Hellloooo! Okay, I know know know I haven't updated my other two stories in like, shit, a long long time. I may or may not finish them, lately it's been on my mind. But! I have this new little thing that I just couldn't resist. So I hope you like it! It is Cato, and I hope you like my spin on the whole unknown tribute getting thrown into the games thing. I think I have a different take on it that will be a small fresh of breath air? Maybee? Lets see. I took a lot of inspiration on interviews with Alexander Ludwig, Cato, and his view on Cato's character. I'm going to stick to the books though, I didn't particularly enjoy the movie. There might be bits and pieces here and there but. Yeah.
This first chapter is kinda oddly written, but in chapter two it will be first person and more real time, not flying through the day. I just really liked writing the first chapter like this. Please review and let me know if I should continue or if you liked it! (:
Disclaimer: Don't own it, never will, and in none of these chapters will I ever own the Hunger Games.
My day started out just as innocent as any other. I awoke at dawn, the early sun sprinkling in through the shutters of my window, like every morning. I pulled on sensible black pants and shirt, the same thing I dressed myself in every day for work. I walked the same dusty back road through the woods to begin cutting down the towering trees that reached for the heavens with my fellow coworkers. Beads of sweat ran down the back of my neck, tickling my skin as my muscles strained in the vigorous swinging of my ax, the dull pain of the strenuous repeated action that I had grown accustom to over the years. The only difference being our head lumberjack instructing us to head home early, because it was reaping day, the only day where such a rare occurrence as being let off a couple hours early happened. Which would have been a welcome event, if not it being for the foreshadowed possible death that could lay ahead for the minors of district seven.
So I went home, scrubbed the dirt off my pale skin til the it was raw and new, adorned my thin body with the single dress I ever owned, the pastel mint green fabric buttoning all the way down, delicate lace trimming the bottom and skimming my knees. Taming the waterfall of fiery spirals that was my hair into two side buns, loose curls kissing my lithe shoulders, leaving little goosebumps in their wake. I let my fingertips trace the black rich velvet of my mothers mary janes before fastening the buckle clinging to my ankles, having to use the very last hole strap. The same reaping outfit of the past six years, and thankfully the last, today.
My mother put her wiry hands on mine, drinking me in for a couple seconds, nodding her head, no words spoken, just as every reaping, before we started our way to the center of town, just the two of us. I signed in, took my place with my fellow eighteen year old acquaintances I had known since I was born, nerves beginning to snake their way slowly over me like little vines, enveloping me until the same anxiety of every year took full hold. I skimmed the heads of all the other souls around me, each and every young person there trying to collect themselves just as I. The same as every year.
I held in the bubble of laughter that rose in my chest as Volumina Whishhart sauntered across the stage in all her capitol glory. Her rosy pink cheeks, lips, and hair in matching fashion, as always. This year she had one side straight and short, the other curly and long, and it appeared she had opted for dusky periwinkle iris's this year, which scanned the crowd full of enthusiasm and child like joy. Her perky high-pitched voice assaulted the crowd with the unknown foreign accent we had been hearing for as long as the Hunger Games begun. I listened to her with almost no interest, my attention waning quickly, wanting to return home and maybe let out a cry that it was finally all over for me, my last reaping come and gone like the setting sun.
My entire being tensed and she gained my attention again as she walked the short distance to the glass bowl holding all of our fates in its seemingly unimportant circumference. My wide fearful amber eyes flashed to her perfectly manicured hand, poised and elegant, reaching into the hundreds of slips of paper. My own less groomed, callused hands flexed into fists, cutting little ovals into the palms.
"May the odds be ever in your favor!" echoed out of Volumina's heart shaped mouth. I had nothing to worry about. This was the same as every year. I worried and panicked until my name isn't called out and then I relish in guilty relief, finding it hard to feel sorry for whoevers certain death wasn't mine, because I was another year safe. This was the final time I ever had to do so, I didn't need to worry. So my body relaxed and for a split second a tiny smile of hope lifted on my face. I was finally free. The odds were ever in my favor.
But then in her chipper shrill voice, Volimina squeaked out, "Alder Redwood," and I froze in stunned disbelief, because that was my name. Mine.The word repeated itself over and over. The girls around me parted like I had a disease. My lips quivered and a sob caught in the back of my throat, unable to make its way out as I was grabbed by both elbows and led to the stairs by two peacekeepers. I knew I had to look strong so the others would find me as a threat, but in that moment all I could do was stand there with a small shake in my bones, head hung in my forsaken fate.
The day started out like any other.
But now I am the girl tribute for district seven.
It was not like every day.