Up In Flames

Chapter 2

Hello again, this is chapter two, enjoy

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When I make it inside, I see Prim. She's dressed in my first reaping outfit... A white button up shirt with a brown skirt.

It's a bit too big for her, and the back of the blouse keeps coming untucked.

"You gotta tuck in your tail, little duck" Prim smiles at me, pushing the shirt back in.

I turn around to get changed when my mother stops me.

"I've got something you can wear" she's laid out a dress, a soft blue thing from her merchant days. I know she treasures whatever she has left from when she was young, so I'm surprised she's let me borrow it.

"Thanks" I've started to accept my mothers' actions, trying to forgive her for blanking out on us when father got sick.

I slip on the dress, then my mother braids my hair. I observe my reflection in the cracked mirror.

"You look beautiful" Prim says.

"And nothing like myself"

"You look nice Katniss" I turn around the room to face my father.

He pushes up into a sitting position.

"Dad, you should rest more" I tell him.

"I'm fine Katniss, I needed to see guys off"

"No, that'll just make it worse, go to sleep, when you wake up, we'll be here"

"I don't know that"

I embrace him warmly, and Prim does the same.

"I love you both so much" he whispers weakly.

"I love you too dad" Prim answers.

It's hard, seeing him like this. He used to be so strong, until disease started taking him away, bit by bit. He's been in the same state the past couple of years. Weak, he doesn't work in the mines any more, he doesn't even have to go to the reaping. But at least he isn't getting worse anymore.

We make our way into the square, where they have a stage set up in the center.

Effie Trinket, District twelve's escort from the Capitol, is dressed up as usual. A bright pink wig thrown over her head, face painted over with Capitol colours, in short she looks like a clown.

Once everyone's sorted into their age section, Effie walks over to the first clear glass ball.

"Ladies first" she says, in a high voice.

Her spidery fingers reach slowly into the ball, reaching through the papers... Taking time for dramatic effect... The crowd draws in a collective breath, and I'm feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that its not me, that its not me, that its not me.

Finally, she pulls out the slip, holding it up to her eyes. She crosses back to the podium, smoothes out the paper, and reads out in a clear voice. And it's not me.

Its Primrose Everdeen