Hi! This story will be from the point of view of Maeve Camboil, who is "Foxface's" niece. I can't wait to continue this story and will update as soon as possible. Make sure to review and tell me what you think so far! And I do not own "The Hunger Games."
Chapter 1
Rap a tap tap, rap a tap tap. I listen to the familiar pattern of my feet moving against the wooden floor. Rap a tap tap, rap a tap tap. I keep the pattern consistent never missing a beat as I sit at the edge of my bed.
It's only 6:00 AM. Most of Five is usually still sound asleep. But since it's reaping day my guess is half the district is already up. Some anxious children may have never gone to sleep. Their bloodshot eyes up and ready or not ready for the day that is to come. The twelve year olds feeling a new weight on their shoulder of being eligible for the reapings. The eighteen year olds waiting to see if they can lift that weight off their shoulder, and live a long happy, District 5 life.
Than there's me. The odds are most likely in my favor. Why should I be picked? Why shouldn't I? I'm no different than the plain looking girls from District 5 who try to look presentable when they realize they have been sent to their death. Anybody who doesn't get picked thinks those girls are just born unlucky. Nobody ever actually thinks of those girls as human. They have families. Just that morning they were thinking that they're going to survive the reapings. Live the perfect District 5 life.
Sure the odds are in my favor. I only have four slips in because although I'm sixteen thankfully I've had no need to sign up for tesserae. But still that nagging voice in the back of my head can't help but think that I could be reaped.
I could be that girl who saves the eighteen year olds and twelve year olds from their burdens. So everybody else can continue their lives. Watch me die on a television screen in the capitol as if that's where I always belonged. As if I belonged to the capital and my mere existence was to save the other normal people of District 5 for a year. Than they could all move along and forget about me.
Forgettable. That's all I can say for District 5. We're not a career district like 1, 2, or 4. Not a district of extreme poverty like 10, 11, and 12. Our industry isn't even that interesting like 3 which invents and makes technology for the capital. We're the power plant district. Very entertaining.
It sounds kind of crazy because you would think that being in the top half of the districts would mean the odds are in our favor in the games, but I never really thought that way at all.
There's the career districts, with the snarky tributes that volunteer themselves into their games knowing how to kill other children seventy different ways with a knife at age four. But what most people forget are the tributes from some of the lower districts. If there not too weak from hunger they can be brutal tributes in the games. Sometimes you can even see that utter loathing of the capital in their sunken eyes. The strongest of them have lean muscular builds, especially the ones from 11, from working day and night in their industries.
They can also deal with hunger like no other tribute. They thrive off of hunger. Hunger keeps them motivated to fend for themselves like they've had to all their lives. Instead hunger makes the careers whiny and weakened.
Then there's the middle districts like 5, 6, and even 3. Too normal. I think bitterly. We have no sense of what to do with a weapon, and although some of us don't live very comfortably it's nothing like living in one of the districts of poverty.
After around a half an hour tapping my feet numb I manage to peel myself off of my rock solid mattress. I creep down the stairs careful not to wake my mother or little sister. I am in no way hungry but since all I want is for today to feel as possibly normal as it can be, I solemnly cook myself some sausage and scrambled eggs. I also hope this wakes my mother up. It is the opposite of pleasant to wake my mother up on reaping day. She tosses and turns in hysterics tears streaming down her face as strange animal like sobs come out of her gasping mouth.
It's actually quite terrifying to see my normally cheerful mother suffering from so much despair. Though I understand. When I was just five years old my mother's fifteen year old sister went into the seventy fourth hunger games. Eve Camboil. That was her name. I don't remember much at all about her but I've listened to countless stories about her and seen a few pictures of her. We have some resemblance. Well actually, she resembles me the most out of everybody else in my family.
We have the same coppery red hair, ivory skin, and she has the same pointy features that I have. I also share my small bow shaped lips with her.
Nobody likes to talk about Eve much. In District 5 if you knew fallen tribute from the games you try to forget about them as much as possible. Especially my otherwise perfect family. Eve is that smudge on a record.
It's mostly my dad who becomes very flustered at the mention of her. He probably believes that if we silence that thought of her throughout the house that somehow my mother will forget she existed. Forget that nagging, painful memory of her.
But sometimes my mother likes to tell stories about her. How she was quiet and thoughtful like me, but less gentle. How Eve would chatter about the problems with the capital at meal times and their mother would always shush her in fear of any peacekeepers hearing them.
Every once in awhile my mother might speak of Eve's games. That's extremely rare, but sometimes it will come up. Eve made it into the top five, came in fourth actually. When I first heard this I was stunned. I still try to picture the way my mother must've felt with Eve in the games. With Eve being in the top four I can imagine my mother as a bundle of hope.
But once Eve dies from the poisonous nightlock berries she ate, I picture my mother's hope being crippled. Watching her dead and then seeing the other tributes carry on and be victorious. That's all you get with the games. One small moment to watch them die, and then they're gone. No caring for them through illness. No reading books and singing songs to them until they die of old age. Just one glimpse of them dieing of some painful tragedy, or another kid killing them. With the smallest turn of events your loved one could be killing that same blonde headed, rosy cheeked child. And the sad part is, you would be relieved if they killed instead of were killed. After all that's surviving the games isn't it? No. To me nobody wins The Hunger Games. There has to be one "victor" to please the blood thirsty, wide eyed capital fans. But once you kill in the games, you're just as a good as dead.
I hear the old wooden staircase of our house creek and bend at the footsteps of someone coming down the steps. I expect to see my dad or younger sister coming down the stairs, but instead I see my mother. Her skin is a paler shade of white than it usually is, and her expression is hard and cold.
Finally I break the uneasy silence between us. "Good morning mother." My voice comes out soft and whispery.
My mother just nods and sits next to me at the table. After about ten minutes or so of my mother and I just staring at plates full with the breakfast we most likely won't eat, my younger sister Lilian comes down the stairs. "What's for breakfast, Maeve?" She says offering a weak smile. Lilian is only eleven and doesn't have to worry about the reapings, but she senses the tension just as much as everyone else on reaping days.
"Have some sausage and eggs Lil." I say fixing her a plate. She sits down with us, but eats cautiously noticing she's the only one eating. In attempt to make today feel as normal as possible I cut up the eggs and eat small bites at a time.
Soon my father joins us and we're all sitting at the table. My father never talks much and as usual he eats his breakfast in silence. But today with a more solemn look on his face.
When we're all done with breakfast I offer to clean up the table, and Lilian helps me as usual. When we're washing the dishes Lilian looks at me with her clear blue eyes. It's very rare for somebody in District 5 to have blue eyes. When we were little I used to call her sparkle because she looks like a girl from District 1, with her blue eyes and hair that's lighter than anybody elses in the family.
"Next year if your reaped, should I volunteer?" She asks me. I am taken aback by the strange question. "No, of course not." I say but still thinking about what she said. "But you would volunteer for me, wouldn't you." She says her eyes looking more conflicted, and her tone sturdy. "That's not the same." I say in a hushed voice.
Lilian puts the dish down. "Why not?" She asks. "Lilian I'm much older than you and if I were to volunteer for you it would be out of love, and the fact that there would be a better chance of one of us coming home if it were me instead of you." I explain. Lilian gets her stubbornness from me, and I can tell she is still not convinced. "No one under the age of fourteen wins the games Lil. Especially not from District 5. Don't ever volunteer. For anyone." My gaze is now serious. Lilian just nods and I can tell she understands. Good. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I ever got reaped and Lilian volunteered for me.
By the time we're ready to go to the reaping Lilian and I have put on our nice clothes. Lilian looks cute and innocent with her straight blonde hair and bangs pulled neatly from her face into a bow. Her dress is pale pink bringing out the rosy pink color in her round cheeks. When I look at the two of us in the mirror we look almost nothing a like. My face is angular and pointed with small features. My red hair is thick and wavy and is only half pulled from my face, and my eyes are a dark hazel that looks almost brown.
As we walk to the town square I tug nervously at my blue cotton dress. I try to convince myself that it is impossible for me to be picked. After all my name is only in the bowl four times. But there will always by that nagging voice in the back of my head. So what. Anything is possible. I think to myself. Eve had her name in the bowl only three times when she got reaped. At that thought I stop walking for a second and feel stricken with panic. But not long enough for anybody else to notice.
Just keep walking. I say in my head. Don't get mom and Lil nervous as well. If I were ever sent to The Hunger Games I can't imagine how mom would react. How it would defeat my sweet little sister's spirit. She still thinks of us as untouchable. Like there is no possibility of anything like that ever happening to us. That's why she even mentioned the thought of volunteering. She doesn't know. Like how my mother used to be.
As we approach the square my family says good bye and wishes me luck. My mother passes me a knowing glance before disappearing into the hectic crowd. I on the other hand get in line to be signed in, where they will take a little blood sample from all of us. I try not to look at the twelve year olds who are all being herded into their sections. I wince at the thought of Lilian being one of them next year. Or worse, when I'm too old to volunteer for her.
After being lost in my own nervous thoughts I join the rest of the sixteen year old girls. I spot my friend Clara in the crowd and wave at her, half smiling. Her anxious face turns into a warm smile when she sees me. Clara is one of the few girls that understands I'm not into the whole giddy teenage girl thing most girls are. I'm more quiet and shy. Clara knows when I feel like talking and making jokes, and when I just feel like standing next to her in silence. She's the kind of girl you feel happy when she's around you. Even on a day like the reapings she is still radiating good energy. Her fluffy dirty blonde shoulder length hair is neatly combed, Her cheeks are the same warm pink color as her full lips, and her petal pink dress shows off her itty bitty waist and round figure. I never understand why Clara is so positive on reaping day. I can't imagine her surviving even the first hour of the games. Clara is not very athletic or fast and couldn't hurt a fly. Much less kill a starving kid her age or younger. Thank goodness she has never taken out tesserae.
"It's okay." She says kindly as if reading my mind. "We'll both be okay." She repeats as if still trying to convince herself. Even Clara can't be entirely sure either of us won't get picked today. We both just stand in silence next to eachother. For some reason I find this comforting.
Some of the more wealthy girls like me, who have few slips in the bowl seem less anxious and chat quietly. The bony girls who come from the poorer families of District 5 who took out tesserae and added their names to the bowl to keep their families alive, stand quietly probably just waiting for this to be over. Some of them have more than twenty slips in the bowl.
This makes me feel a little better, because District 5 is about half and half when it comes to wealthy and poor, so I know my name being reaped is very unlikely. But then the image of my aunt comes to mind and I feel panic suffocating me once more.
Natasha Flanfer our escort this year takes the stage and all is silenced. She stands next to our mentors who look about as happy as we are to be here. Natasha has a sparkling lavender bob, that is longer in the front and on an angle gets shorter in the back. Her eyelashes are green and yellow and about four times as long as any normal person's.
"Hello everybody!" She says in her capitol accent while adjusting her cupcake looking pink and blue dress. "Welcome to The 86th annual Hunger Games!" She says grinning. This is Natasha's second year in District 5 and she seems to like being an escort here. She used to escort for District 8 which is a lot worse than us. We're no District 1, but District 5 still is the fourth richest district after District 4.
I tap my feet nervously on the solid ground while the mayor makes his speech and we watch the same video from the capitol we do every year. Rap a tap tap, rap a tap tap. I almost zone everything out until she says announces ladies first and walks over to the bowl. My attention immediately snaps forward as she dips her hand into the bowl.
The next sequence of events seem like a dream when she pulls out the slip and says "Maeve Camboil." It takes a second for me to register that she just called my name. All the other girls stare at me. The girls who never bothered to know me but just see me as some sort of loner. Well now they see me as the girl who was meant to die instead of them. I groan. Then I look at Clara who looks just as stunned as I am. She hugs me and whispers in my ear. "I'm sorry."
I walk forward not showing any expression on my face and trying to hide my shaking hands.
Then suddenly a voice from the crowd snaps me into reality. "Maeve no, Maeve!" My sister's voice rings out and I stop walking for a second.
Tears start to form behind my eyes, and I listen to her cries a second more before continuing to walk to the stage. I step up onto the stage carefully, and I see Natasha giving me a once over while grinning before she announces my name again. "Your female tribute Maeve Camboil from District 5!" I notice up close glitter covers her skin.
While she walks over to the male tribute bowl I feel the panic begin to settle in and long to tap my toes. But since every eye of Panem might as well be on me I decide against it. Everybody would just think I'm so anxious, plain District 5 girl who doesn't stand a chance. Even though that's true, I try to look strong and put together.
"Evan Ellkan." I look around trying to see who the male tribute is. Suddenly a boy with light brown hair and brown eyes steps out of the seventeen year olds section. Well at least he's not twelve or thirteen. I think to myself. Evan is tall and willowy. As he starts to walk to the stage I see a little boy who can't be older than six cry out for him. Evan just sighs and keeps on walking towards the stage.
He's fairly attractive if he weren't so plain and tired looking as well. By the looks of his scrawny frame, dirty hair, and sunken eyes he is from the poor side of District 5. Meaning he probably has taken out lots of tesserae. When I look at him he just looks defeated. Probably expected something like this would happen, being older and having taken out tesserae.
"Your male and female tributes from District 5, Maeve Camboil and Evan Ellkan!" Evan and I shake hands. I give him a weak smile since he seems pretty harmless, but he just stares into my eyes with his sunken, deep brown eyes. His face is emotionless and he seems to stare right through me. A shiver runs up my spine.
I look at the crowd of silent people that are before me. The people who once politely waved and smiled at me. The people who had daily conversations with me about who married who, or who opened a new shop in the district. These people now look at me like I'm already dead. Like they never knew me. Like by going near me they'll catch my pain and sorrow. I feel numb and tingly as the whole turn of events register. The 86th Hunger Games have begun. And I'm a tribute.