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They file in orderly lines; twelve to eighteen, oldest at the front, youngest at the back, parents watching from the sidelines with pale faces and sweaty palms. Katniss Everdeen winces as a Peacekeeper pricks her fingers and stamps it down. His hands go through the motions methodically, not even looking up, like he’s done it a million times before. He probably has.
Katniss joins the rest of the girls her age; Seam or merchant class, today it doesn't matter. It’s all up to chance.
She lines up next to two blondes, both dressed far fancier than she. Clara Everdeen is still too grief-stricken to pick out her daughter’s reaping outfit, so Katniss had rummaged through their tiny closet until she found a plain white blouse she could wear. It needed some pinning, but it was doable. Same with the long skirt brushing around her heels.
Katniss resists the urge to bite down on her bleeding finger, just to taste the copper. She’s starving. And maybe she also wants to draw the pain out. As a way to ground herself. Her feet feel like they’re untethered and she’s about to float away.
She’s scared.
Katniss searches for her baby sister’s face in the crowd. Sweet Prim with cheeks only starting to fill out from frequent hunting and forging. Sweet Prim, hiding in her mother’s skirts. Clara Everdeen doesn't move to comfort her youngest. She’s a ghost, staring blankly ahead.
Katniss feels a rush of white-hot rage. Her mother had always needed protection; coddled in life by merchant-class parents, a loving husband, and even her own daughter. A flower that bloomed for their father alone. Now that her sun was gone, she was withering without a care for her daughters.
If our father were here, Katniss thinks viciously, he would be ashamed.
She wants to shout the words and watch her mother flinch. Watch her cry and curl into herself. Helpless. Always needing a savior.
Katniss had needed one too. But her mother had been too weak, content to let her two daughters starve to death right in front of her eyes as long as she was able to lay in bed all day. Sometimes, Katniss wishes Prim wasn’t so insistent on tugging their mother out of bed and coaxing Clara to eat. But that was Prim; too sweet for this cruel world. It didn’t deserve her.
The adults start taking positions on stage; Effie Trinket, the District representative, Haymitch Abernathy, a past victor, and Mayor Undersee.
It’s two o’clock. The reaping will start. The mood is somber. That will change in hours. Tonight, there will be celebrations of relief - all except for two unlucky families who will close their doors until the end of the games.
Mayor Undersee rises - he is exhausted, like the rest of them - and begins his speech.
“Once, long ago, this was a larger world,” he begins. Katniss has heard this in school so she tunes most out. It’s Capitol propaganda, she’s sure of it. Another way to keep the Districts beaten - misinformation and withheld knowledge.
Instead, her eyes sweep over the crowd, catching sight of worried parents, blank-faced neighbors, beaten-down families, and gamblers hoping to make a profit off of the misery. The mayor finishes.
Wearing a neon green wig, Effie Trinket trots forward. “Happy 69th Hunger Games!” she chirps. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She smiles with large white teeth and throws open her arms as if expecting a big applause.
If so, she picked the wrong crowd. There’s no applause to be heard, only a charged silence. She smoothly continues.
“And now, for our two lucky winners!” Effie says, resolutely ignoring the somber mood. She dips her hand in a large glass bowl filled with tiny slips. Katniss Everdeen is written four times on those slips. Katniss feels her body tremble with nerves.
She sucks in a breath and tries not to hyperventilate. Four slips versus thousands. There was no way.
Effie lifts a slip very slowly for dramatic effect. She takes her time opening it, as if the audience was welcoming this.
Unbearable tension fills the air. The entire district is silent, waiting. Effie seems to revel in it. There will be a name, then a gasp – followed by a scream, a cry, or a wail.
Katniss braces herself.
“Katniss Everdeen!”
A wail. That’s the first thing she hears. Prim’s wail.
The crowd parts around her, sorrowful murmurs rising at the sight of a twelve-year-old. Twelve-year-olds never win.
Katniss doesn't know how, but she steps forward. One foot in front of the other. She stumbles, and a random girl steadies her. When she glances up, faces are filled with pity. Some adults are starting to tear up.
Katniss walks to the stage knowing if she vomits now, it would be much harder to gain sponsors. But that doesn't change her churning stomach.
"Do we have any volunteers for Mrs. Everdeen?" Effie asks into the microphone in her signature chirpy tone.
Katniss knows from years of watching there will be no one. No one is eager to die. And the people who love her enough to sacrifice themselves are too old or too young.
Prim. Katniss thinks panickedly. Her breathing is suddenly shallow. Her mother would once again shatter. Prim would starve. Her family would die.
“I volunteer!”
Katniss' head snaps up. Heads turn. A fifteen-year-old girl steps out of the crowd. Blonde. Merchant class. A stranger.
There’s a shout, a little boy breaking away from the twelve-year-old section lunges at her and howls.
“No!” He screams. “Don’t go!”
Other people are shrieking; two blonde parents on the sidelines. Another little boy cries within their embrace. “Stop!” The woman shouts. “DON’T!”
But the girl walks forward. There is no taking back a volunteer. She walks to the stage, everyone’s eyes on her. The square, the district, all of Panem. They’re probably all wondering why.
Her face is blank, but Katniss sees how her hands shake. She hides them behind her back.
“We have a volunteer!” Effie says, as stunned as the rest by this turn of events. But she, at least, seems excited for this new twist. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Prue.” The girl replies slowly. “Prue Collins.”
Effie blinks. “So you are in no way related to Ms. Everdeen?” Katniss is confused too.
Prue shakes her head.
There’s a moment of silence where everyone stares. Then Effie snaps her fingers in realization. “Well, you wanted the glory, of course! The riches, the fame! You must be confident you’re going to win!”
Prue stays silent. From the crowd, there’s a wail.
Katniss feels ridiculously dizzy and lightheaded. Everything’s swimming, going in and out of focus. Thank you, she wants to say. Thank you for my life. She stares at Prue with tears streaming down her cheeks and hopes her gratitude is palpable.
She’s escorted down the stage, trembling. When she gets to the bottom, she trips, staining her mother’s blouse. The pins loosen, the fabric suddenly enveloping her.
Katniss feels very small. She must look it too.
“Now, onto, our male tribute!”
The second the Reaping is over, Katniss heads to the Justice Building. She tries to ignore the prying eyes and murmurs, darting past her sister’s reaching hands. Prim is sobbing, her tiny body shaking with the force of it, reaching for a hug. Katniss knows she’ll hate herself for that later, but right now her mind is fixated on answers. Her feet move without hesitation.
The Peacekeepers direct her to a door, not even asking who she’s visiting. They know. They’re probably wondering too. She gets there right as the door opens. Prue’s family streams out. They all have the same fair skin tone and varying shades of blue eyes, all rimmed with red.
The little boy recognizes her first. “Why?!” he hisses. Katniss flinched back. “Why was she willing to die for you?!”
“Shawn!” The mother clamped her hand down on her son’s shoulder, then her husband's. She pulls her family along, but not before giving Katniss a vicious sneer.
“You get three minutes,” the Peacekeeper says.
Katniss shakes in the doorway, apprehension filling her. But there are questions bursting on her tongue, and so she enters the small room, the door clanging shut ominously behind her.
“Don’t listen to them.”
Katniss turns to face Prue Collins. She is a very pretty girl, with bouncy blonde curls and soft skin that has never seen hard labor. Katniss felt her heart sink. This girl is going to die.
For her.
“I overheard,” Prue explains when Katniss doesn’t speak. It’s ironic: Katniss was known for her outspoken, borderline treasonous tongue. It had driven her mother insane with worry. After her father's death, she mellowed. Now she's practically mute.
Katniss swallows. “Why?” she asks. It’s the only thing she could think to say.
Prue smiles wryly. It’s a small, bitter thing.
“Because…” Prue starts, then trails off. She stares at Katniss for a moment, as if cataloging everything about the girl she saved. Katniss wonders if it was an impulsive decision. Maybe Prue didn't know why either.
“...Because I couldn’t do this for the rest of my life.”
Suicide. It happened all too frequently in the Seam. But Prue was of the merchant class; her family owns the only candy store in District 12. Katniss had never stepped foot in that place. It was only for District 12’s richest.
“You're giving up?” Katniss asks. For someone who had struggled for survival all her life, the thought was incomprehensible. And why the Hunger Games? There are much easier ways to die. Less painful too.
Unless Prue thinks she could actually win.
“I’m not giving up,” Prue says. It doesn’t sound sharp, just solemn. “I want to live. I want to live so badly that I’m going to do unspeakable things to win. But I probably won’t.”
Prue had a bright future, probably only one tesserae to her name. She wouldn’t have gotten picked. She probably would have married, taken over the candy shop, and worried endlessly for her own kids that probably wouldn’t get picked either. Prue would have been able to grow old.
“Then why?” Katniss asks. Her voice cracks. To her horror, a single tear slips out. It finally hits her; she has narrowly escaped death. She would have died. And now Prue had taken her place.
Prue takes a breath. “I’m so, so sick of this. I’m sick of these so-called games. I’m sick of worrying year after year. I’m sick of watching kids die for the Capitol's entertainment. I want my brothers to never have to worry like this. I want my future nieces and nephews to grow up in peace.”
It doesn’t explain anything, but Katniss could tell Prue always wanted to say it. Her face grows lighter.
“What does that mean?!” Katniss cries. “WHY ME?! Wha—how do you think I can help? What difference do I make? WHY ARE YOU WILLING TO DIE?!”
Prue doesn’t seem to mind being yelled at but Katniss feels awful the second she finishes. This girl is going to die for her, and here she is, yelling. “These games… they’ve been going on long enough. I don’t want my brothers to fear being reaped.”
The anger slips. It leaves Katniss hollow, drained. She can’t even feel sad; just resigned.
“You're gonna die,” she says.
“Probably,” Prue shrugs. “I’m going to try, of course. I made a promise.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Prue smiles. “No. But I think I’ve lived long enough. My family deserves the chance.”
“You’re not making any sense.” Katniss wants to pull her hair out. “This—wha… Why me? Please. Why?”
She feels like she’s floundering. This has to be a nightmare. Or maybe a dream. Was it? She pinches herself, just to be sure.
“Time's up!” There is a sound of heavy footsteps before the door swings open. The Peacekeepers grab her.
“Wait no–” Katniss twists, trying to face Prue, so many questions still bursting on her tongue.
The Peacekeepers march her out. But before the door closes, she hears Prue’s voice calling out; “Don’t forget me, Mockingjay.”
Katniss never sees Prue again.
Three days later, she watches the Tribute Parade, as required. But even if they weren't, Katniss would have been glued to the screen anyway. She wants to see Prue win. She prays for it.
District 12’s carriage rolls out. The last one. Katniss winces.
Their tributes are dressed in skimpy miner outfits. It makes sense for Prue at least; she’s healthy. But the malnourished, skinny fourteen-year-old beside her was shrinking back from the laughs. He wears just some baggy pants; scrawny chest and ribs on display. Prue, on the other hand, has sheer baggy shorts with the tightest, crisscrossing black pants underneath. Her glittering black shirt was similarly tight with large cutouts barely letting the fabric cover her right nipple. Her left breast is only covered by a belt with a miniature pickaxe and other various tools slung across her chest. She’s waving and smiling, batting her eyes at the crowd.
At one point, she turns to look directly at herself in the banners and blows a kiss. It generated some laughs, some jeers. For the first time, Katniss thinks she could win this.
Then came the rankings; Prue got a four. Katniss winces at the number flashing on the screen. It isn’t the worst; another guy got a two. But it was below average. There went the sponsors.
Then the interviews—Katniss doesn’t look forward to them, because the interviews mean the games are fast approaching, but she wants answers and she’s sure Caesar Flickerman would ask. She just isn’t sure if she could take them being broadcasted to all of Panem.
After the introductions and a few back-and-forth jokes, Caesar asks, just as Katniss predicted. “So, tell me, why did you volunteer for that young girl?”
Katniss freezes, not daring to make a sound. Prue falls silent. The audience hushes. It seems like all of Panem is waiting for her answer.
Prue takes a breath, looking at her hands, all of Panem looking at her.
“Her name is Katniss Everdeen,” she shares. “And I’ve seen her with her little sister, Primrose. She’s recently seven.”
There’s a pause. “Well,” Caesar says, “That’s very admirab—”
Prue continues. “They lost their father a few months back and they’re good as orphans. But I’ve seen the two of them together. Katniss is only twelve but cares for Prim like she’s her mother, protects her like she’s her father, and guides her like a sister. I think that sort of love is very beautiful.”
Here, Katniss flushes.
“Beautiful enough to die for?” Caesar asks gently.
“Yes.”
A hush has fallen over the audience. In a tiny shack in District 12, Katniss' throat tightens. She can’t breathe. She barely feels Prim’s little arms around her. Their mother, standing back, cries silently.
Prue’s story gains sponsors, despite her low number. She’s beautiful, sweet, and perfect to the audience, the Capitol.
It’s not enough.
She tries to save a little boy from District 9, the youngest there. She fails. As she weeps over his grave—she had taken the time to bury him—she looks up at the camera. She smiles bitterly.
“Are you not entertained?”
All of Panem hears her.
Four days into the games, Prue Collins is beaten to death by a spiked mace.
Katniss turns and throws up.
The questions of, “Why?” stop. But Katniss knows they’re still wondering. She and Prue had never met before the Reaping. And lots of people had seen her with her Prim. That alone wouldn’t be enough to die for.
But Katniss has a sinking feeling she’ll never get her answer.
Sometimes it was all she thought about. Most of the time it didn't matter. Either way, Prue had sacrificed herself for her and she would try to do everything to honor it.
On her sister’s first Reaping, Katniss spits on that sacrifice.
Prue had wanted her to live. And now she was going to die.
But she can’t bring herself to regret it. Not even as she’s escorted up that stage for the second time in her life, hands shaking like Prue’s did four years ago. She hears Prim screaming, just like four years ago. There’s a hush, just like four years ago.
“Can we get applause for District 12’s second ever volunteer?” Effie asks the crowd.
No applause comes. Instead, the entire square raises three fingers in the air.
It’s an old funeral custom. It means respect. Admiration.
Goodbye.
This time, Katniss doesn’t cry.
On the train, her fingers clutch the Mockingjay pin. She’s trembling, and it’s not from nerves.
“Don’t forget me, Mockingjay.”
The words feel like a taunt.
Could Prue have somehow known Katniss would one day wear this pin? Like the magic in the fairy tales her mother had told her when she was very, very young? No other mother told fairy tales in their wartorn world. Children were forced to grow up fast. All except for Clara Everdeen.
Katniss shakes her head. Magic doesn’t exist. It can’t. Prue would have saved herself if it did.
But then she sees the glittering Capitol and doubts, just for a moment.
The shining, rainbow buildings, the elaborate feasts, the hot shower with all those buttons... even the fake flames that trails behind her like a cape during the tribute parade. It all seems so magical. Katniss lifts her hand linked with Peeta’s.
She blows a kiss at the camera, like Prue had four years ago. She hoped Prim was watching.
“Now you,” Haymitch tells her. “Have an advantage.”
Katniss nods. Everyone in the room knows what he’s talking about. Four years later, Prue saves her life again.
“Capitalize on it. Tell the audience about your sister. Make it out to be this grand story. Prue Collins legacy. Siblings are a poor man’s love story, but try and sell it, sweetheart.”
She does. Caesar asks, as she knew he would, about Prim. And Prue.
Her eyes find Cinna’s in the audience. Talk like you're talking to a friend, he said.
“Prim,” Katniss says, “is my younger sister. My favorite person in the world. Though that’s not really an achievement.”
“Not a people’s person?” Caesar asks.
Her eyes flicker over the audience, lingering on Cinna. “Never really got the chance to try.”
After the interview she would rewatch and wince, wondering if her words would ward off sponsors.
“Because of your sister, I assume.”
“Yes.” Katniss breaks into her first genuine smile since she volunteered. “My little duck.”
“Little duck?” Caesar asks.
Katniss nods. “During the Reaping,” she shares, “Prim was dressed in this loose blouse that our mother pinned. But the back pins got undone so it looked like she had a little tail.”
The audience awws and coos. Katniss feels her confidence building.
“That’s so sweet, so sweet,” Caesar laughs. His suit momentarily blinds her when she turns back to him. “So,” he continues. “Katniss, I’ve gotta ask the question that we’ve all been wondering for eighteen years; what is the story with Prue Collins, really?”
He turns to the cameras and explains more, about how Prue volunteered, what she shared during her interview, her bloody death. People cheer.
“So?”
Katniss takes a deep breath. She doesn't tear her gaze from Cinna, maybe her first friend here, as she shares. “To tell you the truth, I never believed her explanation.”
The crowd gasps. Backstage, Haymitch raises an eyebrow. Depending on the way she swings this, it might sell. Caesar gasps too, very dramatically, nearly falling back.
“Hear that folks?” He calls out. “The entire nation fell in love with Ms. Collins’s description of Katniss Everdeen, and now we find out it might all. Be. A. Lie!”
“Oh, I didn’t say that.” Katniss waves her hands teasingly while her heart races. Not good. She hopes she didn‘t blow the whole interview. “I think she was a lovely person who truly wanted to help since I was so young—I talked to her before she went to the Capitol, and I can say for certain she’s as kind as you’re saying.” Here, Katniss pauses. “I just don’t think it’s the whole truth.”
The audience hushes.
“Well then, what do you suspect?”
Katniss hums. “I don’t know about speculation, but I can tell you why I’m suspicious?”
Would you like that? Cinna mouths.
Katniss smiles at the audience. “Would you like that?”
The crowd cheers.
“Oh, I think we would,” Caesar says jollily.
Katniss takes a breath. “Prue Collins and I never talked before I was Reaped. I know some people might have trouble believing that, but I literally never saw her before that day. If it was a conspiracy, I didn’t know. I was just as surprised as the rest of Panem. And even if she did see me with my little sister; Prim, lots of people have. She was the only one who volunteered.”
“Do you think she wanted the glory?” Caesar asks, spellbound. Low murmurs fill the audience, everyone hanging onto Katniss' words. For a brief moment, she feels powerful. And then her mind flashes back to Prue’s family, probably all watching. Maybe some of them are crying.
“No.” Katniss shakes her head. “Prue Collins could have a good life. She was one of the richest—back in our district. I have no idea why she volunteered. It’s been haunting me for four years.”
It’s ironic. In the Capitol, where she’s sworn to lie and kill her way to the top, she’s sharing the truth.
“You did well,” Cinna tells her after. “Everyone loved your story about your little sister. And you added a little bit of mystery to the story of Prue Collins.”
“People will be watching you closely, sweetheart,” Haymitch says, not sober, but closer to it than Katniss had seen before. “You know, with the whole star-crossed lovers story and now this,” he waves his hand drunkenly.
“Will I get sponsors?” Katniss asks. That was all she’s concerned about.
Effie laughs. “I’ll drag Haymitch to them myself. You two are the best tributes District 12’s had in years!” And then, of course, she has to ruin it; “Maybe I’ll finally get a promotion to a better District!”
Katniss doesn't bury Rue. Instead, she combs out her hair and carefully weaves flowers in. She decorates her wound and body in the rest. They always showed the dead bodies getting lifted into the hovercraft. To remove Rue, they would have to show the flowers. Show them untangling and displacing. Katniss kisses Rue’s forehead.
She looks up.
“Are you not entertained?” She asks Panem.
Then, she gave the camera a three-fingered salute.
She won’t know until later, but both District 11 and 12 raised their fingers with her.
Admiration. Respect.
Goodbye.
A spark is all it took.
“I decided I’ll be your Mockingjay. But I have some conditions.”
Katniss can almost feel Prue around her.
“Don’t forget me, Mockingjay.”