Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games universe or any of the related characters. The Hunger Games trilogy was written by Suzanne Collins. The following story is a work of fanfiction and is meant for entertainment purposes only.
“I’m good at keeping secrets. Even from Mother.” (Page 33 of Mockingjay) This quote was the inspiration for the following story.
For we know in part, and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a (wo)man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now, we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
1st Corinthians 13:9-13
“Primrose Everdeen,” Effie Trinket calls out.
My stomach drops. Katniss said not to worry. She said the odds were not in my favor. She tried to reason with me. But I knew it would happen. I even gave her a farewell gift – some cheese I made from Lady’s milk –to remember me by.
This wasn’t the first time I was aware of what would happen before it did. Still, I was hoping I was wrong just this time. Me being in the Hunger Games didn’t make sense. I’m a healer, not a killer.
A sense of foreboding was natural given the circumstances. It was my first year to the Reaping and all my classmates were on edge. None of us slept well at night. Daily, the teachers admonished us to stay awake in class. I’d had nightmares about this moment for the past few weeks.
It wasn’t my imagination.
Feeling as if I am in a dream, I shuffle forward to the stage, past the older girls, past Katniss whose head has fallen forward, and shoulders have hunched over. As soon as I reach the stairs, I hear a shout.
“I volunteer as tribute.”
I tremble at my sister’s voice.
No, don’t volunteer! I’m meant to go to the Capitol to die. Me, not you.
But my tongue freezes in my mouth. Katniss is soon behind me, roughly pushing me away. Then Gale appears. He lifts me up and carries me away to a spot in the back of the group as my sister climbs onto the stage.
Honestly, I don’t remember much else. I am so lost in my thoughts that I don’t even know who the male tribute is until later when Mother and I stand outside the door in the Justice Building. Across the hall from us stands the baker, his wife, and their two older sons waiting to meet one final time with the boy who was chosen.
It must have been Peeta Mellark. My heart aches. Too bad. He’s nice and he makes the prettiest cakes.
A line of folks waits to say goodbye to Katniss, including Gale. But Mother and I are allowed in the room first.
They don’t give the tributes time to talk to many people.
Stupid me. I sit on Katniss’ lap and cry like a baby. She scolds Mother, and tells me she’ll try to win, but our time together is over so quickly.
As Mother and I walk back home with tight faces, we hear the whispered comments. Not too many people offer sympathy. I think they’re scared we’ll start to ball, and they won’t know how to react. Once inside our house, Mother and I go into the bedroom. When Father died, Katniss dragged the mattress she and I slept on into our parents’ room so we could keep watch over Mother. After all these years, we still sleep close to her.
Mother and I sit on the edge of her raised bed. She wraps her arms around me. We both sob for a long time. Eventually I lie back and fall into a dreamless sleep.
When I wake up, Buttercup is resting on my mid-section, purring loudly. I push him off and he glares at me.
My voice cracks, “You miss her, too. I know you do.”
Mother is in the kitchen heating up the stew she made before the Reaping with the fish Katniss had caught that morning. “Check the door, Prim,” she directs.
I open it to find several small gifts on our doorstep. Wildflowers. A dead rabbit. A bar of soap. A green ribbon.
I carry them into the house and set them onto the table. “Look.”
Mother nods. “It’s customary to acknowledge the tribute’s family with gifts.”
“I never knew that.”
“We’ve never had a tribute in our family.”
She picks up the rabbit, lays him on the cutting board and begins to skin him. “My friend Maysilee Donner was reaped when I was sixteen. The old baker left a cake on the Donner’s doorstep. My parents gave the family some lavender. As you know when it’s dried, the smell can reduce anxiety and bring calm.”
Just like Mother to use every opportunity to teach me to be a healer like herself.
“We’ll get more things over the course of the Games. As long as Katniss…”
Her voice drops off and I know she means to say, “stays alive,” but she doesn’t.
The thought of Katniss no longer existing makes me want to shrivel up into a ball.
But I can’t do that.
I must remain strong because I have no idea if Mother will collapse again, like she did when Father died. Only this time, I will not have the help of my sister. I’ll have to fend for myself.
I close my eyes and try to figure out what will happen next.
As if I have any control over my visions.
Usually, a picture appears in my mind. But there’s nothing now.
Could my brain be trying to stop me from imagining my sister dead?
As we watch the re-run of all the Reapings that evening, I get a flash of thoughts about a couple of the tributes. The beautiful girl from Two will be attacked by tracker jackets. The girl from Eleven, that looks to be my own age, will be stabbed with a spear.
Turn it off, turn it off, I mentally scream at my internal television. If my sister’s going to die, I don’t want to know.
An image forms in my mind the next morning as I lie beside Mother in bed. Someone from Peeta’s family has brought us a gift. I get up to find a loaf of bread and two sugar cookies on our doorstep.
Strange the Mellarks would be so generous since my sister may possibly end up killing their son, or maybe he will kill her.
I make tea for the two of us and eat a slice of bread and one cookie. I don’t want to go to school, but Mother insists.
“It will distract you.”
Of course, I’m the center of attention – the girl who escaped the Reaping and condemned her own sister. I can hardly concentrate, but my teacher is kind and allows me to correct some papers. The other students are especially mischievous that day because the threat of their imminent death is gone for another year.
I arrive home to find a note from Mother. She has gone to the Lemon McGraff’s house to deliver her fourth child.
“Be sure to eat something before you come over,” she writes. “We may be there late.”
I know that Lemon’s labor will be far quicker for a fourth child than a first, still I take the time to heat up the remainder of the fish stew and share it with Buttercup.
We wouldn’t have had leftovers if Katniss was here to eat it with us. What’s she doing now?
I close my eyes and concentrate. Nothing.
Mother answers the door at the McGraff’s house. “Lemon is resting. Please take care of the children, and ready their supper.”
I nod but am frustrated because cooking a meal and tending small children will not increase my medical skills. But I set aside my personal interests because taking care of the kids is exactly what’s needed in this moment. Later, when Lemon’s husband Fig returns from the mines, I’ll join Mother. Unless Fig leaves to go drink with his friends. It wouldn’t be uncommon. Most men flee from their laboring wives.
I search the pantry for food. I settle on tesserae porridge. Although the McGraff children are too young to be of reaping age, tesserae grain is an item that most people barter, so everyone in the Seam has a sack around.
My heart grieves as I glance at the battered television in the corner of the room. Tonight is The Parade of Tributes.
Is Katniss going to be stark naked covered only by coal dust on t.v.? I would be horrified to bare all in public.
We don’t have to worry about missing the start of the event. Every television in in the district turns on automatically at the appropriate time.
Fig arrives after the children have finished their meal.
While he eats, I lead his children into the second bedroom and give them a sponge bath with warm water boiled on the stove. Then I dress them in their oversized bedclothes, faded shirts that likely were worn by their father in years past. As I finish dressing the youngest, a toddler named Kiwi, the television blares out the loud promotional music that introduces the parade. It is majestic in tone and would be inspiring if wasn’t associated with a bloodbath.
It always saddens me, but this year because Katniss is a volunteer in my stead, it is terrifying beyond measure.
Fig is startled by the noise and lets out a loud expletive. I step into the bedroom doorframe, and scowl at him.
You’re bothered by a bit of noise. My sister is part of that parade of death.
Immediately, an image springs to mind. Fig is knocked down in an explosive blast. A shower of white powder flies about. Debris lies around him. His body is in a bloody heap. I don’t favor the man, but my eyes fill with tears.
I hope his children are grown before he dies in a mine explosion.
From the other bedroom, Mother calls out to him. “Why don’t you watch the show in the Town Square with the others. The baby should be here by the time it’s over.”
“I’d like that,” he says. He gets up and goes into the bedroom to kiss his wife’s temple. Before he leaves the house, he turns to me. “Put them to bed now. I don’t want them to see the parade.”
He asks me to break the law, but I am in full agreement. No child should be a witness to this crime of the Capitol. But it takes a while for the kids to fall asleep because it’s impossible to turn down the volume on the television. The Capitol controls the sound.
Eventually I make my way out of the kids’ bedroom. On the screen the tributes ride in chariots pulled by a team of four horses that parade around the City Circle in front of President Snow’s mansion. I gasp when I see Katniss and Peeta. They are dressed in black. A cape of fire is draped on their backs.
How are they not burned?
But I don’t have time to ponder the fire, because Mother calls me to help with the delivery.
“Do you want to see Katniss on the television?” I ask. “The stylist did a stupendous job. It looks like her cape is on fire.”
“No.” Mother is focused on Lemon.
When Fig returns home, the baby boy is clean, swaddled, and sucking at Lemon’s breast. Fig gives my mother a few coins and we walk home.
The dark sky is illuminated with stars.
I wonder if the sky looks the same in the Capitol.
I try to picture my sister.
What is she going through?
But it’s as if the connection we share is blocked. And maybe that’s a good thing.
Mother talks about Lemon’s delivery.
“Was my delivery easier than Katniss’?”
Mother doesn’t answer. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up my sister’s birth when Mother is likely considering her possible death.
xxxxxx
Mother doesn’t know about my talent for seeing the future because I’ve never told her. I have a feeling it would make her upset. She’s gotten angry on the few occasions some ignorant person called her a “witch” because of her extensive knowledge of the healing powers of plants. I wouldn’t want to add to her worries by telling her I’m a “seer”.
I mentioned my ability to Katniss just once, but my sister acted as if it were a joke. I love Katniss but she has a hard time believing some things.
So, I keep my secret to myself.
Why worry my family? Not all my visions are happy ones.
I suspect I inherited second sight from my father’s family. He was descended from the Covey. The Covey was a special group, entertainers that toured all over Panem but were stranded in Twelve during the Dark Days when district borders were closed. Some of the Covey were musicians -- beautiful singers like Father and Katniss --but a few were fortune tellers. Real ones.
“At least your father took Katniss out to the woods to prepare her,” Mother muses aloud as we prepare for sleep that night.
Would Father have taken me out to the woods to train if he’d lived longer?
He was dead by the time I became aware of my talent. The first occurrence was when I was seven, on the rainy day Katniss brought home the bread. My stomach had ached. I remember curling up into my melancholic mother’s side taking a long nap to squelch my pain.
I had a happy dream about Mellark’s bakery kitchen. I’d never even been inside the door of the bakery, let alone in the kitchen where the baked goods were made. In my dream the baker’s youngest son kept two loaves in the oven too long. His mother struck him about the eye and told him to throw the burned bread into the pig pen.
“No one decent will buy burned bread,” she said.
Peeta went outside and caught sight of Katniss resting under the apple tree behind their house. He tossed the hot loaves to her. In my dream, I could smell the scent of the hearty bread. My mouth watered as I awoke, thinking about how the warm dough would take away the sharp pains in my stomach.
What a pleasant dream.
But that’s all I thought it was – a dream.
That evening when Katniss walked in the house with two loaves of bread under her shirt, I felt a shiver go down my back. And when she told me everything that happened, I was in shock. I pondered it for days.
It’s happened a lot to me since then. I had a dream about Lady long before Katniss brought her home for my birthday. And I always have a good idea of Katniss’ haul when she goes into the woods. My mouth waters for the rabbit that still runs free before my sister shoots it.
xxxxxx
When there are eight tributes left in the Games, the Capitol sends reporters to interview family and friends of the tributes. But that doesn’t occur in Katniss’ Games until six remain because of the domino of deaths that occurs after Katniss shoots the arrow that sets off the bomb at the Career’s camp. Cato breaks the neck of the boy from Four, Marvel kills Katniss’ ally Rue, and then Katniss shoots Marvel.
I can only guess at the despair my sister must be in to be the executioner of another human being.
“Serves him right.” Gale shouts at the television so loudly that Buttercup jumps off the back of the sofa and runs into the bedroom. Mother and I turn away numb.
Don’t tell me anything, I warn my brain before I fall asleep that evening. I wake up multiple times that night probably because I don’t want to dream.
In the morning, I’m exhausted. I’m called out of my class for the interview.
The reporter from the Capitol resembles a rose-breasted grosbeak, a bird that has a black head, wings, and back, with a rose-colored patch on her white breast. I listen to her chatter on and on about Katniss’ chances while I stare at the swirls in the red scarf that drapes over her white shirt. When she finally gets around to asking me if my sister will win, I give her a defiant stare.
Katniss is not the only one in the family who can show the Capitol “what for.”
But as soon as I express the thought to myself, I panic. Maybe they will use my defiance against my sister to punish her for my actions. My smug expression collapses into a sickly smile.
“I’m sure of it,” I mumble. But I’m not sure of anything. My ability to foretell the future has gone flat, thankfully. I have no idea how Katniss will perform in this life and death ritual. It’s easy to have faith when I know the outcome – near impossible when I don’t know.
But I want her to win. She promised me she’d try.
“How did you feel when your sister volunteered for you?”
Heartbroken, and I’m embarrassed to say, relieved, too. I would be dead already if I was in the Games. My sister is better than me at most everything.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I repeat, “My sister is going to win.”
The reporter smiles. She asks a few more questions about our family life. I mention Mother’s work as a healer and then she’s off to the mines to interview Gale.
The story goes around that the Hawthorne family is our cousins, and perhaps they are distant cousins. I suspect the Mellark family started that rumor. They don’t want to make it seem like their son is trying to steal Katniss away from Gale. Because Gale and Katniss are seen together so often, a lot of people think they’re a couple, even if they aren’t.
I like Peeta. But I think Katniss might favor Gale because he looks like our father with his dark hair and olive skin. And he is her hunting partner. Even Mother seems to favor Gale. She certainly welcomes his watching the Games with us.
I don’t think Mother dislikes Peeta, but I think she’s suspicious of his announcement during the interview that he had feelings for my sister. She’s worries that Peeta uses Katniss to garner pity and therefore sponsors. She thinks he’s messing with Katniss’ head.
Knowing my sister, I’m sure he is.
But I think Peeta’s telling the truth. All the kids at school have an opinion on the matter. Some call Peeta’s move a strategy, others call him a stupid sap.
Will the truth ever be revealed? Probably not. Because there is only one winner in The Hunger Games, and it needs to be Katniss.
xxxxxx
I wake up to news that the rules have changed. Maybe Katniss and Peeta can both come home. Mother tells me not to get my hopes up. Still the tension lines around her eyes are lessened, and today she hums as she washes the dishes.
Then Katniss finds Peeta, practically carries into a nearby cave, and a romance begins for the entertainment of Panem. It shocks me to see my sister act so girly around Peeta. My mother chuckles as Gale leaves the house in a huff at the sight of Katniss kissing Peeta smack on the lips.
“It’s love,” I swoon.
It must be real. Katniss can’t act a lick.
Mother smirks. “She’s playing to win.”
The romance lasts only a day or so until Katniss is invited to a feast to get medicine that Peeta needs. Her forehead is cut open with a knife by a tribute. She makes her way back to the cave and injects Peeta with the medicine before she passes out.
The next day, the baker stands outside the school when the day ends. He holds a small sack. “For you and your mother. Katniss risked her life to save Peeta. I’m grateful.”
After he walks away, I open it to find two cheese buns and two cookies. Mother and I eat them as we watch Katniss open her eyes in the cave. Peeta took care of my sister, and she made a great recovery.
“I’d love to know what was in that injection she got for Peeta,” Mother says. “It worked so fast.”
I marvel at Mother’s ability to detach herself from the scene in front of us by focusing on the medicine.
Detachment. Now that would be a welcome talent.
Unfortunately, my missing talent appears a few days later when Peeta picks the nightlock berries and Katniss gets angry with him. An eerie feeling comes over me when she shoves those berries into her pocket.
I imagine her putting them into her own mouth. I run from the house and vomit. My mother chases after me, followed by Buttercup.
She holds my hair back as I lean hunched over in the yard. “It’s all right,” she soothes me.
When my stomach has completely emptied, I pick up Buttercup and stroke his back. No, it’s not all right.
But I don’t say a word. I want Mother to have a few more days of calm.
After watching through the entire night as the Games arrive at the final, winning moment, the rules are changed yet again.
Mother moans. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
Katniss pulls the berries from her pocket. She offers a few to Peeta. They hold them out and count down and then both place the berries into their mouths.
I hear screaming. It’s me. The world goes dark.
I wake up to Mother placing cold compresses on my face.
“She’s dead,” I cry.
“No.” Mother’s voice is sharp. “She’s alive.”
“But the berries…”
“Katniss and Peeta spit them out. They let them both win.”