A/N: Hey, thanks for clicking on this story and reading it! Well, I assume you do read stories. This author's note is just to remind you that this is written in first person, so we're inside this character's mind. Since this guy's mind is a bit... special... let's call it that, the story might sound kind of dumb/naive at the beginning. Please don't worry, it'll get interesting. I promise to write quickly to get to the Games, because that is really the best part.
I'm not going to beg for reviews, so just read, and if your heart feels bent on reviewing, so be it.
~Megalor9
Once Sane
Chapter One: Vocation
"We hear you have a special sort of talent," the stone-faced man says. "Others have confirmed this when we've interviewed them. You have some sort of talent that we'd like to see. Can you show us?"
Does this man show emotion? It doesn't seem like he has any feelings. Like a dead person. His pale face certainly looks like a dead person. Then again, do I know what a dead person really looks like? The only ones I've seen are on TV, but they all have blood covering them.
"I'm h-h-" I search for the word in my head. What is it? "honored that you think I'm amazing," I say, despite how rash it sounds.
"What date was it four weeks ago?" the dead man asks.
"Monday, July 2. Why do you ask?" I ask him.
"And what day of the week was that five years ago?"
"A Wednesday. Why are you questioning me?"
"What day of the week will that be in three years?"
"Friday. Now can I go back to my floor?"
The man shows one expression for the first time. Shock. Slightly, I see his mouth open. He starts typing something into his... um... I think it's a computer, but he types furiously. He still wears the shocked expression. So the guy isn't dead, I guess. I start to leave, but he asks one more thing.
"What day is today?"
"Reaping Day, obviously."
Reaping Day.
"Reaping Day! Oh no! The Capitol monsters are going to eat you, Daisy!" A loud shriek pierces the air. Footsteps patter the dirt floor, kicking up dust to my nose. Agh. The dust should go away before it angers me further.
I turn. It was a dream, the half-dead interviewer. Just a dream, and nothing more. But the loud shriek certainly wasn't a dream. It's my younger twins. I wish they were dreams.
Daisy is my younger sister, and such a bright cheery person. She's the one shrieking, running from my little brother Darel, who was chasing her and screaming about Capitol monsters.
I rise out of my mat that I was sleeping on, wishing that I slept on a real bed. My neck hurts from sleeping on the floor. When I do rise up, the shrieking and the chasing of Darel and Daisy ceases. They're both staring at me.
"What? Are the Capitol monsters gone?" I ask.
"What Capitol monsters?" Darel says innocently.
"Don't freak your sister out. It's Reaping Day," I tell him.
"Sorry, big brother," he says.
"He's not sorry," Daisy follows, then calls to her parents. Notice I say her parents. Not mine. "Sylas is awake!"
Daisy's my adopted sister. I was adopted into their family, before Daisy and Darel were born. I have no memory of my real parents, not even flashes, or smiles, or glimpses, or even feelings. These people are my real family. I try and believe that, anyways. It calms me down to think that I do actually have a family.
From rumors I've heard, people think I was given up after I was 'dropped on the head'. I feel no bruises on my head. Of course that's a lie. But people take me as unintelligent, and the nice people try and help me. The mean ones try and hurt me.
I stand up and walk out of the shared bedroom we have, with the dirt floor. Three dusty beds are against three of the four walls in the square room. The mat I was sleeping on is in the center, to maybe bring some light into the gloomy house we have. There are three rooms in the house, one being our parents' bedroom, and the other being the eating area. This is one of the bleakest places I've seen, compared to the Justice Building in town. There is no comparison. The Justice Building beats it.
If only I could live there.
And if you get reaped on Reaping Day, you go there, and then you go to the Hunger Games. I've seen the Hunger Games on television, and it doesn't look like fun. There's always people dying, and blood splattering over a varying terrain. Like a horror movie, once every year. When I was younger I was told that television shows lie sometimes, and that they're played by actors. Hopefully that's just acting.
I stand by the door to wait for the rest of my family to get ready. I've thrown on a once-nice coat that was owned by my father, and now is my size. The coat is now scratched up a bit, but is otherwise clean. It's the cleanest piece of clothing I have. And we always keep it for Reaping Day.
Daisy comes running out after her mother helped her put on her bright yellow dress. Her clothes must be new. Darel comes out with a sweater, which I recognize as one of mine. And finally our parents are ready, too. So I swing open the door and depart to the Justice Building.
I live in District Six. The air here could not be smoggier. So many trains have come through, burning their fuels, and the gas has made the air hard to breath. I've been on many trains; instead of school, I work with my father in the unloading and loading business. But I don't like the rickety feeling of the old school trains, with the bumps on the tracks. The new trains from the Capitol are much better, sleek, and they look better. Shiny, silver, traveling twice as fast as a normal train car does.
"Darel," the voice of my mother says. "You can go off and talk to your friends, just be back with us before we get to the square." Darel was tugging at his mother's dress, begging to go and talk to his friends from school. I've never been in a school before, but it sounds like an alien environment. Darel runs off to talk to a group of kids the same age as he is, all with the mousy brown hair that is common here in Six.
As I walk through the District, I see two new things: Cameras, and soldiers. I've always heard the name Peacekeepers used to describe the soldiers, and that's the nicest name that I've heard. Some of the things the soldiers are called would get my mouth washed out with soap. How can the soldiers be called Peacekeepers if they carry around guns?
"Sylas, stop staring at the soldiers," my mother says, in her soft voice that I've grown to know very well. Even if you're angry, listening to her voice can make you forget most of your troubles. It's almost hypnotic. But I was staring at the soldiers, and seeing how still they stand, guarding the cameras and the reaping square.
People tell me I can't stay still for seconds. All of a sudden I find my arm moving, squirming, or my leg shaking, even if I try to stay still. Many days alone at home, when Daisy and Darel are off at school, I try to stay still, and fail at it.
Darel is running back towards me, pulling one of his friends by the arm. The rest of his group of friends follows the leader. "Look, my brother is a genius. He is!" Darel tells the leader of the group.
"Yeah right!" Darel's friend says. He points at me and laughs. The rest of his friends laugh as well. "How could he be a genius when he's got a finger up his nose! Haha!"
My finger! How did it get there? I move my finger back towards my pocket, wiping it against my pants.
"He is! Look, Tanis, tell him your birthday. Watch." Darel says, trying to recover for me.
"Why would I tell him that? Can he understand me?" Tanis says, laughing once more. It seems the group of friends that Tanis has are like mirrors, repeating everything he does. "Hello! Earth to Idiot!"
"Go away," I mumble towards the youngest person by far to insult me.
"What's that?"
"Tanis, just go away," Darel says. "I'll see you after the reaping."
"Go away!" Tanis whines. "What a baby!"
Darel turns to my father. "Will you let them get away with that, Dad? Go beat 'em up!"
"I'm not beating up your friends, Darel," he says, without a blink or a turn of his head.
"How about you, Mom?"
"No, sweety. Can't you have nicer friends, like Daisy here?" mother says. "Oh, Sylas, you have to go in the square now. You know the drill. Just stand with the other sixteen-year-olds and wait until everyone leaves, and we'll find you then. Bye bye!"
It's time for me to walk alone. I stand and wait in a long line of other boys, most younger, but some older than I am. When it's my turn in line, a female soldier asks for my finger. I hold out the index finger of my left hand, the one that wasn't in my nose, for her. With my right hand, I cross my fingers, hoping that it won't hurt. It's that finger poking tool they use on each and every child, taking a bit of blood from your finger and making you press it down on paper. When I was first in the reaping, four years ago, I was literally in tears when my finger was poked. Now, it just stings, because I'm used to it.
The sting lasts a second, and I'm immediately hurried into the square, with a bunch of other guys my age. We are like caged animals. The whole place is surrounded by soldiers. I don't have to wait long before they start playing the film of the Capitol. It's just movie that they've shown every year, which boasts about how great the Hunger Games are, blah, blah, almost like a commercial. I really wish they would change the film, because it gets boring after four years. Then the person from the Capitol comes up on stage, the one I've seen every year. It's a guy, with aqua blue hair done up in a mohawk.
The usual hair color of District Six is brown, or sometimes black. The Capitol hair color must be blue, then.
The Blue Man speaks about the Reaping day, and then goes onto the actual event, the reaping itself. He gets out two glass bowls, each with the names of every person 12-18 in District Six. I remember the Hunger Games being explained to me when I was twelve, and it was too nerve-wracking back then. Now I know that if your name gets picked, then you have to go to the Hunger Games and never come back. Every year, a girl and boy are picked. I've never see one come back to the District.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, I pick your District's female tribute. Remember that twenty one years ago, Madelyn Trissete won the Hunger Games for District Six. There she is right now!" the Blue Man motions to the the lady in her forties sitting on a chair onstage. She looks tired, as if she just wants a nap. "And your last victor, who won 15 years ago, Bryn Tawen is with her."
I see Bryn a lot on the streets, playing cards with some older and young people. They laugh a lot, but from overheard conversations, I hear that Bryn is in a lot of debt. He owes them some money. Onstage, Bryn gives everyone a nervous smile. Some people in the crowd glare at him.
The Blue Man reaches into the glass bowl, and shuffles the slips of paper in them. He selects one after about thirty seconds of shuffling. "Your female tribute is... Sofia Hadaway!"
There's a gasp, but a tall girl walks up on stage. She's got the brown hair of District Six, paired with brown eyes and a tan skin. She's slim, and tall, and must be older than me. Sofia looks near tears on the stage. I don't like it when everyone else is sad around me. I take my mind off of it by staring at the Justice Building, witht he red banners hanging down from the top of it. The banners only appear on reaping day, like this is a holiday of some sorts.
I always marvel at the architecture when I see it. I'm a fan of the architecture. I've always wanted to know how people built giant structures, or trains. The only good thing about that Capitol film is that one scene where it shows a picture of a big city, with organically shaped buildings made completely out of steel. I'd love to go there. Maybe that's the Capitol.
Faintly, in the distance of my thoughts, I hear my mother's voice. "Sylas Reindhart," she says.
"Not now, mom."
"Sylas Reindhart? Where is he?"
"I'm here, but don't bother me!" I yell back.
"Ah! There you are! Come up on the stage!"
What?
Was I just reaped? I refrain from using any of my father's words which would get my mouth washed out with soap.
I look up at the Blue Man. I'm right next to him. I've been forced up here, against my will, when I don't have any evidence that I was chosen. Up close, I see the Blue Man also has a blue mustache, which adds to his general creepiness. He smells awfully good, like an overdose of mint, and my brain starts to feel lightheaded.
"District Six, I give you your two tributes, however reluctant they may be, Sofia Hadaway and Sylas Reindhart!" the Blue Man announces. I hear sobbing in the audience, but that's it. Nothing. I'm guessing the Blue Man expected cheering and trumpets and fireworks, but none of that happens. My head starts to hurt again, and pure panic enters my heart.
I probably won't come out, just like all of the other people that get chosen. I'll never see my family again. I go to act on this television show. I turn around, dizzier by the second, when I see one of the trains from the Capitol in one of the docks.
What a cool train, I think, before I hit the ground, passed out.