" 𝔦'𝔪 𝔞 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔳𝔦𝔳𝔬𝔯 "
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
In an attempt to save her sister, and survive
the Hunger Games, Rowan Everdeen meets
Cato Hadley, the murderous boy from
District 2 who might be just what she
...
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" does what i think not matter? "
rowan's view
𝔖creamswoke me up. Screams always woke me up. It was like an odd sort of routine, and eventually, after a while, it became a habit to wake up as early as it was. I shot up in the rickety little bed I slept in every night, wide awake, unlike my sister Katniss, who stayed asleep like a log. It was my other sister who was screaming like a banshee, thrashing around in the bed with a light sheen of sweat covering her forehead.
I didn't blame her. It was her first Reaping. She's twelve.
I hastily climbed out of bed, careful to not wake Katniss, and I moved over to sit next to Prim. I lightly placed my hands on her shoulders and shook her awake. It didn't take long for her to open her eyes and shoot up, searching frantically for me. As soon as she saw me, she calmed down, her breathing slowed. I forced a calming smile onto my lips, making Prim relax.
"Hey," I smiled, winding my thin fingers through Prim's light, golden blonde hair. "It was just a dream."
"I'm scared," Prim whimpered, and I knew what she was talking about. I was just as scared as she was.
"You shouldn't be. They're not going to take you." In the moment it felt more like I was trying to convince myself more than her. "Now go back to sleep," I hushed.
"I can't," Prim whimpered, her hands still shaking slightly.
That was the world she lived in. That was the world we lived in. We lived in Panem, the last known civilization in the world. Twelve Districts spread out, each with it's own speciality, controlled by the Capitol. And after a Revolution, the Capitol decided that every year, they would pick one girl and one boy between the ages of 12 and 18 from each District, and put them in an Arena to fight to the death.
This was the first year that Prim was going to be eligible.
I didn't say anything. Time passed, the small room filled with nothing other than Prim's heavy, steady breaths.
"Can you sing for me?"
I winced. My father taught me to sing when I was 11, in the woods, with the mockingjays, who would always sing the song back to me.
"Not today, Rose," I said quietly, so quietly it could have been a whisper. I tapped my finger on her nose, forcing a small smile to my lips. "I have to go."
"Where?" Prim asked. "I just gotta go," I answered. "But I'll be back." I'm always back. "I love you."
I changed into worn leggings and a Capitol-issued shirt, the only clothes I had that were holding together. Throwing my hair up and tying it with a weak rubber elastic, stained black from dirt and coal, I grabbed my brown leather hunting jacket, the jacket my father wore. I fingered the rough material before throwing it on, letting the weight settle on my shoulders.
