The Hijack Games;
1.
My eyes open to early morning sunrise. Even though the light beaming through my window and down onto the skin of my neck is warm, everything else around me is bone chillingly cold. It's been snowing here in district three for almost two months now and I never really do get used to it. The bitter cold is one thing, but traveling in it is another. Daily life is a hassle when it's below ten degrees outside. I sigh as I pull my short chestnut hair into a tiny ponytail behind my head. My skull hurts—inside I mean. Probably from spending most of my night out searching the fence. It encompasses the whole district and is always charged with an electric shock that will cause your body to melt if you ever tried touching it. Which is why I steer clear of it, except on days where I have no other choice but look for a way out.
There's this dream in my head, though everyone I've ever told has called me stupid for having it. I want to escape—leave and never come back. I want to see what's out there. Is every district the same? Are some more lenient? Are people still starving and dying in the streets there? Most of all, I want to see the capitol. Which is a terrible idea really, coming from someone as smart as I am. I don't mean to brag, but I'm a wiz when it comes to inventing and creating things out of hardly any materials at all. Some of my friends would say I'm blessed with the gift, others thought nothing of it. It's not like I can really do much with it other than sell a few things here and there for some spare change in my pocket. Living is hard enough, but starting a business in this kind of economy is practically impossible.
The innards of my stomach rumble, begging me to eat something substantial before I pass out. What a load of horseshit it is that I probably won't get to eat today. Though, I have to think that way. There isn't any other way to think in the districts. Which is why I want to travel to the capitol. Maybe somehow sneak in and become one of them. Not that I want to be anything like those pompous bastards, but I just want a life where I don't have to worry about food. Speaking of food, I need to buy some today—either that or sign up for the tesserae. It's hard to consider that, though. I don't want to put my name in more times for that sickening drawing. The one I can't stand to hear about or even mention in any conversation.
The Hunger Games are drawing very near I notice as my eyes go towards the calendar hanging on one of the dirtied walls of my small home. Soon everyone will get all dressed up, as if going to some banquet where they can meet a queen or king. We will all stand around that stadium and wait for one of our names to be called. But there will be no king or queen to meet, only untimely death. The Hunger Games are dreaded, and for good reason. Even I shake in my boots every time I think of them. Every year, they put each child's name in from the day they turn twelve until the age of eighteen, the last year that you are eligible. It's a sick way of reminding us that the capitol has us all in an iron grip with no intentions of letting us out. Rebellion is so far off the charts that no one even tries anymore. Not after what happened to district thirteen. No one wants another blood bath. But no one wants this either.
The smell of textiles fills my nose as I turn and stare at my solemn reflection in the only mirror the house possess. It is cracked on one side, causing my neck to look deformed. The freckles on my face stand out, along with my brightly colored green eyes; they never really seem to lose their shine, which I guess is something to be happy about. I'm coughing as I wash my face. My throat hurts from what I assume to be allergies. The small pay I receive from working in the factories can hardly keep me healthy let alone fed.
A small cat jumps onto the counter suddenly, scaring me half to death. It's black with yellow eyes that could probably scare anyone in the dark. I pet the feline, noticing its few patches of lost fur.
"Getting into trouble, Toothless?" I ask the tabby, running my hand along its back again.
The cat meows at me, purring from the touch. It's been almost a year since I found the animal. It was starving and beaten down, but I saved it. The kitten still hobbles a little, but he's a kind beast.
After brushing my teeth, I enter the living room where my father is sleeping. He's a very large man with a big heart, benevolent to a tee, more or less. Looking at him makes me miss my mother. He's snoring, loudly at that, so I leave as quickly as possible.
Outside it is downright freezing. My gloves and socks are doing nothing to save me from the daunting premonition of frostbite. Toothless follows me up until I reach the large warehouse. The smoke coming from the stacks pierce the sky and leave little clean air to breathe. I'm coughing way before I enter the building. Now that I am eighteen and out of school, I work every day of my life in the factories. I stand all day; my feet usually feel like rubber after a few hours. The work isn't too hard, I know what I'm doing and it's easy to put together all the different parts to guns and electronics. It's just terribly boring and mind-numbingly exhausting. I tend to picture myself doing this for the rest of my life. I hate thinking like that. Downright loathe it.
I'm greeted by a few of my friends as I assume my regular position around all the dirty conveyer belts and rusted wheels and levers.
"Hey, Hiccup," the boy calls out my nickname while he's busy with his work. My real name, Hieden, is much more formal, though I don't mind being called Hiccup from time to time. I look the dark haired boy up and down quickly. He's short and a little chubby; he gets that from his parents who own a tiny sweets shop near my house. I always hate passing by, my mouth waters nearly every time.
I nod back to him and start up a few machines. I also wave a little to the twins whom I know from grade school. They always seem to be fighting about something, but are also thick as thieves. I am a little jealous of their relationship. I honestly don't have anyone who I care for aside from my father and Toothless. Nothing else really matters. Nothing aside from staying alive that is.
But when I really think about it…what is the point of all this? I grew up in this city, filled with starving children and polluted air merely to continue on living that way for the rest of my life? Where is the good in any of that? There is no good…not in the districts. The capitol drinks all of the wealth and happiness from everyone around them.
Those blood sucking leaches, I think with anger in my soul.
A light comes on and I hear a few telltale noises of a projector being fired up. I look up and realize that there is a broadcast on the wall. It is loud enough so everyone stops and pays attention to it. Much to my dismay, the projection depicts a man with a slightly long face, his eyes a strange and unnerving golden color and his skin seemingly stained an ashy gray. Everyone knew this man; he's like a god to the capitol and a filthy conman to the districts.
"Hello everyone, this is president Pitch speaking to you all on this gorgeous day," announces the president, as if no one knows who he is in the first place. "I'm here to tell you all that the annual Hunger Games are approaching very soon, indeed. And you all must be ready for this wonderful occasion, when we celebrate sixty-three years of the capitol overcoming the hardship's that the districts have brought down upon us. In memory of all those citizens who lost their lives, we ask you to take part in the games as not only tributes, but hero's. In three days the tributes will be reaped from the ages of twelve and eighteen to participate in the games. They will be challenged and tested on their skills and bravery while in the games. They will be required to fight the rest—to the death. And once only one is left standing, the victor will come home to riches and wealth beyond their wildest dreams. Let this be a reminder that no one can stand up against—"
I plug my ears, trying to block it out. His voice scares me. The thought of being in the games scares me. When I finally pull my fingers away from my ears, I hear one last sentence come from those sickly lips, "—and may the odds be ever in your favor."
Its four hours of work until I can finally sit down. The cup of water in my hands tastes so good to me; I drink it as fast as possible. With what little cash I have, I pay for a small loaf of bread at the lunch room and then sit down to eat what I have. I feel stares on me, empty stomachs growling and very few sounds of silverware clinking like probably how a normal cafeteria is supposed to sound. Not that I would know. Only a handful of people are eating. Those who can spare the extra money and don't have to spend it on family members or dying animals.
I munch on my bread in the quietude of my mind, focusing on nothing except the dull murmur of voices hovering around my head. Soon someone sits with me. I look up and realize it's a girl with dull blonde hair tied back into a braid. I think she's probably about my age. She seems tired and worn down, her face sunken in a little, probably from days of not eating. Her blue eyes tug on my heart strings and I pull off some of my bread and hand it to her. It was gone in less than two seconds, I counted.
"What's your name?" I ask as I give her another bite.
She gobbles it down once again, not even looking at me this time. "Astrid," she replies with a mouth full of dough.
It's quiet again and I decide to just give her the rest of my bread. My stomach isn't full at all, but it makes me happy that I have someone to keep me company.
"Are you worried about the reaping?" the blonde asks me out of the blue. The word sends chills up my spine.
I try to shake off my uncomfortable emotions. "It scares me to hell and back."
She nods and continues to eat. It's not long before the bell rings and we are sent back to work again. I watch as the girl walks in front of me. One of her shoes is moth bitten and her knuckles are red and bleeding from the winter's cold. If I have an extra pair of gloves, I'll bring it to her tomorrow.
The day goes by so slowly. My fingers burn, grease cakes under my nails and sweat drips down the back of my neck. As I exit the factory, I take a detour to the market. I have meager change, but enough to buy my father something to eat for the day at least.
The streets are bustling, despite the cold air blowing through everyone's worn clothes. I stop by the butcher and purchase a very small slab of meat which I wrap up and put into my shoulder bag. With the last of my money, I buy a decent sized loaf of bread which is piping hot and smells amazing. I want nothing more than to sink my teeth into it, but I can wait. My father hasn't eaten all day and is probably starving. As I walk away with my treasures, I notice a child tugging on my pants. My generosity has run out and I am chilled to the bone. Even though I feel bad, I can't keep helping every single person that needs it. I would end up giving away my house if that happened. So I brush him off and keep my steady pace. My heart aches at the feeling of guilt bubbling up inside me.
The door creaks as I push myself through. My voice also is shaky after not using it for basically the whole day. "Dad?"
"Hieden," I hear. He's in the same place I left him, sitting by the small fireplace that isn't burning.
I walk into the room and set my bag down beside him, wrapping the strap around his arm. "I'm going to get more fire wood. There's food for you in my bag."
He coughs and then laughs and wheezes again before answering, "I have such a good son."
The smile on my face is genuine, but hardly worth the effort. He can't see it. He's gone blind in his old age for almost a year now. Also to add to the misfortune, he lost his leg in the factory due to someone being a dipshit and leaving the machinery on for too long. It went haywire and sliced his leg up something awful. So he's basically immobile and inoperable. They say he can't work anymore. It came upon me to take care of him, but he isn't getting any better. His cough is way worse than mine. Sometimes I notice he coughs up blood. I'll clean it up while telling him about my day. He doesn't know, and I don't want to tell him. There's only one doctor around that could help, but he lives in the Victor's Village which means he's off limits unless you have enough money. And his price isn't cheap. So…if my father only has a few months or even weeks to live, I can't let him know that.
Tears brim in my eyes as I pile my arms with wood. Nothing and no one will save him and I absolutely hate that. Nothing can save me either. Nothing can save the districts. And nothing ever will.
Night time draws near and my father is sleeping again. Toothless purrs and warms my lap as I sit close to the remains of the fire. It crackles and pops, dying in the cold that creeps up behind me. I stand up and make sure my father has enough blankets to keep him warm throughout the night. As I walk off to my room I feel the need to bathe but despise the thought of getting into a tub of cold water. We are lucky enough to have running water in our house; hot water is a privilege that only few people can afford. Most people don't even have sinks.
I wash myself with that thought in mind, even though chills cover my body. I hurry and scrub my skin until it's raw. The filth of the day mixes with my rattled emotions and fills the tub until I can retire to my bed for the night. I think of the boy, clinging to my pants in the market. I think of the girl Astrid, who is forced to work hard labor when she is hardly bigger than a toothpick. And I think of my father, whose days are number all because of the capitol. I damn them in my head, cursing out vulgarities and screaming silently for only myself to hear. The hatred I have for the people in the capitol is unfathomed.
The next day goes by even slower than the one before. I consider it's probably because I'm dreading the reaping. Or maybe it's because another day has gone by and my father only moves less and less. Whatever it is, the horrible sick feeling in my gut doesn't dissipate and every minute seems longer than the last. Even when I sit down next to Astrid at lunch I can't seem to bring myself to think of anything good in the world.
I give her an extra pair of gloves from my pocket and she thanks me gratefully. The girl then speaks to me a little more than yesterday. She tells me of her family. They have five children and only a mother to care for them. They manage to keep a small business going with the livestock the have acquired by selling milk and fresh cheese. Most of her siblings are young, so Astrid feels she has to keep the family from falling into the gutter.
"I've had to put my name in an extra sixty-five times…" she tells me solemnly. "Without the tesserae we wouldn't make it…" My green eyes blink without emotion. Only sadness seeps into my soul, gradually eating away at it like acid the more the girl speaks. "I'm so sacred…what if I get chosen this year? I don't want to die. I don't want to die…"
I clench my fingers into a fist beneath the table, feeling the need to punch something—anything. If I had to pick, it would be some pompous capitol snob, like the president. But I stilled myself for the sake of the girl. "Don't worry so much. You'll go gray." I pick up the end of her braid and smile through heated emotions and this makes her smile. I feel happy that I can still trigger someone do that. Even if I know hardly anything about this girl, we can still share one common goal—to bring happiness to others around us, little by little, day by day.
Work is long and hard and when I return home I have nothing aside from sweat and tired sighs. I work all night on trying to come up with some way to breach the fence. If I can just get past it, then I could hunt in the woods. I am skilled at making arrows and knives and know how to hunt from my father telling me about it. I would have to practice a lot, but at least I would be trying. I hate just sitting in my room with nothing to do and only an empty stomach to remind me that I'm still alive.
The morning comes too soon and once again I'm back at the factory. I spend lunch with Astrid again and we have a short conversation about the capitol. I almost end up punching the table. The blonde gives me wide eyes when I stand up and briskly walk away, not being able to handle any more of it.
Throughout the day I'm constantly thirsty but the hunger pains have subsided. A different pain enters my gut and calls it home—some kind of foreboding. I fear for my life. The reaping is tomorrow and I'm not ready for it. What will happen to my father if I'm chosen? Will he die on that couch? Will I never be able to see him again?
These thoughts plague me while I work, rubbing grime onto my already filthy jeans. Another long four hours pass by and I can finally return home after getting my meager pay. This causes a small burst of joy to erupt inside of me as I shop the market, looking for something delicious to share with my father. If it was indeed my last day with him, I wanted to make it special.
I bought a small roasted chicken and some freshly baked honey bread. I even sprang for a delicious smelling sauce that I figured would mesh very well with the rest of it.
On my way home, Toothless accompanies me, clinging to my heel like a pricker bur. I smile down at him, "If you're a good kitty, I'll let you have some chicken." He meows at me, as if knowing the human language.
"Dad, I'm home," I call into the house, placing my things onto the table. For some odd reason, I don't get a reply. He must be sleeping.
I walk into the room where he lies and approach him. "Dad, I bought food. You hungry?" I place a hand on his chest and shake him a little.
He's not breathing though and I want to think my mind is playing tricks on me.
"Dad, please wake up, you're scaring me…" My eyes begin to water, salty liquid dripping down my face in quick instants. "Dad…please…"
I fall to my knees, bruising them most likely and I scream. I cry my eyes out and bawl into his neck, leaving spots on his shirt. Everything hurts.
Hours pass by but they seem like years. I choke and gag on my own saliva but don't throw up. I haven't eaten in more than a day, so there isn't much in my stomach. My whole body aches as if someone has just beaten me to a pulp. After long hours of sitting there, I stand and clamber into the kitchen again. Toothless is perched beside my bag, guarding it and staring at me as he does.
I take the strap and swing it around my body then exit the house. Nothing seems real as I walk through town, holding onto the sack tightly, digging my nails into its leather. Snow crunches beneath my feet, cold and uncaring, like the rest of the world. I smell the food once again but nothing makes me want to eat. Without much of an idea of what I'm doing, I walk up to the store that I know to be the dairy.
I think quickly, I hope she lives here.
A few knocks on the door summons a tiny girl to answer it for me. "Are you a customer? Customers can just walk in, silly." She begins to tug on my arm, bringing me into the warmth. The smell makes me sick to my stomach so I cover my nose with my sleeve.
After a few moments of her pulling, I see Astrid behind a counter. Her large eyes blink at me and she lifts a wooden plank to come and meet me. "Hieden?"
"I…" My voice is low and inaudible and throat feels like it's on fire as I try again, "Here…" I shove the bag into her hands and begin to walk back towards the door.
"W-wait, Hieden!" I've already left by the time she said my name.
I end up sitting by the fence for another few hours. The wind is calm and cooling, drying my damp face free of tears. I have nothing now. Nothing to keep safe. Nothing to live for. My life is meaningless.
I hear a meow to my right and Toothless is there. I bite my lip and the cat lets me hold it and cry some more. Its fur drenched in tears, never once does he move from my embrace.
The intelligent side of my brain tells me to go home but my body is numb from the cold and the wind. I pass the limits of what my body can physically handle and can hardly feel my legs as I return. And it's still not over. I know that I am going to have to bury my own father—all by myself.
The house smells horrid already, as if the body has been left to rot for days instead of hours. I can hardly bring myself to walk into the room again. I'm scared and hurt. I cry more as Toothless follows me, perhaps for moral support.
It takes me hours to dig a hole big enough in the frozen ground. I'm tried and starving by the time I finished. I drink from the sink to replenish my thirst and then begin to drag his body out of the house and into the backyard where I have dug the grave. The whole time I am solidly detached from reality, focusing on nothing but the task at hand.
His lifeless body falls into the hole with a loud thud and I cringe, feeling myself retch. I dry heave, my hands on the snowy ground, gloves drenched from tears and melted snow. Before pulling myself back up, I reach for the shovel and begin filling in the pit. With each sound of dirt hitting his body, I cripple in on myself. Soon, I'm simply pushing the dirt around, hoping it will fall into the hole and cover my dead father.
When I re-enter my home, it doesn't feel like a home at all. It seems more like a tomb. I cry some more as I wash the dirt and grime from my body. I'm cold and shivering by the time I lay down for sleep. It comes to me quickly, which I'm thankful for.
The only bad thing being that I had no time to remember that the reaping is only hours away.
Sunlight breaches my eyes the next morning, letting me know it's just past noon. Shock enters my stomach, my chest hurts like crazy. I try not to remember that my father is dead.
Something sounds in the distance—a long, piercing alarm, followed by two more, each as loud as the next.
It only means one thing: it's the day of the reaping.