A Mess™️

Petra is Reaped to silence.

The whole world falls mute to her ears. The shuffling as people turn to look at her, the hand on her back that urges her forward, her footsteps on the stairs up to the podium.

Even her tears slide down her face without sound.

She stands, back too-straight and legs trembling, wide-eyedly watching District 12 watch her. They stare up at her, these people that she’s loved and hated and laughed with and baked bread for, and in their eyes she sees relief. It was not their son or sister or beloved chosen.

Petra Mellark, the baker’s daughter.

Primrose Everdeen, the -- but no, no, Katniss Everdeen, the fierce older sister who volunteers as tribute, flinty eyes like the ore below their feet, awaiting a spark.

All of this - all of this, and Petra is silent as the grave.

*

Petra’s mother weeps as she says goodbye. It will be the last time they see each other. They both know it, know that there is no hope of Petra’s survival. She will take her last breaths on a tiny screen broadcast to everyone in Panem, and then there will be cannon fire, and life and the Games will continue for all but the twenty-three.

But maybe, her mother says, brows pulling into a thoughtful furrow, maybe District 12 will have its first winner.

Petra remembers Katniss’ face, ashen but determined, as she stepped forward. I volunteer as tribute!

She thinks maybe, maybe her mother is right.

*

They’re ushered onto a train unlike any Petra could have ever imagined. The engine hums in a whisper, the cars gliding so smoothly that the chandeliers do not shake. It’s overwhelming. Effie explains that they’re moving at 200 miles per hour, but Petra’s mind is spinning faster.

Katniss is sullen, staring out the window with a blank gaze. Petra tries to coax her out of her thoughts, but to no avail.

Their mentor is...not what Petra had hoped for. He sways as he walks towards them, breath reeking of alcohol even as he pours himself more.

Somehow in their stilted conversation Petra manages to get on Haymitch’s bad side. He leaves before he can offer any real advice, but- he came in the first place, and he’s all they have besides.

“He’s gonna come around,” she tells Katniss as she hurries after him. He has to.

Katniss doesn’t believe her. Petra probably wouldn’t believe her, either. But belief is secondary to necessity, so Petra intercepts him before he can get behind a door that locks. She babbles, trying to find something that will reach him, if not obligation, if not moral decency.

Nothing seems to work. Petra deflates, slowly, slowly. Finally, she snaps.

“I know I’m going to die in there,” she says. Her eyes sting. “But for my family, for everyone watching from my District… I want to fight. If I can’t live, then at least- at least I can give them that.” She’s going to cry, but she wills herself not now. “I thought you could teach me that much.”

She turns away. Haymitch mutters under his breath. Right as her hand touches the door, he breaks.

“Alright. Alright! You win, kid. Just...give me the night, okay? Find me at breakfast tomorrow.” He sounds exhausted, the survivor of a Game twenty-three children are about to lose.

So she gives him the night.

*

Katniss finds them the next morning in the meal car, her face twisted in a bewildered frown at the sight. There are rings under her eyes. She approaches warily, like something wild.

Haymitch enjoys controlling the conversation, being the arbiter of what is said and when. Unlike Petra had been, Katniss doesn’t play along. He stalls, not answering her questions.

The knife quivers, pierced into the - mahogany! Effie protests - table an inch from his hand.