Blooming in the Spring

Chapter 14

It's raining and unusually cold for July.

My mother has dressed me in a skirt and white blouse that is far too big on my body, which is mostly just skin and bones. Though things have gotten better since April--I've finally worked up enough courage to dart beyond the fenceline and into the trees, scavenging for berries and roots my father taught me about--my family is still hungry. At only twelve, the burden of my mother and baby sister Primrose has fallen solely on my shoulders. 

My mother seems to sense this today. She's managed to break herself out of the kind of dreamlike state that has overcome her since my dad was killed in the mines, just enough to finish my first Reaping outfit and twist my hair back into two intricate braids. Prim does not let go of me the entire morning. She doesn't quite understand the depth of today or the fear that sends my tiny body into deep shivers. But she knows that Reaping Day is something to be feared, and I can hardly pull myself together long enough to soothe her fearful tears away. 

Ever since I turned twelve in May, I have dreaded this day. 

I've been to the Reapings before, of course. Each year for as long as I can remember, every person in 12 has been corralled up in the square, forced to watch as 2 kids were sent off to their deaths. There were never any winners and most tributes were Seam kids. Like me. 

My mother adds her finishing touches to my braids and falls back into her stupor. Of course, she walks with me and my sister to the square. But she is no source of comfort, no reassurance. She doesn't even hold my hand. All I want at this moment is my mom. But she is gone. And I only have the comfort of my eight-year-old sister, whose hair is tied behind her back in a ribbon spared from our mother's merchant days, before she met my father. Prim clutches my side and I will myself to be brave for her but it's hard and I am so very scared. 

As we reach the square, I try to scan as many faces as I possibly can. I recognize some kids from my year, and some from the year ahead of me. But most of these kids, especially the boys, feel huge in my presence. I wonder if one of them will kill me. 

"Katniss, don't go!" Prim cries, burying her tear-stained face in my middle as we approach the check-in tables that have been set up in front of the Justice Building. Every year prior, the four of us have huddled together underneath tents and banners on the far side of the square, to watch the broadcast on the large televisions displayed nearby. This year, though, there are only three of us. And I will not be joining my mother and sister. No, I will be separated from them. Isolated. Alone. I will have to face this new horror by myself for the next four years. And then, Prim will be 12 and will join me. The thought of that is so horrible that it makes pulling away from her easier. At least it's just me for a while. At least I don't have to worry about her. 

"I'll see you soon, okay?" I say, though the wavering in my voice makes me sound much less believable than I aim to. Still, I brush the tears from her cheeks and kiss the top of her shiny gold hair. Through sniffles, she nods and moves her arms over to my mother, who is standing rigid with a dazed look in her eyes. I hesitate there for a moment, wanting so desperately to fall into her arms. My mom, who is supposed to take care of me. Who, only a few months ago, held me whenever I was afraid and whispered comforting things and soft lullabies to get me to sleep when nightmares of this very day came. And now? Now she stands there, no words or lullabies on her lips and no comfort in her eyes. I feel angry and scared, which is making the anger even worse. I decide then that I do not need her. So many kids from school are without mothers, why should I need one? So, I turn on my heel before I start crying because I know if the tears begin, they will never stop. And I can't afford to look even weaker than I know I already do. 

I mindlessly go through the motions of checking in, getting my finger pricked, and taking my place in the group of other 12-year-old girls. I spot Madge, the Mayor's daughter, who I've sat by a couple of times at school before. I'd hardly say we're friends but it reassures me some to see a familiar face, I suppose. She catches my eyes and I think I see a hint of a smile on her pretty face, though I know she doesn't have to be half as scared as me. On May 8th, my 12th birthday, I had to take out tesserae. Feeding my family, at the cost of having my name entered more times in the Reaping bowl. The odds are not in any of our favor today but especially not for those with extra slips entered.