Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. They belong to Suzanne Collins.
Note: And here it begins, the second story of the District 3 Female from the HG movie. I've been really looking forward to writing this one for some time and now, it's time to begin! Admittedly her first story was not great, but I feel I have worked with the critique and feedback I received and I've been able to put together something pretty good, though as always you readers can be the judges of that. Not much more to say, so I hope you all enjoy!
ACT 1: THE CONSPIRACY
Part 1: Back to School
When I turned thirteen, they told me at school that I would be going through a lot of changes. Changes that would lead to us becoming upstanding citizens of Panem, able and willing to be the best we could be for the Capitol. They said the changes could be hard sometimes, but they told me it wasn't a huge issue and that everybody, in Panem must grow up and become an adult sooner than later in order to serve and provide, as it was our duty.
I just never knew exactly what changes I had been in for.
Most of us, they had some unpaid and involuntary job trials. Me, I… well I guess I had that but I also have trauma induced nightmares, a fear of any sudden movements and noises... and I can't be anywhere near an ant. As I lay here on the sofa under a blanket, trying to watch TV in the early hours- is it three AM already? - I can't help but shiver at the memory of what's made me feel even more raid than I used to be.
The 74th Annual Hunger Games of which I, Gadget Byte, am the Victor of.
I can't forget it, not even for a moment. It's hanging over me like a cloud, just like the rainstorm going on above District Three right now. I'm shivering, though not from the cold. Being a Victor I have big house to myself. It's warm… but very empty. I can't help but keep feeling like I'm being watched though. Every few minutes, I wildly look around in case a shadow I saw was Cato, or Marvel… or worse, Weldar.
"Not real, it's not real," I mumble, looking to the door. "They're all dead."
Well, not quite all of them…
Ever since the Games had begun and I ran for my life from the Bloodbath, there were so many horrible things going on all around me and away from me. Many kids were butchered at the Bloodbath, others were hunted down like animals, three Careers were blown apart and then… they were urinated on. It was a walking nightmare. I'm not sure how I escaped it, even now. I wasn't strong, I wasn't any good at surviving or fighting. Just at not dying, I guess. Which I suppose is what kept me alive, as you can only win once your fellow Tributes are all dead. Well, again, not exactly all of them.
With all this pain though, sometimes I really wish I had jumped off the pedestal…
"...EEEP!" I squeal, jumping away from a moving shadow. "...Just a curtain. Right..."
In the end, generous sponsors and my smarts saved me. I built a mech suit and… killed Weldar. Even after how he attacked me, tortured me, I still feel disgusted over what I did to him. The Capitol Citizens who look over my mech-suit in the museum I think it stands at now beg to differ. I saw it on TV.
I saw Weldar's dried blood still on the sword arm.
Thinking about this is getting me frightened and already my breathing is starting to get shaky. It's been like this in the two months since I've been back. I try to distract myself with junk food, late night TV, art and technology, but eventually I'm gonna start thinking about it too much and then I just start to cry and wail. And then…
Already I'm on my feet, still wrapped in the blanket, and head off to the kitchen. The house is so empty, me being the only one here, and even with the security I was assured the house has… I'm still scared somebody might break in and kill me. I know Weldar is dead, but I keep fearing he could be anywhere. Ready to strike me with his spear over and over and over.
I'm soon going from a gloomy walk to a scared run as I quickly arrive at the kitchen and turn on the lights. Nobody here but me. Just an empty, large kitchen with everything as I left it. Including the letter on the table sent to scold me for skipping school.
"Like they could really do much more to punish me," I mutter as I walk to the fridge. "I never liked it there anyway."
I'd thought Victors didn't have to go to school anymore. Turns out, that's mainly a thing because almost all of the Victors are sixteen and up when they win, so they don't miss much. Being thirteen, I'm not as lucky. Winning the Hunger Games got me riches and a house, but it sure didn't get me any respect in my District.
"...Lacey, I wish you were here. I need a hug from you right now," I mumble, thinking of my friend. "I'm not strong enough without you."
Lacey. My best friend in all of Panem. I suppose her being my only friend makes it an easy title to earn but… she was always there for me. That girl from Eight who I found by chance and who kept me alive. Her smile, the way she found joy in anything, the way she cuddled me when I was close to blowing myself up in the mine field.
The way she's at the other side of Panem now. After all, she's from Eight and I am from Three.
"You're the reason I'm here right now. You gave me another shot at living… I just wanna be a girl who deserves what you gave me," I say, leaning against the fridge.
Lacey survived by a pure fluke. Her tracker broke and the Gamemakers thought she died, and announced me as the Victor after Weldar was dead. Their mistake was shown to all of Panem. I was terrified they were going to just take it back and make us fight- I'd have probably jumped on a mine to spare Lacey -but they didn't. I guess taking it back when they've already announced a Victor would cause even more unrest than just letting two thirteen year olds go? I didn't question the miracle.
But now, I'm questioning myself. Why did I get so very attached to her? Without Lacey I'm having trouble functioning. It's unhealthy. I need to find more friends.
Here in three though, besides the other Victors I only have one friend.
I open the fridge and take out a bottle of Cherry Shandy. Capitol's finest. Blanket around me and bottle in hand I sit at the table and take off the cap of the bottle.
"Here's to not being in the Tribute Graveyard," I cheer flatly, no joy in my tone as I take a long sip.
The long sip becomes a few desperate gulps. Already, everything feels really distant. The storm outside, my own fears and misery, everything just dulled by the sweet, sweet drink. I can't get enough of it… sure, I'm probably too young but nobody questions you if you're a Victor it seems. What's a Victor wanting to sample a fine drink? Who cares if she's just thirteen? I just said it'd help their business, and here I am with a fridge full of shandy.
I wonder if that Victor from Twelve wants a drinking buddy.
I'm just so unsure where to go with my life now, or even if I want to keep living. I have knives that came with the house. If I wanted to I could… but then, I just think of Lacey and how she'd react. I know she has her own friends, her own family, but I think my death would hurt her and I don't want to do that to her.
I solved my issues of being homeless and starving. But now I have so many more issues. Every bottle I finish dulls it for a while, but never long enough. And next year, some other unlucky kids are going to be in the Quarter Quell. Either dead, or traumatised like me. But the sweet drink, its making me think about it less.
Well, whatever comes next in life, or death, I just hope Lacey feels better than I do. At least she has a loving family.
I hear lightning strike somewhere outside, but I don't scream when it does. After all, I'm already flopping onto the table harmlessly. In moments I feel everything getting quiet.
At least alcohol solves insomnia, huh?
(The next morning…)
I hear a distant voice calling my name. Or, is it near? I can't tell. I just want to stay asleep, I'd been having a nice dream… nope, wait, forgot it already. I try to say something but it comes out as a gargle and I just try to nestle myself back down and get some more sleep. I've got nowhere I need to be, and I guess I haven't really had anywhere to go, or places I've wanted to go, ever since I got back to Three.
"Gadget," the voice says, nearer and firmer.
I can't keep ignoring it. Whatever it making this sound, it's persistent. My heads hurts, and I feel sick. Just let me sleep… wait, Gadget is my name. Somebody must be in my house.
Oh no! No! Weldar's here, he's gonna torture me!
I leap up gracefully, ready for action… ok, no, no I don't. Actually I stagger up from where I was sitting and instantly I'm on the floor, my head spinning. Another hangover… you'd think after upwards of three dozen of them already that I'd been used to it now, but nope. My vision is cloudy but somebody is looking down at me and they're holding something out for me. Is it a knife? A sword?
No, wait… upon further inspection, it's a hand. I'm still feeling a bit sick and drunk after last night's drink and now I feel just a little sore after falling over like this, but somehow I find it in me to reach for the hand. It takes a few attempts, but I manage to grab it and Im helped up to my feet. I have to lean a hand upon the table for me to stay standing, but a drink is quickly offered to me. Whether it's beer or water I don't care, I drink it down fast. My mouth is so dry right now.
The person who helped me up patiently waits for my vision to clear and my focus to settle. While they wait, I see them move around me a little, picking stuff up. Do I have a housekeeper now? I think I'd remember hiring one, but actually, maybe I just drank so much that it slipped my mind? If I can forget something like that already, maybe in a thousand bottles I can forget all about the Arena as well?
Soon enough, my head has cleared. I can think properly and see clearly again. It's just before 8 in the morning, I can see through the window that outside it's a cloudy morning, all the beer bottles are gone… and, just beside me, Beetee looks at me in a mixture of disapproval and strong pity. I see a garbage bag in his hand, full of last night's evidence of drinking.
Nobody knew about my drinking 'hobbie'. This might be awkward, but I'm not much of a liar, am I? Beetee may have been Weldar's Mentor, but what reason is that to not like him right? The man is a genius, he's invented a bunch of wondrous things I can only marvel over and hope to match with my own ideas. Though, I guess I've not been doing much of that lately. Just, uh… drinking.
Oh boy, I really do have a problem going on here.
"Gadget, we need to talk," Beetee says.
"Alright. Uh, would we be talking about something that is not all of the, um, booze?" I ask sheepishly. I can't quite meet his eye right now… whether out of shame or just my hangover, I'm not sure.
"Well there was something else I'd come over for," he admits, empting the beer out into the trash can as he speaks. "But, this. This is a problem. Gadget, I know how hard it is after the Arena. I understand the trauma. Really, I do. Electrocuting six Careers… no, people at once really left me a shaken shell of a boy for a long time. But, staying inside all day and refusing to come out for anything, this isn't the right way to deal with it. And the alcohol… you're thirteen, this is bad for your health."
"It makes me happy for a little while," I say quietly. "When I drink, it's like nothing really matters to me. Nothing hurts for a while. I love that feeling, thinking like nothing hurts. It's all I have Beetee!"
"You seemed a lot more content the first few days you came back," he continues as he sits down. "...What happened? I want to understand."
"...The Hunger Games happened," I say, as it really is that simple. "I started off just happy to be alive… then I realised I cannot function properly anymore. You've been in the Arena, you know how all the death, the screams, the… everything, messes you up. Difference is, we were not in the same Arena and we're not the same person, in our minds. I can't make you understand. There's only one person who does and she..."
I sigh, trying not to think about Lacey too much.
"...She's far away in District Eight, and no amount of hoping for us to be reunited is changing the fact I won't see her until the Victory Tour in a few months. So I'm finding my own ways to cope and… try to move on. And so, beer. Wine. Whisky. Alcohol, whatever the kind of drink it is that cherry shandy counts as. Because, when I drink down that sweet mixture… life feels bearable," I say. I can't help but look at my fridge for a brief moment… Beetee hasn't checked there, right? I'll need to be stocked up for the next time I get scared or have a nightmare. "I don't even care if it's not healthy, really… I kinda like being drunk, and not being conscious enough to feel miserable."
Beetee looks disappointed, sad even. So much for the once talented mind of Gadget Byte, the youngest Victor. When I die, they'll put on my tombstone 'drank herself to death, and was still thirsty'. Actually, maybe I'll tell them to do that. Uurrghh, hangovers make me thing of the strangest crap.
"You've got so much potential," he says. "I would love for you to stop drinking. It's not to late for you to be able to find another outlet, another kind of escape. Drinking yourself into a stupor is not going to change anything in the end beyond going some initial relief. Eventually drinking, too, will fail… and then, you'd be too dependant on it to try anything else."
"...Why is it that I know you're right and logically I should agree with you, but I just don't want to," I mumble quietly.
Beetee gives me a sad smile.
"The mind is both a beautiful, and depressing thing," he says. "Please Gadget, promise me – and Wiress – you won't drink as much. We got you out… well, Wiress did, really. We don't want you to be dead so soon afterwards."
I know I should promise to listen and do as he suggests. Promise to not drink so much, and try to heed what I know is solid advice. After all, I know I can trust Beetee and everything he says is spot-on.
"I'll try," is what I say instead. "It's hard to break an… addiction, in just one day."
"Don't worry, I expect it would take some time to overcome," he says, caring.
"Thanks. If you ever want a drink, I'll give you one. Gets rid of the stuff faster, right?" I say, smiling humourlessly.
Beetee looks a strange mixture between sad, and awkward at the idea of being given alcoholic drinks from a girl who is essentially his thirteen year old neighbour. You know, when you think it out like that you really do get a scope of how messed up Panem is.
"So, uh… what was the other thing you wanted to talk to me about?" I ask, sensing it's time to move this topic along, for now.
In response, Beetee picks up a letter from the table and then takes out out from his jacket's pocket. They appear identical. Oh boy, this is gonna be a fun lecture… heh, when I say it like that it almost sounds like he's going to talk to me about the inner workings of a CPU or a vehicle of some kind. But no, this is about me skipping school.
"School started a month ago, and you've not shown up for a single class," Beetee says, slightly firm. "Why not?"
"Well..." I trail off. No excuse is gonna work here, and I can't use the line of 'a Victor not going to school' as I already got told I have to and Beetee was witness to it. "I've had things to do, that's all. Art and technology, you know?"
Beetee just looks at me, calmly. Those glasses, that stare… he has one hell of a poker face. Best not play against him in cards.
"...Ok, alright," I say, folding. "I don't want to go back. It's one thing being depressed and traumatised - a thing that should excuse me from school - but I really, really don't want to be there. Beetee, please. You know I was always picked on a lot before the Reaping happened and, even if Weldar is dead… it won't end. My brothers are there too. And I've not seen them since the Peacekeepers grabbed them and daddy, and the Mayor told them they cannot share in my wealth. I can't… I can't do it! Don't make me go back, please!"
Beetee looks torn. Selfish as it is, I hope he's torn enough that he won't force me back to school.
"...I can't force you," he admits. "But they want you there, and being a Victor will only go so far. If I don't, Peacekeepers will. Don't put yourself in danger and get into trouble with the Capitol because you fear school bullies. After the Arena, I think you are strong enough to handle them. I believe you are."
"...And you're rarely wrong," I admit. "I just don't know if I can. Every time I even think about school I start choking from anxiety, and then I get sad and… well, booze."
"Myself and Wiress will escort you to the gates," he promises me.
"I guess I really don't have a choice do I?" I mumble. I close my eyes and grimace… but you know, Beetee is right. After an Ant Muttation and Careers, what's a few school bullies? Maybe I'm being ridiculous. Am I? I don't know. "Can I… get myself ready then? It's not until nine, and it's not far to get there. Can I… stall in the few minutes I will be able to?"
Beetee smiles as he rises to his feet.
"You can," he says, gently. "I'll go and talk to Wiress. We'll all take a car down to the school. I'll be back to collect you in thirty minutes."
"That's plenty of time," I say, standing up and trying not to stumble. Ack, damn hangover.
"I should hope you don't mean plenty of time to make a run for it," he says, giving me that knowing, firm look of his.
"...Not anymore," I say, making my way out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.
As I start to walk up the grand staircase I hear Beetee leaving. Ok then, thirty minutes to get myself ready for school. I'm not sure what's gonna be in class today, but I think I'll be able to catch up easy enough. Actually, last year at school I was really far ahead in everything so it never mattered if I missed a day as I'd just extend the gap again next time I went back. Just comes natural to me, what they teach.
I can't help but frown though, walking up the stairs and through a long hallway. I know the Capitol furnished the house, but… did they really need to put in all these portraits of President Snow? Not that he looks awful in frame – I can appreciate art for what it is, the images look well made – but… it feels like he is watching me. I swear the eyes in the frames follow me as I cross by them, or maybe that's just me being crazy? The pictures are stuck on the wall, so maybe I could just put something over them? Maybe a blindfold?
At least, as I enter my bedroom, I know I'm free of what may or may not be sentient paintings. I never feel truly safe, but in my bedroom I feel just a little bit safer, and it makes a tiny difference. There's the 'President Sized Bed', there's the balcony the sun shines upon every morning and there's my art wall. It's, well, a wall for art… though I guess you all figured that part out. Um, uh, yeah it's the wall I put everything I draw onto, like a wall of images. I just find a comfort, being close to all the pictures I've drawn. There must be hundreds up there. Honestly, I'm running out of space. I have a gallery room ready to fill up, but I've not even started on that with how much I've been drinking.
As I walk towards the walk-in closet I look at the pictures I've drawn. I don't take pride in much, really, but drawing is perhaps the one thing I do. I've noticed I'm really good at landscapes and drawing people… well, people and monsters. Mutts. Scary stuff. On one hand my own art scares me – those pictures are not put on the wall, of course, they're under my bed – but it's a real comfort to just draw stuff out and put pain into pencil and paper and finish it with paint. I really should get to work on more than just the basic stuff now that I have that art studio and gallery downstairs but as I said, drinking… it's taken a lot of of my time. Drinking, and just watching TV.
Beetee is right, this needs to change. What kind of a life am I living anymore? Is… is this how I want things to be? No! But, change is a process… and I'm in a bad state of mind for it, to put it lightly. Maybe if L-
No, no, no, no. Bad Gadget! No. Stop thinking about her, you'll only become even more dependant. What have I told you – that is to say, told myself – about separation anxiety and being clingy? Focus on something else, fast!
And so, that's why I end up walking onto the Balcony and looking up at the sky. The storm from last night has passed and now it's a gentle Autumn morning. The trees around the Victor Village have started to lose their orange leaves, and a gust of wind blows them all around. I always did like Autumn. Much, much better than the cold of winter…
"I shouldn't waste time," I say as I turn and head back inside.
Yanking open the door, I enter the walk-in closet. So many outfits, and so few I have actually worn. Having been essentially homeless before I won the 74th Hunger Games, the Capitol 'generously' gave me a whole bunch of free stuff, more than what came with the house. Dresses, fancy shirts and pants combos, a few gowns, even a cape… and that's really just scratching the surface. I could wear something new every day for weeks and still have more to try on.
"I wonder how much was made in the Capitol and what got made in Eight… dammit," I curse. I really ought to add more to that list of forbidden words.
Already on the list of forbidden words, which typically I end up saying or thinking anyway, are Muttation, spear, Arena, Tribute, Lacey, Career and now, Eight… this is why I drink, it makes me not even realise when I am saying something that will just make me feel worse. Come on Gadget, toughen up. You can do it, somehow. Maybe.
Anyway, before I went off on that tangent, my point was that for all the stuff the Capitol gives me and what they would want me to wear when I'm out in public… I have something better already. Something for my first foray out of the Victor Village ever since I got back. My old set of overalls. Sure, they're pretty old and not really anything even slightly fancy, but they've got a nice sense of familiarity to them.
Off with the fluffy nightgown, on with the overalls and casual t-shirt. I'd ask why so many of the shirts are yellow or a colour that is close to yellow,, but then again that's District Three's colour in the Hunger Games. Just another reminder. In some weird way, it makes me happy the overalls are blue. Well, enough rambling. I don't have much longer to stall. I'm dressed, and I can just make something fast in the kitchen. Not like it takes long to pour cereal.
Back down the stairs, back past the paintings that may or may not be watching me. I swear, that one blinked!
"Creepy," I mutter, glancing at the painting in question, waiting for it to blink. "...I see you, I think..."
I turn away, quickly moving the other direction down the stairs and returning to the kitchen. Looking at the clock, I don't have long until I'll have to get going. I grab a random box of cereal from the cupboard - it's all the same to me, really - and pour it into a random bowl. One addition of milk later and I'm eating it as though I was starving, a feeling I was very familiar with just a few months ago.
I don't bother putting the bowl in the sink once I finish it, I have bigger things to focus on. Like, school. This is gonna be bad. Bad-bad-bad, but I can't just hide away from the outside world and my problems forever. I've not even gone outside in a month. No. Today I, Gadget Byte, will stop being a coward and will… leave my house.
But just in case things go badly, I'm gonna need some back-up. I know just the thing.
"Like I told Beetee, I can't stop in a day," I say to myself as I open the fridge and take out a bottle of cherry shandy. "Not like they ever check our bags."
One packed meal I've made for myself later - and a second bottle of the drink I depend on so much added to my bag - I'm ready to go. I fidget nervously as I sit, wringing my arms along the strap of my bag. When I exit that door, safety cannot follow me. When I enter the gates of the school, Beetee and Wiress cannot come with me. I'll be alone.
Then again, I can't help but think, maybe it's better being alone. I need to learn to get through problems things by myself.
All too soon I hear the door open. I yelp out of habit, but as I expected it's just Beetee. He gives an understanding, sad smile.
"Ready to go?" he asks me.
"...Not at all," I admit. Nonetheless, I get up to my feet, sling my bag over my shoulder and follow after him. "Let's go."
Out of the front door we walk and into the Autumn morning. It seems a faint fog has gathered outside the village. Nothing bad, but it's a fog I'll be plunged into. Clouds gather, so maybe it'll rain again later? The wind blows softly and carries leaves along with it, and the air smells wet. I guess the ground is still soaked from the storm. Pretty standard morning.
There's a car over there. What make was it again… I'm not sure, but I think this one was based off of the designs of an old company before the Dark Days. I think it was called something like Nassen… or, was it Nissan? Yeah, that's it. Those in Six would know more of course, but the inner workings of things like this have always fascinated me. When you get down to it, making vehicles for transport and the principles of technology development are not very separate. You'd think they'd combine Three and Six, wouldn't you? It'd make sense, and probably increase production. Then again, that'd mean having eleven Districts and less kids dying each year. They can't have that.
"After you," Beetee says from behind me.
I wince, but I obey. I open the door and slowly get inside. Beetee closes the door behind me and sits in the front passenger seat. I can see a Peacekeeper is at the wheel – so much for any kind of privacy – but at least beside me Wiress is sitting. She seems in her own world, but snaps to attention when she sees me.
"Tick tock, time for school," she says. Gently, she puts a hand upon my shoulder. "Fine. You'll be fine."
For a moment there, I believe her. It passes quickly, but that's a moment longer than all others can get me to calm down for. Except- NO! No, stop thinking about her! You'll drive yourself crazy, Gadget. New topic, new topic, quick!
"So, lots of fog," I note. Of all the new topics, I pick this one. "Looks foreboding."
"It's gonna be a very foggy and rainy Autumn," Beetee says. "Might flood, but it's hard to know for sure just yet. It'll be a good chance to test out some rain powered projects I was thinking of."
This sounds interesting, but before I can ask more the car is moving. That means, naturally, I lose my ability to speak and shrink down into my seat from the crushing anxiety. I'm trembling. It's like when I was on the Hovercraft on my way to the Arena and, I assumed, a very grisly death. I was shaking and crying all the way there. In some ways, it's like that again… kind of. I'm the tribute going to the Arena, or the student going to the school. To me, it's not very different.
But, this time I at least have Beetee and Wiress with me until the gates. And, it's only for a few hours. I can do this, I can do this.
And even if I can't, I'll force myself to try. I can't be a coward forever, can I? No, I need to be strong. Because…
...Because the next Hunger Games is a Quarter Quell. I'll need to be strong for whichever poor kid I have to Mentor. Maybe they'd be as scared and weak as I was, maybe moreso. I have ten months to grow a spine so I can save whoever it is from the jaws of death, or a Mutt. Same thing, when you think about it.
(Not much later…)
"So, Miss Byte, nice of you to join us," says my teacher, Mrs Sprocket. "You've only missed a whole month of class before finally deciding to show up, but as a Victor I am supposed to show you some lenience. Just sit quietly, turn to page sixty four and get on with it."
"Yes ma'am," I say in a dull voice as I sit at my old desk, anxious.
One look at the board and what is set out for me on my desk, and it's clear what has to be done today. Just some basic hydraulic stuff. It's the kind of thing you'd put into an engine or an interior power unit. Easy enough to work with. I worked with stuff like this to make my mech suit back in… that place, and hey, if I ever wanted to build a car this could be useful. Of course, a transfer to Six is not happening but there are all kinds of applicable uses for this knowledge and skill.
"Ok, that goes there, and then I hook this from A to B, and then..." I mutter, quickly engrossed in my work.
It's not too hard, getting all the pieces and such together to make the hydraulic system. Indeed, I'm blasting ahead on it at speed, and it's becoming a monotonous task. A little boring. Usually I'd find joy in this kind of work, but I just can't right now. After all, when you're getting done with your work before everybody else despite missing a month of class – gee wiz, how far ahead at this was I? - it gives you time to notice things going on around you. Things to add to the emotions besides being a teenage girl which, apparently, requires me to feel all kinds of anxiety anyway.
Like one thing I can see is that somebody has carved a message into my desk. Rest in Pieces. They didn't expect me back, and made sure to show this lack of support in a message not yet removed even after a month. Hmmmm… charming. It reminds me of how when I went to visit Weldar's grave about a week after I got back, I saw the area next to it had been dug, and refilled. They expected me to die, and I made them look a bit foolish when I made that freshly dug grave pointless. I'd expect punishment for that, but so far nothing has happened.
The other thing to notice? The whole class is staring at me, leaving no room for subtlety. They're also at desks further from me. Once, they crowded near to cause me stress and unrest, but now they are keeping their distance. They're wary of me now. After all, they saw what I did to Weldar didn't they?
Are they thinking what would've happened if it was one of them against me in the last battle, instead of Weldar, I think. The thought sends chills down my spine. I really could've killed any of my classmates.
I just try not to think about it. There is work to be done, technology to be finished after all. Plus, this year I get to pick my specialisation. At Christmas – a holiday nobody knows he origin of, but celebrates it anyway - assuming you're thirteen and not falling in your grades badly, you get to pick a specific area of technology to specialise in. Weldar had picked Military Technology as he was gifted at it, beyond anybody else. The weapons he dreamed up sure were fearsome. And because of of one of my own creations, those ideas will never come true, will they?
Getting sidetracked again…
The point I'd been leading up to was that so long as I can keep on working hard, not acting like a miserable wreck and also actually coming into school, I'll get to pick my specialisation. That means it won't be the same class, it'd just be a few of those around me. And, it'd be something I could really enjoy doing. I'd been reluctant to come back, but… if people are avoiding me now, that means I can hold out until Christmas, pick something good and start to find something to sink a bunch of time in. Time that will make me smile. But, what to pick? I'd been thinking programming at one point, but now I'm pondering something closer to engineering and all the stuff therein- inner workings of an engine, chassis welding, hydraulics, physics, all these things together to create something marvellous. Sure, the Capitol will take it and probably steal some credit like they steal everything else, but so long as it makes me smile and gives me something to focus on, I'm fine with it. Hmmm… maybe drunk engineering could be something? Why not combine two past times.
"Why not indeed," I say to myself, liking this idea already. Stupid maybe, but I was in the Arena. I feel I deserve some more fun stupidity in life.
"Something you wish to share with us, Miss Byte?" asks Mrs Sprocket, her lips pursed and a frown on her face. "Something more interesting than this lesson."
I see the look in her eyes. That look she uses to intimidate anybody into backing down and giving some kind of apology or a compliment. I'm shrinking into my seat, but all eyes are on me now. Just as they were before. ...All eyes are on me.
Maybe this can be my chance to be something more than the bottom rung. The one on the outs. The victim.
"Well ma'am, the class has been starring at me for a while. I suppose they find me more interesting than the lesson," I say, gesturing to everybody else. "The way they look at me, you'd think I killed somebody. Um..."
That may have been a step too far. Mrs Sprocket now looks at me in something akin to fear, and the rest of the class have quickly moved their desks further away, once again with no room for subtlety. Maybe I'm not a victim anymore. I'm something worse. I'm the murderer.
"...My work is done. May I be excused?" I ask quietly.
My teacher only gives a slow nod. Quickly my bag is over my shoulder, my project on the desk to be graded and my legs are quickly carrying me out the door. Only I'm not just walking down the corridors. I'm sprinting as fast as I can. And being pretty tall, 5'10 at my last measurement, that's pretty fast with these long legs of mine.
I should have maybe an hour until the next class. That's plenty of time for me to get my composure back. And, there's one place I can do that easily. Where the odds of getting caught are low, and the chances of some peace more or less high. That's right, the roof, where the thirsty go to take a drink. Or several. I knew I should've packed more than just two bottles!
(Not much later…)
Just a normal day in Three. The crummy buildings spread far out, the rainclouds loom above for what is likely to be an evening rainstorm and an empty bottle of cherry shandy is discarded beside me. I ought to remove the evidence, but right now I can't be bothered really. I'm just sitting here on the roof, deep in thought.
As I open the second bottle, already a bit tipsy from the first one and starting to sway a bit, I can't help but think of class. They were afraid of me. I saw them. Those who once moved in for the metaphorical kill… they now stand away, worried over what I might do to them. What would I do to them though?
Nothing at all. I'm not a monster. I'm not a killer. I… I didn't want to do what happened really. To Weldar, or to Cinder indirectly. But I wasn't gonna let myself die either, even if there were so many times I felt very tempted to just lay down and do exactly that. I sip from the bottle, starting to focus less on the horrible memories.
"First they torment me. Then they straight up fear me," I lament. "A middle ground would be nice. But, it's not like winning the Hunger Games was realistically going to fix everything. Here's to my life, such as it is."
I joylessly toast myself and sip some more of the drink. Setting down the bottle, I'm looking up at the clouds.
"Ok, solved the problem of them coming after me. Now to solve the problem of them fearing me. Hmmm… I have money now. Maybe I could host a party?" I ponder, reaching into my bag to grab out an apple. "Imagine, a party in the Victor Village. No rule against it. Maybe that could be a good idea to bring some peace. I need friends. I need some kind of companionship. I can't pine for… her, all the time. I need local friends, and just moping around won't help me get them."
I cap the bottle. Even if I might be slurring a little, I know exactly what to do.
"I have nothing to lose," I decide. "What harm can a party do? Either it goes off well and I find a nice group to mingle with, or nobody shows up and I get the partyyyyy food to myself. Win-win."
From here, I can see the clocktower a distance away. Looks like I have twenty minutes until the next class I have to attend. I guess I could skip it, but it's programming and I like that. Besides, Beetee would know if I cut class and I don't want to be receiving a disappointed glare. Twenty minutes… maybe enough time to have one more sip and then start to work on my balance so that it's not obvious I'm tipsy.
"You shouldn't be drinking that," a voice says.
I yelp, almost dropping the bottle. I never did like being snuck up on, and after the Arena it's an even more surefire way to make me scared. I look to the left and see who I already knew it was. After all, it's hard to forget the voice of one of your brothers even if you are a bit smashed. His rather spiky brown hair, his ever present goggles and his very tattered denim jacket, it's my youngest big brother.
"Heyyyy Dayta," I say, a small slur in my voice. "What do you want?"
"Just checking in on my little sister," he says. "Nobody's seen any sign of you for weeks."
"Nobody really came looking," I reply. I pack my drink away and start to rise up to my feet. It's a work in progress. "Just been at home, that's all. Nothing much else to say."
"You've been drinking," Dayta notes.
"Just a little," I say. "Or, a lot. I don't know, it makes me feel something resembling happy. I don't feel safe outside my house."
"But, here you are now," he notes. "What made you want to come back to school?"
"Mainly it was Beetee talking me into it," I mumble. "And, I don't want to be a snivelling coward forever. Next Games, I will Mentor somebody. I need to be there for them, like Wiressss was for me."
I can see the uneasy look in Dayta's eyes. At fifteen, he is my elder but unlike me is not a Victor. His name is still in that reaping bowl… I think upwards of fourteen times now, actually. Would I need to Mentor my brother? We've had issues, a lot of them, but… I've do my best for him, no matter what.
"Quell year," he mutters, nervous. "Rivett and Flux won't stop talking about it. Dad is always furious and screaming. Gadget, I envy you."
"Don't," I plead. "You have the chance of not being picked. Me? I'm stuck with trauma and nightmares that won't ever leave me until the day I die. I'm not somebody you want to envy."
"You're not poor though," he mutters. "You have rich and filling food, a big house, probably loads of outfits and… it just sounds like paradise."
"And yet, here I am drinking alcohol to cope with the pain and I'm wearing my old overalls. The life of a 'celebrity' isn't much to envy," I say. I have wondered, a lot, what my family have been doing. Daddy kicked me out for… things, and my brothers made no stand or real attempt to help, but I still feel something for them… it's complicated. "On a scale of one to murder, how angry is daddy with me?"
"… Somewhere between an eight and a belting," he says, groaning. He looks so done with it all.
I sit myself back down and take out the bottle again. I pat the spot beside me, and Dayta sits down.
"I miss mommy," I say, taking a swig and passing the bottle to Dayta. "I miss the way things used to be."
Dayta takes a swig of his own and passes the bottle back, nodding in agreement.
"Same, but even if she was alive we all know dad was never stable," he says frowning. "Says he's got some new big idea to get us to the top of the heap. I'm staying well out of this one. Dad's already in trouble with the Peacekeepers as it is. His display when we couldn't move into the Victor Village with you… well, it got worse after that. I just want to be nineteen and move past all this."
I'm silent, looking out at the buildings again.
"...We're brother and sister, but we feel like strangers," I say. It's not a question.
"I don't deny it," says Dayta. "I won't lie and say I'm not closer to Rivett and Flux, just like you won't lie and say you're close to us. But still, I was the only person who cheered when you won the Hunger Games, you know?"
I'm silent. This is news to me.
"Really?" I say, turning to my brother. "I didn't think anybody did."
Dayta rolls up his sleeve, showing a scar.
"Courtesy of some random kid I don't know," he mutters. "But… I've not been a good brother to you Gadget, I don't even deny it. But I was just so happy you were alive, that you won. Didn't matter nobody else was. Didn't matter that dad and our brothers didn't care at all either way, because I did. Sure, life is shit and we're hungry and hurting a lot, no thanks to dad being unable to keep any hold on money and then blaming it on others, but… I was just glad you were safe. If you had died… I'm not sure how I'd have reacted and I didn't wanna find out. I'm just pleased you're alive."
I'm silent for a few moments. I'm not sure when I did it, but suddenly I've flung my tipsy arms around my brother and am hugging him, my face against his shoulder as I softly sniffle.
"Thankssss," I mumble, slurring. "Thank you Dayta. I… I'm grateful."
I pull away, and Dayta seems unsure of how to react. But, his reaction isn't hostile or uneasy, so that's a plus.
"...I'm not sure if we'll be close again when we eave thissss roof," I say, quiet. "And… that's why, for as long as we're up here, even if it's just a few minutes, can we be the brother and sister we could've been in a better world. One without..."
The Capitol, goes unspoken. After all, they did cause many people in Three a lot of issues. Then again, some things would exist even without them.
"Of course," Dayta says, a small smile on his face. "...Just be careful Gadget. Not many people are happy that you seemed more Pro-Eight than Pro-Three. That includes Peacekeepers, and dad. Just lay low until the Quell and then the next Victor in line can take the heat. And… try not to drink yourself into oblivion."
"...Sure is tempting though," I sigh.
"Gadget..." he says firmly.
With a soft mumble I hand over the bottle of booze. Dayta nods, and tosses it over the side of the roof.
"Don't destroy your mind with that stuff," he says as he gets up. "You showed it was a better weapon than any of the swords or knives the Careers used. Plus, you can use that out of the Arena. You can't use a sword."
"I wouldn't be able to use one anyway," I say, swaying as I stand up. "But I… I get what you mean. Hey Dayta, w-w-what'ssss daddy planning this time? Is he trying to sell rats as pets again? That one got people infected with all that gross white foam in their mouths."
"I'm not even sure," Dayta says. "Whatever is it, I know Rivett and Flux feel interested, but I don't want to know about it. I'm staying out."
Dayta walks off to the door that leads to the stairs, and thus class. Guess it's time to go back down the stairs, and back to my 'closest' relative being so very distant once more. Back to my own classes. I hope we can talk up here again sometime, me and my brother. But, if we can't...
"...I'm gonna be hosting a party in a few days!" I blurt out. "Wanna… wanna come? It's at my place? There'll be… candy a-and chips. Please?"
Dayta pauses, seeming like he's considering it.
"… We'll see," he says as he takes his leave.
I'm alone again, tipsy and in the gentle rain that is starting to fall. It's a depressing picture to paint, I guess, but that really was perhaps the nicest talk we've had in years. Maybe it's not lost yet… or maybe, rather than not lost it's moreso a case of it's still able to be started? Either way, I felt less alone right then. Trying not to sway and be an obvious drunk, I softly smile, just a little, as I head down the stairs.
"Come on Gadget, left foot, right foot. Host a good party, make some friends and get a family member who is more or less alright hanging with you," I tell myself. "No need for anybody to help you with getting through that. It's gonna be… okay-ish. Get through programming, then get through that."
I'm already thinking of party ideas as I stumble my way along to the next class. But I do wonder though… Dayta said daddy is up to something. What could it be? I'm worried, honestly, as his plans and schemes tend to have a history of… not working. At all.
"Just don't think about it. Do not think any bad thoughts," I tell myself.
(Time passes…)
It was quite a day. Classes went alright, which was nice. Programming was peaceful, welding was wonderful and electric work was… I don't know, some word to keep up the alliteration. As much as class was nice though, it was the same each time. Everybody, even the teachers, keeping their distance out of pure fear of me. It's a fickle thing, isn't it? The factor that made me scared to go to school, being mistreated by my classmates, is now removed. Instead, they fear me like I feared them and maybe more than that too. They saw me kill one of their own on TV, and now they are scared it could be any of them next. It's filing me up with that same horrible anxiety I want to escape so badly.
Also, maybe going back to class a bit tipsy wasn't a very good idea. The fact I was slurring a bit and swaying every now and then probably made it kind of obvious I'd been drinking, but Mrs Sprocket didn't press the matter. Either a lack of actual proof as I had no booze on me and there was nothing at school she could use to make me do a breathalyser test, or maybe it's the fact being a Victor means a little more freedom. My classmates seemed all the more wary when I answered that question about C++ code correctly and drunkenly at the same time.
But hopefully, maybe a nice party – or peace offering, if you want to call it that – might fix this, uh, little issue. I only killed Weldar when I had no choice left. Cinder though, I have no such excuse… I better remember to pack extra booze for when I am in District Five on the Victory Tour.
...I just don't want to be alone, you know? I don't. I can't. I won't.
I made a phone call ordering all the stuff I'll need right as I got back from school – thankfully, a drive home prevented a walk through what is soon to be pouring rain – so everything is gonna be fine there. No lack of supplies to worry about so now it's a matter of possibly having a lack of guests. But, I have a plan to get some interest. Kind of.
That was a few hours ago. Maybe more as I can see that the sun has set outside now. No light shines past the drawn curtains. I've been spending all my time since I got back in my art room, underused for too long. Not anymore though, as I've been hard at work for, as I said, hours. Two pictures finished off and put to the side and one in front of me, almost completed. Just a little more and it'll be perfect.
"Careful, careful," I say, the movement of the brush controlled and delicate. It won't do to move out of the lines drawn from the pencil sketch phase.
Time is passing, and as it does my depression and fear is starting to wane, though my loneliness is starting to peak again. Maybe a drink would quell it for a bit. Oh, right, quell. Better add that to the list of words I cannot say but will inevitably say anyway at some point. I do wonder though, what could the Quell be? At least I'm not going to be the one suffering from it, but two poor kids sure will… in fact, maybe it'll be more than two? And the worst part is that Quell Games seem to be the most blood, horrifying and evil of them all… you remember the first and second Quells, right?
No? Well, the second one – never shown anymore, for some reason – had double the number of tributes. Forty seven kids who never came home, and one who went back and turned to alcohol. I'd like to meet Haymitch, honestly. Maybe he'd understand the pain and why I need to drink to make it better. And if not, it'd be nice to have a drinking buddy. Any buddy, really. Still, double the number meant double the violence. It was… a mess, really. Those who have seen the 50th Hunger Games say it was a poisonous garden full of choking and blood. Makes me almost grateful my Arena didn't have much poison in it.
And then... the first Quell. I had nightmares when I heard about this one. Apparently, so too did the Capitol citizens at certain points. The twist was the Districts voted on which kids went to the Arena. But while One and Two just voted their best Careers… everybody else had different plans. They took advantage of the Quell and voted in the most monstrous of youth who they never wanted to see come back and harm anybody ever again, thinking they'd perish at the hands of another. And so, in went a pair of rapists, a known-in-all-but-obvious-proof murderer, a pyromaniac, a cannibal… getting sick just thinking about this, and who else I've not yet named. I didn't see this one, but apparently the reverse of the norm happened… the Careers were the ones fighting for their lives as a hoard of monsters descended on them. Much the opposite of my Games, the boy from Two was the 'Knight in Shining Armour' who managed to get out of there, a very changed boy from the arrogant Career he was launched as.
I dread to think what may happen this year. I… I just don't want to think about it. C'mon Gadget, focus on the painting. No matter how much you worry or cry, the end result remains the exact same anyway. Just live life, and do your best for who you need to mentor. What more can you, that is to say I, do? Nothing more.
Being lost in my thoughts, I didn't realise how much progress I was making on the picture. In fact, it looks like it's done. Now to just let it dry and then frame it. This one… it'll be the centrepiece of the collection, I think.
(Not much later…)
Drawing and painting, that's the easy part. Framing everything… wait, no, that's even easier. But, observing what you have created, that part is a mixed feeling. Maybe it's just the inner critique within my mind, but I'm already wondering what the art I have made really says about me. Does it say broken, psycho or helpless? Or maybe something else? I'm not sure, but either way it's framed and put into place in the gallery.
Now, when I say gallery I mean a large room that had been empty besides storing a few crates that I had zero use for whatsoever. I need therapy, not crates, thank you very much. But, since only the Capitol gets therapists, I'll have to do self-therapy. To that end, my gallery. Its not bare anymore, but it's certainly a bit of a macabre collection isn't it? Only three paintings are here right now, but I'll probably add more to this place when I feel the drive to do so, and I'm not totally smashed on booze. Plenty of space after all.
On the left wall is a picture of the Cornucopia, gleaming silver. It stands tall in that familiar grassy plain… and there's blood. Lots of blood. So much blood. It's splattered everywhere, and many bodies lay around that imposing silver horn. It started there. It ended there.
On the right wall is a picture of that gigantic Ant Muttation. That horrible beast that, as shown in the picture, tore Marvel to pieces and very nearly did the exact same to me. Was that monster invincible? I'm not sure, but it'd take a stronger Tribute than I to kill it. As with the first painting, there's plenty of blood.
Horribly grim art, but… somehow, it makes me feel a little better to get it all out. Well it does for now at least. Any outlet is good. Of course, neither of these two paintings mean too much when you compare them to the centrepiece of the collection on the wall directly across from the door used to enter the room.
It's Lacey, or rather a portrait of her. Just her sitting on a fancy armchair, smiling brightly. Her curls detailed and her outfit matching the one she wore to the interview after I won and she survived. No blood in sight, just a nice picture of my best friend. Of course, she has her own friends and is across Panem, so I might not be her best friend. Regardless though, while I want to make friends here and move on, having this picture made feels right somehow. I can't forget her, not really, and perhaps at least having some kind of her presence here will gradually fix the separation anxiety. Of course, her name is still inn that reaping bowl… but, only one paper slip in the bowl ever year. I think she'll be alright, really. Neither of us did anything rebellious on purpose... right?
"I miss you so much," I say to the painting. "I can't lie and act like I don't because… well, you were the first person my own age to ever show any kindness to me. You never once had to, and you did so all the same. I helped you survive, but you just as much and maybe moreso helped me win. I owe you so much… I just don't know how to function without you, after what we faced together, unless it involves the bottle."
I soon sigh and sink to my knees, my back against the wall.
"...I'm sure you're doing fine. You deserved a second a chance at life," I say quietly. "Maybe, if I can find it in me to keep on living and to overcome all this… everything, on my own and not needing people to keep on bailing me out of it… well, maybe then I'll be somebody who deserved it too."
I sit here for a while. Not even thinking, really. Just sitting, and wondering. Wondering where life will take me next and how I'm going to deal with it. Wondering how Lacey might deal with things in Eight, as she went through much of the same pain I did as well. Wondering… I don't know, just wondering aimlessly. Because I've come to see, even when you're out of the Arena it's never really going to end. Sometimes, the best you can do is to just try and cope.
Well, that's exactly what I'm gonna do. I think, scared as I was to go back into school, it's given me the hard kick in the butt I needed to get my life on track and keep going until the end, whenever that is. I owe Beetee a drink for this… I mean, if he drinks. I've never asked, really. It occurs to me that even after the 74th Hunger Games I don't know Wiress and Beetee very well. Perhaps they'd like to attend the party? Or, more realistically, they'd like to hang out on some quiet afternoon when there's nothing else going on? Worst they can do is say no.
"See you on the Victory Tour, Lacey," I say as I get up and leave. Time for bed, another day survived.
Tomorrow, it's time to attempt having a social life. After the Arena, how hard can it be?
How hard indeed. That remains to be seen, but you know what they say, life's a party and everybody is invited. Question is, do you accept the invite? Gadget's second Book has begun, and a lot is to come. Stay tuned, as we're only just getting this huge story started started!
