In Prim's POV c:
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"Primrose Everdeen!"
My name was called out. Me, out of all the others? My name was just one in a few hundred slips! I glanced back at Katniss, who seemed oblivious. Why was she so calm? I nervously stepped out of the crowd after the white-haired lady called my name yet another time. I looked back; Gale locked his gaze on Katniss, his eyes begging. Katniss just turned away, as if the Reaping had not even started. As if she didn't know me.
I could hear my mother sniffing silently, as the burly men dressed in stiff white clothes crossed their arms behind my back to keep me from turning. I stumble up the steps, my shaky legs about to run back to where I was before the Reaping started. But self-control held me back; those men could just shoot me if I refused to step onto the stage.
A round of murmuring slowly rises, like what happens when a potential tribute whose name was entered for the first time. The lady turns her gaze to the crowd, who fall silent soon after.
She swiftly dipped her hand into the other glass bowl, where the male potential tributes' names are entered.
"Peeta Mellark."
I spotted Katniss catching a swift glance at a blonde male before he steps up onto the stage next to me. Her eyes were filled with pain, I can see her mentally recalling a memory. The pain in her eyes - that was meant for me. Don't get me wrong; my sister cares about me a lot. Doesn't she?
"Our tributes Peeta Mellark, and Primrose Everdeen, for the seventy-forth annual Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favour."
This place was decked out in a royal blue and gold, with the occasional silver accents rimming the sides. A blonde man in a drunken stupor staggers out a door. "Haymitch." He rumbles. "I b'lieve Effie's told ye about--" His sentence was cut off as he waddled uneasily to a nearby silver cart, where a few bottles of wine and alcohol sat. This Peeta guy must have sensed my nervousness. "Don't worry, Prim. Haymitch has won the Games before, he'll help us."
I couldn't control myself. I blurted out, "Do they like to choose blonde people for the Games?" I pointed at myself, Peeta, then this Haymitch man.
Peeta chuckled. "Maybe so."
Haymitch was far different than the stories I heard. He waved to the food on the tables nearby and ordered us to eat. "You need to bulk up. The Games are not just a game of running around in circles stabbing people. You get stabbed too, and we don't need weaklings to die on the first day."
Maybe he was right. I shovelled the spoonfuls of food into my mouth. Stew, I believe, something we could never afford. We relied on what Katniss and Gale caught, which was barely able to fill our stomachs.
"Four hundred miles an hour. We'd be there in no time!" The lady, who reaped us, Effie I believe, said.
"Where?"
"The Capitol, young lady. There's where you will be competing."
I shuddered at the thought. I wasn't given all these food because the residents of the Capitol felt like it. I was given these food to make their game interesting. To watch me die.
"We're here!" Effie announced in her high, shrilly voice which sent a chill down my spine. I shakily exit the train. Hundreds of residents greet us with loud cheers. I smile, but later remind myself that they were going to be the ones watching me die. And I soon realized that my sister and mother would also be one of the people watching me knock on Death's door as well.
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