1
This year they were forcing me and Peeta to go about reaping.
Every hour we were watching the people being drawn. We only missed District 11, and I almost cried over Rue. Ever since the Hunger Games, me and Peeta have stayed close, because we are always in the public eye. Yes, we had that tiff when we got back, but after that, I ran back to get him and poured out everything, I told him that the lines between us were fuzzy, and that I had blended acting with real love for the Games. Yes, I was overexagerating, but that didn't mean I was a lump of coaldust. My palms are sweaty as I walk out onto the stage and take my seat. Effie Trinket didn't get to reap District 12 this year. Me and Peeta must do that. I try not to breath weird; that makes it much easier to zone out on what the crowd is saying.
The mayor goes up to the microphone, and is reading a paper, a history of the Hunger Games. I try to ignite fury inside myself from hearing this unlawful propoganda, but instead I go blissfully numb. I can't worry about what poor kids from 12 are going to have to face the burly Dexter from 2 and the big brawny girl from seven. I am going to worry about keeping numb. But it's not working, I hear the mayor asking for me to come up and draw. I stick my hand in the bowl. Prim only has two chances or one chance. I'm not sure if her first slip was removed. I grab one slip, draw it out, open it, read it slowly to myself, read it again, then realization hits me hard, and I sob. Peeta leans over and reads the slip aloud. I wipe the tears from my eyes, also trying to wipe away the sight of my sisters name on the same slip again. The odds are not in her favor.
