Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games. I only own the characters in this fanfiction.
Authors notes: This is something I was experimenting with. I started posting it up on the 'hungergamestrilogy' forums but it's probably easier to have it up here. xP I'm not too confident with the writing style yet but I'll improve.
Even though I know I can't avoid the depressing atmosphere I feel as I wake up, I still squeeze my eyes shut and burrow back beneath my sheets. There are no words that can describe the air that fills the room. Looking past the musty, bitter coal stink that grinds gravel through your airways, there's something else infecting District 12 today. The broken rubble of the rebellion is crashing down on us all today; more so than usual. On top of the crumbling remains is the Capitol; just waiting for a little entertainment. It's a constant reminder that we aren't human to them and that they're the ones that control us. That will never change.
It's reaping day.
"Acacia!" I snort out of disapproval when I hear my mother howl my name at me. It's a small house so there's no need for her to screech so loudly. She repeats the call, emphasising each syllable. She only ever does that when she's distressed.
"ACK-AY-SEE-UH."
Irritated, I sit up for just a moment and draw in a huge gulp of the dusty air.
"MUTH-ER." I sarcastically throw the two parts of the word into the room. If she continues like this, the entire district will hear her.
I know it's cruel of me to be so grumpy. After all, today is the day where the lives of her four children will be risked. Three sons; Leon, Reuben and Vesper. One daughter; me. All of us are old enough to qualify for the games.
I think it's only guilt that gives me the strength to stand up and make my way over to the smallish mirror that's attached to the wall. Other than myself, the bedroom is empty. All of us share the room and so it's a little crowded most of the time. The biggest bed in the room is my parent's bed with its rickety metal frame. Despite it looking a little pathetic, the sheets are clean and are a pale blue colour. Pushed against one of the walls is another single bed, though my brother's Leon and Reuben are unfortunate enough to have to share it. It is not unlike my parent's bed. In the corner, only two feet apart are two other beds. The one pushed right into the corner is mine, the other that stands close by is Vesper's.
It's not really the most cheerful of places in Panem although my parents have really tried. They saved up enough money to paint the walls a cream colour. Over the years this has become scuffed and stained so that now it's just a big splotchy mess. The floorboards are splintered, bare and worn and between us all, we only have one chest of drawers to store our clothes in.
I glare at my reflection in the smeary mirror. I wouldn't say I'm the prettiest creature in the district. I'm far from it with my bone thin face and dull blue eyes. My hair is a muddy brown colour and it drapes around my face. I tear through the tangled strands with a hairbrush and try to tame it. Smiling would probably improve my appearance significantly. But I have nothing to smile about here. Some people would say that a soft sad and tearful look upon my face would be a large improvement over the cold, heartless stare. That's stupid. I would rather appear dangerous and unforgiving rather than miserable, vulnerable and pathetic.
Though as much as I hate to admit it, I am rather fond of my freckles. My face is speckled with the occasional brown fleck. Most people don't notice them and as far as I can tell, the Capitol don't really care for them much themselves. Except for the one time when it was fashionable to have them. But even then, their 'fashionable freckles' were sparkling gemlike splashes of colour on their skin. Of course, we don't normally hear much from the Capitol unless it involves the games. I only saw this silly trend because it was around during one of the games from one of the previous years. If you were to ask me how I felt about the fake freckles, I'd have to say that they were absolutely ridiculous.
I give up trying to untangle my hair and I choose to get dressed instead. Pulling on a comfortable pair of black trousers and a dark green t-shirt, I only waste a few seconds checking my overall appearance in the mirror. Satisfied with how I look, though if I wasn't I probably wouldn't have changed anything, I leave the room and enter our kitchen.
They're all crowded around the table, gathered solemnly around a stale loaf of bread. Mother's bottom lip is quivering beneath the sharp bite of her teeth. Her bark coloured hair is scraped back into a messy ponytail, though wisps of it still fall around her face. Troubled pools of brown are glossed in tears. I have seen that expression before. Anything that happens in the next few hours will cause her to cry.
On reaping day, I always step back and take a look at the way each of my family members react. Dad looks up at me and there's a slight twitch from one of the corners of his mouth. I return his implied smile by lighting up my eyes a little. Everybody else is too busy to notice the silent exchange.
I take after my dad the most if you're talking about personality. However I don't have his long, smooth black hair or his face shape. In fact the only feature we do share is the same shade of blue in our eyes. Even then, his eyes are more of a glinting brightness. He is far more optimistic than I will ever be. We understand each other perfectly but he is definitely a lot more cheerful. Despite this pleasant oulook on life, a thin layer of stubble pricks his tanned chin and dark circles line his eyes. I'm fairly sure that his hair isn't naturally that dark because although it's black, I'm positive that coal dust is settling on his scalp and clinging to the thin strands of hair. Working in the coal mines takes its toll on everybody.
Vesper, my seventeen year old twin brother refuses to sit with the family and is standing next to the table instead. We look nothing alike. You can't even tell that we're twins. He's a replica of my dad with the same bolt blue eyes and smouldering dark hair. However my brother is stubborn and he refuses to let mother cut his hair. Instead it's grown to the point where he's always shaking it out of his eyes. Today he doesn't even bother to brush the hair from his face. I think he's hiding from the rest of the world. I have no doubt that his brow his furrowed into a frown behind that fringe.
Reuben on the other hand is always being mistaken as my twin brother even though you can tell that I'm seventeen and he's fourteen. His dark brown hair has been cut so it's short enough not to get in the way but long enough to frame his face a little. His eyes are the same blue as mine but his facial expressions are always so full of life. This means that his eyes are as beautiful as my father's. He's propping his head up with his hands with his elbows resting on the oak surface of the table. If I focus my eyes on him, I can tell that he's trembling ever so slightly. The blank expression on his face makes him appear almost normal. But not to us. Reuben's face always has some sort of expression upon it. He might as well be a statue today.
Surprisingly, Leon is acting as if this were any other day. This wouldn't be so odd if Leon wasn't a twelve year old boy who was going to go through his first reaping. I could shrug the questions away but I know for a fact that Leon scampers away whimpering as if he were a wounded animal at the first sign of danger. His ebony hair is starting to look a little like Vesper's what with it beginning to creep down his forehead. If he doesn't have it cut soon, he'll be constantly swiping at it just to get it out of his way. His gentle russet eyes are shining as he reaches for the bread and slices at it with the blunt bread knife. A barely audible hum is coming from his throat.
"You're cheerful today." I point out. It's annoying me how he's so calm. Why should he be relaxed when everybody else in district 12 is tense and nervous? I consider the possibility of him forgetting what happens today but I know in my heart that forgetting something like this is impossible. The Capitol make sure of that.
"Why shouldn't I be?" he asks, pausing and looking up with innocent eyes.
For a few seconds, we keep eye contact. I decide that I shall try to break his spirit. I can be spiteful like that.
"Well, your name could be pulled out of that glass orb." Mother is now staring past us all, though we are all aware that she is still listening. Her worn hands are gripping the table. Dad looks at me with a warning expression. Reuben and Vesper just watch us all curiously.
"So what if it is?" he challenges me with a teasing smile. All of a sudden, I want to be in on the joke. Something must be amusing him.
"Well it's a death sentence. You'll most likely die a horrible death." I point out and I can almost hear the wood of the table groan in protest as mother clutches onto it with an even firmer grip. Leon puts the knife down on the table and examines everybody's facial expressions before turning back to me.
"As soon as the gong sounds, I'm going to run for the nearest knife and stab myself in the heart. That way I won't have to put up with all of the brutal killings the other tributes go through. It will be a quick death." he explains to us all.
Once again, everybody's reactions are different. Mother finally loses it and bursts into tears. Reuben, who is now shaking enough for everybody to notice walks to her side and rests his arm around her shoulders. Vesper's twitching eyes are staring at the table as he tries to mentally leave the scene. Leon is pleased with what he has said and is smiling smugly. Dad raises an eyebrow and exchanges an amused glance with me. We're normally very serious about the reaping but I can't help but be pleased with my little brother's bravery.
A lot of people wouldn't class it as brave but if you give it a second thought sucicide during the hunger games is incredibly brave. Others may argue that it's the easy way out. But there isn't much entertainment in somebody stabbing themselves when there are people all around fighting to the death. No, suicide is definitely rebelling and going against the Capitol.
Dad finally takes control of the situation and he stands by mother's side.
"That's enough now Acacia, Leon." This single sentence dismisses us. We all walk away without saying a word.
It doesn't matter. Everything has already been said.