Am I going crazy here? Did I just write...? This is just strange. Welllll...the truth is that this story pretty much streamed out from my fingertips (weird, eh?). Ummmm...I've had a fascination with District 4 for a while (and have been really, really annoyed at how much attention District 12 gets). Sooo...this is my payback. What if Katniss and Peeta weren't the real heroes at play? What if...they didn't rebel?
"Aileen Wayvern!"
The crowd parts for me as I ascend the steps to the stage. I nod at our escort, a spunky middle-aged lady with flaming-red hair, and shake her hand, just as I am expected to. I stand quietly as she reaches in for the next tribute, the boy.
"Ventin Laker!"
The crowd moves to let him pass and, as he reaches the stage, he replicates my motions. We stand with smiles plastered on our faces as District Four cheers. And then, we are gone.
We sit in the Justice Building, each in separate rooms. My mother and father come to bid me farewell.
"We'll miss you so much, Aileen. Stay safe and make us proud!" She's crying and I know her tears are real, even if she can be a bit too emotional.
A tall man, my father smiles, but I can still see that his eyes are wet with tears held back. "Aileen. We'll see you soon," he rumbles, his voice deep, tinged with sadness and hope. They wrap their arms around me and I hug them back until the guard tells them it's time to go.
As we bounce in the car in silence, I realize that I don't know whether anyone came to see Ventin. And, much less, if anyone wants him to come back.
On the train, our mentor inspects us. He is Finnick Odair, a more-than-charismatic middle-aged man who won the Games twice, once several years ago and another more recently. He smiles thinly. "I'll give you advice, and I'll make it quick (I've seen too many die): appeal to the sponsors or your chances are slim. Especially since this is the 100th."
Ventin and I exchange glances. We've heard about the Quarter Quell all our lives. Every twenty-five years since the rebellion, there has been a special Games. The last one sent in twenty-four former victors. The ultimate victor? Our very own Finnick.
He sighs, and we can see the signs of age, the strands of gray in his fair hair, the creases in his forehead. "Well, what are your strengths?"
We both hesitate and he sighs again. "I suppose that's fine. I'll talk to you both later - separately."
Sitting in silence, we stare out the window until Finnick begins to speak. "I wonder why they didn't announced the Quell. It's...unusual," he murmurs to himself.
And, in my mind, I know he's right. My mother has always told me stories about the strange situations of the Games, most of them sad, but a few quite laughable. She told me of the last Quell, Finnick's second Games. They announced the conditions before the Reaping. But this year, there was no special announcement; things proceeded as normal, with all the usual fanfare.
Something's up. I can feel it in my bones. I shudder. What will the Capitol do now?
Ooooooh...cliff-hanger (but, hey, if I didn't end it there, I'd go on forever and ever...). Please review! If I can get either 4 reviews or 4 story follows/favorites, a new chapter will be on its way.