What if Katniss Didn't Volunteer? (A Hunger Games Fanfiction)

What if Katniss Didn't Volunteer? (A Hunger Games Fanfiction)

".."Prim!" the strangled cry comes out of my throat, and my muscles begin to move again. "Prim!" I don't need to shove through the crowd. The other kids make way immediately allowing me a straight path to the stage. I reach her just as she is about to mount the steps. With one sweep of my arm, I push her behind me. "I volunteer!" I gasp. "I volunteer as a tribute!.."

We all know that because of this paragraph, Prim is saved from her fate. But, what if this Prim went into the games?

Chapter 1


by: Clato
When I wake up, Katniss is in bed next to me, asleep. I look around the bedroom, heart beating in my ears, the darkness becoming unbearable. I want to scream. I want to wake Katniss and cry into her chest. But I won't. She deserves rest. After all, today is the day of the reaping.
I silently creep out of bed and into our mother's bed. Her breathing is so quiet, I can tell she is not deeply asleep. I curl my body up to her warm one and let her breathing lull me to sleep. My name will not be reaped. It is in the reaping only once. I am 12, unlike Katniss. How many times is her name in? I can't remember. She is already 16. While thinking of all of the things that could go wrong, I close my eyes and drift off, far away from reality.

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My eyes snap open. I turn to Katniss and my bed and realize that she is not here. How can she not be here before the reaping? Today, all of the Peacekeepers will be out, and if they catch her hunting illegally, her tongue will be cut off-- or worse.
"Katniss," I mutter silently. "Come home, please." At the sound of my voice, my mother stirs and yawns.
"Prim?" she says, still half-asleep. I hop out of bed, giving her room to stretch.
"Yes, Mom?" I reply.
"Would you like to see what I picked out for your first Reaping dress?" I pause, my throat tight with fear. I quickly regain my composure and nod, afraid to speak. If I speak, I'll cry.
"Where is it?" I whisper, bowing my head. After a moment of silence, I glance up to see my mother standing near the bathroom, staring longingly at somethng. I make my way over to her.
"It was your sister's when she was twelve," she reports, holding up a ruffled blouse with a nice skirt. I draw in a breath, amazed. The stitching is so well done, definitely handmade.
"It' beautuful," I gasp. "May I try it on?"
"After your bath." With that, I quickly peel off my nightclothes, bathe in the warm water that my mom prepared for me, and dry myself with a stiff towel that has been kept clean for special occasions.
"May I do my hair?" I ask quietly, scared of what is to come.
"Yes," my mother replies. "Turn around." She makes adept strokes with her hands, braiding and twisting and curling strands of hair into a large, blonde mess. Well, it feels like a mess. But, as I sit on the bed, shivering in my wet towel, I feel the pieces slowly come together, one by one, to make something complete.
"Change your towel now, Prim," my mom says gently, helping my up off of the bed. "Get on your Reaping clothes, make District Twelve proud, and look at how amazing your hair looks."
Following careful instructions, I pull the blouse over my hair, stroking it softly, trying to figure out what it looks like. After, I try to pull the skirt on, but it is too large. Too curious as to what my hair looks like, I skip from the bedroom to the bathroom, bounding towards the cracked mirror. My hair looks absolutely gorgeous, and I can't imagine how my mother could do that. I hope to learn how to do that one day.
The reality hits me. If my name gets reaped, I won't have a 'one day.' I swallow hard, feeling something rise in the back of my throat. Maybe it is fear.
I slowly walk out of the bathroom, my head spinning. Why do I have to get dressed up if I can potentially die?
I try to push the thoughts away, but they keep coming. Finally, one thought sticks with me, and I ask it aloud: "When are we having breakfast?"
Chuckling, my mother pulls something from the kitchen, but I stop her. "I'm not hungry. But when are we eating?"
"Soon... I hope. Where is your sister?"
The truth is, I have no idea. She could be hunting, or at the black market-- The Hob.
"I-- I hope she shows up soon," I tell her. I expect something to happen in the silence that follows, but nothing does.
I'm about to just sit down on my bed and TRY to take a nap when the front door swings open. Katniss. My cat, Buttercup, darts out from underneath the kitchen table and hides away in the bedroom just as Katniss steps in. She sets her stuff down and steps into the bathroom, scrubbing herself clean without a word. When she steps out, our mother steps intop the bathroom with her, holding a pretty blue dress of hers, and carefully shuts the door. I feel a bit out ofplace in this arrangement, so I play with Buttercup until Katniss steps out of the bathroom.
And when she does step out, well... my breath is literally taken away.
"You look beautiful," I tell her, still in shock that my sister, Katniss Everdeen, is in a dress with her hair braided perfectly.
"And nothing like myself," she comments, throwing in a hug. As soon as she hugs me, I bury my face in her stomach, praying that one of us will not be chosen. Praying that Katniss will not be chosen.
Katniss pulls away from me, thought I wish she wouldn't. "Tuck your tail in, little duck," she says, smoothing my bloue into the too-large skirt. I blush.
"Quack," I giggle.
"Quack yourself," Katniss laughs back. She smiles, kisses me quickly on the forehead, and grabs my hand. "Come on, let's eat."
I only drink a littl bit of milk from my goat, Lady. That's really all I can do without getting a stomachache. Katniss only has half a glass more than me, and some rough grain. I can't chew it-- it makes my jaw sore, then it sends a chill down my spine, prickling me, reminding me of what is to come.
Now, all I can do is wait for one 'o clock to roll around, when the reaping begins, and my fate will be sealed.

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