THG Fanfiction- Through Peeta's Blue Eyes

Chapter Two

  You could have heard a pin drop as Katniss Everdeen walks stiffly to her place beside the still-smiling Effie, fists clenched, her mouth compressed into a grim line.

  The only thing stirring in the square is Primrose as she beats her tiny fists on the wall of white-clothed Peacekeepers surrounding the stage, screaming to her sister, calling for her to come back, come back, come back…

  Gale dashes out from the crowd and scoops up the hysterical girl, who tries to squirm out from his arms. “Katniss! Katniss!” Primrose cries, in a voice that goes like an arrow into the heart of everyone gathered in the square.

  “You have no right!” the twelve-year-old screams at the unmoved Peacekeepers. “No right to my sister’s life!” Her blue eyes burn with fury but at the same time are drowned in tears. At a stern look from one of the Peacekeepers, Gale quickly leaves Primrose with a tall, thin-looking woman and hurries back to his place.

  As he resumes his position, I make note of the effort he makes to wipe his face clean of emotion. It’s not working. The unusual brightness in his grey eyes, the rapidity with which he blinks, and the odd tightness about his mouth all indicate that he’s very close to breaking down.

  Well, if that’s what someone looks like when they’re about to cry, it’s probably what I look like now. My brain’s still reeling from the shock of losing Katniss when Effie’s stupid bubbly voice breaks through the pounding in my ears.

  “…so let’s give a big hand to our newest volunteer!” she says, placing a hand on Katniss’ shoulder.

  Her only response is a deathlike hush. Not one single person claps. Instead, little by little, they raise three fingers of their left hand, touching it gently to their lips and raising them out to her.

  What we’re doing is a rarely-seen gesture that dates back to before the rebellion, before the Games.

  I have to choke back tears as I do the same, my fingers quivering as I hold them high in the air. The last time I used it was at my grandfather’s funeral.

  It means thanks, it means admiration, it means goodbye to someone you love.

  Suddenly, a drunk Haymitch ruins the moment, staggering toward the white-faced Katniss, heavily draping an arm around her.

  “I like this girl!” he shouts, his words slurred by alcohol. “Lots of…” we can see his bleary eyes squinting as his wine-befuddled brain gropes for an appropriate word. “Spunk!” he finally blurts out, leering into the cameras that are trained on his intoxicated countenance. Haymitch points a finger at the cameras and opens his mouth to say something more when he trips over his shabby shoes and plunges head-first into the astonished crowd.

  It’s all very amusing, but no-one’s in the mood to laugh as the unfortunate man is carried away by the paramedics. There’s still the boy’s name left to be chosen, and while there is a danger of me being picked as a tribute for the Games, I don’t feel any inclination to so much as chuckle.

  As Effie crosses to the glass ball containing the boys’ names, I muse on the slim possibility of my name being picked. Although it’s only compulsory for your name to be put into the ball once every year, most Seam kids have forty or fifty over entries. This is because every time you voluntarily enter your name, you get some tesserae, which is basically a tiny portion of the lowest-quality food for that’s supposed to last a whole year. More often than not, though, I’ve seen the poorer families go through it in a matter of months. The situation in the Seam is so desperate that even the prospect of imminent death will not deter the starving families there from getting hold of more food. The Capitol know this, and take advantage of the fact.