My first fanfic, let me know what you think. It will take around two more chapters for Calzona to meet, and for the story to really get going, so I hope you'll stick around for it & wait to happen (: hope you enjoy this, and please review.
Light flew past at nearly two hundred miles an hour, illuminating the small room – elegantly, but bleakly furnished – as the train flew on to its destination. Strong, rich, mahogany panelling lined the walls of the carriage, only highlighting further the contrast between its apparent infallibility, and the frailness of the figure curled up against it.
The figure, at a closer glance, was a female – a girl, of no more than seventeen years, at the very most. A thin, slightly malnourished frame was curled into an upright foetal position; pale arms curled around paler shins, a softly sculpted chin resting on rather knobbly knees. She knew the wood behind her, all of it properties and uses, but most of all, the feel of it, and the smell of the polish used to refine it. That bitter smell should have comforted her, reminded her of home. Instead, it did nothing to help the tightening knot at the bottom of her stomach, the realisation that she would most likely not see home again.
A blond, sleek head of hair curled gently around a pale oval face that could have been considered, if not for the eyes that it contained. They were blue, and hopeless. Fearful. Apprehensive. The sheer horror in them marred the otherwise attractive features. Those scared eyes were at that moment fixed on the flickering screen of a television, perhaps two metres across the room.
If an onlooker had known the girl, and what was on the 18-inch screen at the moment, they would have been horrified to. She was reliving every moment of the previous day, and it was that, combined with other ominous factors, that had changed the way those pretty blue eyes looked out onto the world.
...
'It looks grim outside today. The perfect weather to match the perfect event', was the first thought that entered Arizona Robbins' mind that morning.
It was the morning of the reaping, and as ever, she awoke and had to run to the bathroom, for fear of being violently sick. Between dry retches, she had pulled back her fair hair, and glanced out of the window. Seen the gray, gloomy sky, and it was then that her first coherent thought had sprung from her mind. There was so much venom layered into the thought that she could almost feel it corrode through her cerebral cortex.
After letting out a bitter snort of laughter, Arizona pulled herself to her feet, a little unsteady at first, but gaining strength as she took the first steps forwards. As always on the day of the Reaping, the house was empty. It had been five years since her mother and father had helped their child prepare for the Reaping. Five years since…since Tim. She let out a small hiss of air from between her teeth, but refused to let herself dwell on the silence in the house, and what it meant.
It took a moment to regain herself, but soon she was ready. The blonde gave a little shrug, to try and roll off the immense tension & pressure that had collected there, but ultimately gave up and trudged on downstairs to dust of the musty dress that was pulled out of the near rotten wardrobe but once a year.
A satisfied grin, a tanned complexion, and a swish of dark raven hair was all that could be seen as the District Two female tribute swung herself from the marble platform onto the train. This was what she had been waiting for, for nearly eighteen solid years of her life. So, sure, she hadn't been able to hope for it when she was an extremely small child, but still, this was all she could ever remember wanting.
One hand trailing the expensive wooden panelling, the Latina strode through the expansive vestibule between carriages, before turning and sliding into a room marked clearly, in an elegant, cursive font, with her name. 'Calliope Torres', it said simply, but those two words were enough to send a shiver up her spine.
She had waited eighteen years to see those words on that door, and to hear her name be called out over the echoing announcement system, freshly imported from District Three each year. Now, that time was here, and it was even more perfect than she could possibly have imagined.
Throwing herself graceful onto the plush bed in the centre of the room, the girl trained her eyes on the television in front of her. She knew the scene playing out on those tiny pixels by heart – she had played it over and over to herself in the previous hours. Flicking the television off, she instead saw the entire moment, and the hours leading up to it in her mind. As it had been the prior fifty times she had relived it, it was inexplicably flawless.
...
As happened every year, Callie was awakened by a gentle weight on the end of her bed. Knowing that when she opened her eyes, her mother would be there, grim faced and stoic, she rolled over, pretending that she had not been up for half of the night, too full of anticipation to sleep.
"Calliope, I know you're awake", came the accented, gravely voice of her father, surprising her enough to make her open her eyes. A smile slipped onto her features as she pulled the eye mask off to reveal a well-tanned, calloused man, with deep eyes staring straight at her.
"Daddy? I thought you were at work", she said, before sitting up, and reaching forwards to fix her father in a tight embrace. The man reciprocated with an eye-wrinkling smile, and spoke, more quietly now, into her ear. "This is our year Calliope, I can feel it. Get yourself dressed and come downstairs. This is it. I can feel it." With that, the tanned man pulled away and stood, tucking a strand of hair behind his daughter's ear – all of his pride contained in that one gesture – before turning sharply and walking away.
The Latina watched as the sole authority figure in her life left the room, before springing out of her soft bed, and dancing over to her closet, in which were a selection of outfits, all worn before, but all ready to be worn again for this one special occasion. 'Daddy's right', she thought with a nod, 'This is my year.'
Slipping into the perfect attire for the Reaping, she gave a shrug; readying herself for the excitable chaos that was sure to occur once she walked downstairs. Unlike her parents, she did have a mind for the darker side of the Games – for the casualties that occurred, and the lives that were broken in the process. However, unlike many people, she accepted that there was nothing that they, as a people, could do, so they should at least get the best they could from the Games.
After all, it had been drilled into her for all her life that there was no greater honour than to participate in the Games, and that every moment for eighteen years was to be spent preparing for them.