The Hunger Games: Prim [REWRITING]

Chapter 4: Much Needed Advice

It's dark outside. It's late at night, and I decide to have my cookies tomorrow morning. And as I stand at my window, arms resting on the window sill, I notice a couple lights flickering in the distance, from another district. For most citizens of Panem, today is just another night like no other. On the floor, I noticed the train tracks are lit with small lights along the track, and beside it, are hundreds of dandelions, dancing in the wind.

Dandelions. A sign of spring. Years ago, when Katniss, Mom and I almost starved to death, I remember our first real meal had been a dandelion salad, from dandelions Katniss and I picked together in the Meadow. We'd pore over Dad's book of plants for healing, plants for eating, and Katniss would go out and bring back these edible plants for our family.

I climb into bed and close my eyes.

At home, many districts away, Katniss and Mom must be getting ready for bed too, pulling down the blinds and pulling the sheets over themselves before falling fast asleep. Perhaps they will they stay awake, feeling my absence, haunted by today's events. Perhaps the Hawthorne's went over to comfort our family. Picturing Gale with Katniss' side comforts me, knowing she won't be alone even after I die. I think of Rory, our friendship, and how much I'll miss his smiles, his hugs, and all the good times we spent together. I think about Buttercup, alone, probably pacing around the cold, hard floor before falling asleep, wondering where I've disappeared to. But he'll soon learn to sleep alone, and that I won't be coming home.

I fall asleep to the sound of trains rushing across the tracks at night. No tears hit my pillow tonight.

. . .

When I wake up, I close my eyes, again, wishing everything was just an awfully long and terrible nightmare, with Katniss at my side, telling me everything's okay. That it's just a dream. Sadly, when I brush my fingers across the bed, it's cotton and not the rough canvas of District 12. I sigh as I pull myself out and onto the carpet. I lean against my bed as I indulge in my cookies, savouring each bite. Katniss could sometimes afford to buy a small batch on my birthday, and we'd each have a cookie at the table together. I'm happy and smiling when Effie comes barges in.

* "Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!"

Her high-pitched, bouncy Capitol voice is sickening. It only reminds me of how "festive" the Games are meant to be. Because there really isn't anything festive about taking twenty four perfectly innocent citizens and excitedly watching them slaughter one another for entertainment.

Effie leaves almost as soon as she comes in. She doesn't close the door on the way out, and I sigh, getting up to close it myself. After finishing my three cookies, I change into a simple yellow blouse and blue jeans. I leave my hair as it is, still in their braids from the previous night, though a lot of hair has fallen out. It's the opening ceremony tonight, and the stylists will work on me, transforming me in ways I can never imagine. After pinning my Mockingjay pin onto the blouse, I head for the canteen.

I'm greeted by three: Effie with her coffee, Haymitch who is unsurprisingly puffy from his hangover, and Peeta, a roll of bread in hand. His eyes are bloodshot, probably from lack of sleep last night. I send him an encouraging smile. None of us talk to each other, but for good reason. The food is heavenly, and we're all digging into the eggs, ham, piles of friend potatoes, and many more delicacies. In a bowl of ice are fruits, like oranges. I remember having one once when Dad brought one home for New Years as a treat.

"Try this, it's called hot cocoa," Peeta tells me, handing me a cup of a brown liquid. It smells of chocolate, and tastes creamy and rich. But as I enjoy my hot cocoa, I notice Haymitch enjoying his liquor, as he mixes it into whatever concoction he's got in his glass cup. He drinks the whole glass, bottoms up. It's disheartening, to see in front of my very eyes, the very reason our district never has any victors. Sponsorships are a huge component to these Games, and no matter how rich a sponsor may be, or how promising a tribute may look, no one would want to do business with Haymitch. And with a mentor this drunk, no one's bound to get the proper training either.