have to learn to cherish the smallest, most basic things in life.

Don't forget how much we love you.

I love you too, Katniss.

. . .

We arrive no later to the train station than planned. I'll soon learn to adapt to Effie's punctuality. It's quite sharp.

I watch the cameras filming our every move, which I'll also learn to get used to. I don't try to act tough, because there is no use for a small, scrawny, twelve-year-old girl, from arguably the poorest district, to keep up a tough act. Not like I'll be involved in any fights where others will fear my strength. No, this is not how I will play this game. And that's not how this game is played. It takes wits to survive. And maybe, eventually, I'll learn to play this game to more than survive.

Considering it's illegal to travel between districts without Capitol authorization, it isn't too big a surprise that I've never been on a train before. The trains back in Twelve mostly transported coal. Somehow, my mind goes back to school, where, beside the basic reading, mathematics, and Panem history lessons, we'd learn about coal. But of course, the train I board isn't no coal train. It's a fancy Capitol train.

Stepping on feels like stepping into another dimension. The train walls are sleek, silver metal, and its interior is built to perfection. For a moment, I stand in awe. From walking on foot in the Seam, to the occasional wagon ride, to a Capitol car, and now a Capitol train. Katniss told me to enjoy things, so I know I got to take the upgrade. I enjoy it, as long as I can, until it really kicks in that this train will take me closer to my death with each meter it covers.

Peeta and I are given our separate rooms, and time to ourselves before supper. I take in the fancy bed with a real mattress, real sheets, a real blanket, and real pillows. Beside it I find a large closet full of outfits. More outfits than I could ever wear before the games begin. I flip through the dresses of various colors, various lengths, matched with accessories like belts, bracelets and earrings.

"This would look gorgeous on Katniss," I whisper to myself, holding up a pale blue dress. I go through the shirts, the jackets, the many, many shoes, until it gets too painful, thinking of people back in our district who can barely afford two sets of clothes. I place my pin on top of a night table on the other side of the bed.

I make my way to my private bathroom, complete with a large tub. Feeling exhausted, I decide to take a warm shower. I subconsciously look around for cameras before taking off my clothes and stepping into a large glass box. There are too many buttons to even understand what I am supposed to press. I turn slowly, 360 degrees, trying to decide which releases the water. At home, we worried whether we'll have warm water, but here, I realize, I'm faced with a choice of scents. I press a pale yellow button and find myself being drenched in a warm, lemon scented stream of water.

I shower slowly, truly enjoying the warmth of the water for what seems like the first time. At home, we fear water shortages, so it's always a hassle to get in the tub, rinse, and step right out. And it's so hard to fathom that while we struggle at home, just a couple districts away, people live so affluently.

Naturally, drying off is another first time too. There are no towels, I soon notice, but instead, a button that opens a couple of marked panels on the floor. Warm air comes up to dry my body. I press another button, and panels from the wall move out of the way and a stream of warm air dries my blond hair. And it feels nice. Real nice.

If choosing water scents was a struggle, choosing an outfit is even more so. There's only a couple hundred options to choose from. Just a couple hundred. As the warmth from the shower starts to wear off and I feel chilly, I just go for whatever seems the most comfortable. A simple, pale, blue dress with a bloused bodice. I think I was subconsciously influenced by Katniss' blue reaping dress when I chose it, a fact that I only realize when I stand in front of the mirror. I sit down, facing myself, and spend time struggling as I try to braid my now loose hanging hair back into two braids.

. . .

When I appear for supper, Effie comments about my dress, how it's the perfect size for me, and that the color compliments my eyes. She tells me, "you'll charm the whole country of Panem!" and I smile lightly at the prospect. The meal begins, and I happily have a taste of everything. There sure is much to enjoy on this train.

Effie makes a comment on Peeta and my polite table manners, and how last year's tributes ate like a couple of savages. I realize I'm clenching my fist under the table as she blabbers on about how it upset her digestion. I remember the tributes from last year, who lived in extreme poverty. Of course they ate like they hadn't had a proper meal in days— because they hadn't. All thanks to the Capitol.

After the meal is over, I feel a tad sick, most probably because I never have food so rich before. I make a mental note to eat in moderation the next meal. But it's hard when you haven't had any gourmet meals your entire life, and suddenly you're faced with a large buffet.

Peeta and I are taken into a new compartment on the train, adjacent to the canteen, to watch the reapings. All the replays of all districts, one through twelve. We begin with the career districts. One and two. All four tributes are made up by volunteers, and the children who are drawn don't even appear worried. They're so sure that someone will step up for them and take their place. Everyone's all smiles, as if it's a real celebration. Perhaps for them, it is.

A boy from Three catches my eye. Only fourteen years old, judging by the section he stands in in the crowd. Accompanying him is a girl, around his height. For Four, another career district, we're given a young boy even smaller than the tribute from Three. This one is 12 years old, just like me.

"A lot of young tributes this year," I comment to no one in particular.

I also take note of the girl from Five, who appears quiet and cunning, and from Eleven, a girl who feels like a puzzle piece falling into place: the perfect ally. Rue. Twelve years old, with dark skin and curly black hair. Standing next to her buff male counterpart, she looks even smaller.

Next up is Twelve. My reaping, Haymitch falling off the stage, Peeta's reaping, the anthem, and a panning shot from the crowd, to the stage, and to the sky. The screen goes black.

"So! What do you think of this year's tributes?" Effie asks in a bright, bubbly voice. She sounds this way almost every moment she is speaking.

"A lot of young tributes," I reiterate. I add nothing more.

"And you?" Effie asks, turning to Peeta.

He just shrugs and asks, blatantly, "Where's Haymitch? He's supposed to be our mentor."

"No surprise he's missing," I say aloud. "He's always drunk."

"Now, don't go on talking about him like that! In the arena, he could mean life or death!" Cue Haymitch, as he stumbles into the compartment, wobbling with each step, and proceeding to throw up all over the carpet. Effie draws back in disgust and rushes out of the room, hopping away on her pointy high heels, being careful to avoid Haymitch's insides on the floor. It's like watching the floor is lava. But the vomit is lava.

Peeta and I lock eyes for a moment, then back to Haymitch— our key to life and death. And right now, our key is looking drunk. Very, very drunk.

----------

IF THERE IS ONE THING TO TAKE AWAY FROM THIS CHAPTER, I JUST HOPE YOU KNOW HOW BLESSED YOU ARE.

Because if you're on a device, on Wattpad, you're already living a blessed life where food and a place to sleep aren't a huge concern, given that you have the luxury of owning a digital device.

Because if you have this much free time to read stories online, your academics mustn't be a huge struggle, and you must have a more easy-going life than those caring for a loved one every moment, or working late shifts to sustain your family.

Wherever you are in life, just remember that you're blessed, and that in one way or another, you're living out someone else's fairy tale. The life you are living, no matter how bad it may seem to you, is a life another will look up to and say, "Wow, I sure wish I had the privileges she has," and "Wow, I sure wish I was as talented as him."

I was just inspired by my own writing lol, about Prim in awe over the fact that she now has a bed to sleep on. Anyways... just remember to be thankful for all the little things you take granted. I always find myself looking back and realizing it's the smallest things that meant to most to me :)

I hope you're all having a wonderful day!

| illiterate-writer |

aka Monica

.

.

P.S. late spoiler alert for FORREST GUMP (a great movie)

P.P.S. I'm aware that Forrest fought in the Vietnam War. I'm aware he did fight for his life at one point.

P.P.P.S. There are two BMC references hiding in this chapter.