Somewhere far away, I can hear the crowd murmuring unhappily, as they always do when a twelve-year-old gets chosen, because non one thinks this is fair. And then I see her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched in fists at her sides, walking with stiff, small steps up towards the stage, passing me, and I see the back of her blouse has become untucked and hangs out of her skirt. it’s this detail, the untucked blouse forming a duck’s tail, that brings me back to myself.
“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 volunteer!” I gasp. “I volunteer as tribute!”
The Hunger Games, Chapter Two

(Source: jenlaws)