Reapings - Part 1:
Nicolet Armin (14), District 5 Female
As always, I'm completely alone.
It's only me sitting in the ashes of what used to be my home, tying my shoelaces in a double knot as I do everyday. There's ash and dirt on my shoes - as always - that never seems to come off no matter how often I clean them. I stare blankly at a few grains of ash resting on the fabric, trying to figure out what it used to be. Or rather, who it used to be. Even after two years, District Five still hasn't managed to recover from the wide-scale bombing that took place in the less industrialised areas - seeing as the Capitol wanted some factories left so that they weren't affected too badly if they won the war - so the area surrounding the remains of my home haven't been cleared up yet.
In a weird way, I kind of don't want the Peacekeepers to come here and build new factories in the space that my childhood had been spent in; I don't want change, I don't want yet another reminder of how easily everything in life can be erased. It's hard enough coming to terms with the fact that Mum, the person who had raised and protected me for twelve years of my life, is no longer here with me. That's the only reason I haven't tried finding somewhere that's more hospitable than a hollow shell of my old house, because maybe the loss I see everyday would become less painful over time. I can't remember the last time I cried over anything; I can barely find it in me to care about what the world is doing. It doesn't concern me.
Do people even know that I'm alive?
Plenty of people had died or were presumed dead after the same round of explosions that had killed Mum, so what would one more girl added to the death toll do to anyone? All that most people got from a fleeting glance of me is a dusty, tired kid; if anybody recognised the scruffy, malnourished little girl that is me as an orphan, I'd be dragged away to the community home. My mind conjures up harsh regimes, pushy kids that would overreact to everything, people being disruptive and trying to force their views onto me. I cower slightly behind the wall that hides me from the view of passing citizens. It's so much nicer here, when I don't have to deal with how loud people are. They had been like that just before the bombs had started to fall, that much I can remember.
Getting to my feet, I start the long trek down to the nearest city, not even having to pay attention. My feet have been long acquainted with every twist and turn in this route, so there's no point in stopping my feet from dragging with every step.
What little motivation that had dragged me away from my makeshift bed this morning evaporates as the city looms in the distance, a dark grey smudge against fields of crumbled cinderblock and a uniform grey sky. Why am I even bothering? What use does my existence even have? Nobody would want to hire me for work, seeing as I'm horribly unqualified, and even if someone did, what's the point in working? All it'll do is wear me down even more until I eventually die and my body ends up buried six feet under.
Reaching the nearest building, I lean against it, scanning the other people going through the motions of life like they'd actually benefit if they tried hard enough. Even after being faced with the prospects of seeing their own flesh and blood slaughter each other, that's still not enough to wake them up to how needlessly cruel the world they live in is. And even though it's glaringly obvious that the Capitol need them, people still blindly go along with it all. It's almost funny how District Five is in such a rush to go back and serve the Capitol the same way they had done before the war, as if the Capitol can really afford to kill any more of their workforce. The Capitol can try and pretend that we don't have a choice in repairing District Five and that we're expendable - and we are in the long-term - but it's obvious that the Capitol need the districts to keep themselves running, no matter how much the Capitol scorn us.
I guess I'm in a similar situation; I don't like the new version of District Five, but it's the only place I have that I can call home and that provides me with food. Even the scraps of the rich are better than going to sleep with nothing. That's why I'm looking for someone who's oblivious enough to how fragile their livelihood is to leech off.
"You lost, sweetheart?" A male voice speaks, making me jump. I look around for the person once it becomes apparent he's referring to me. When my eyes make contact with his light blue ones, I immediately look away, as if that would protect me from having him see right through me. I've forgotten how much I hate having someone's judgmental eyes fixated on me with the same level of interest as this man's are. Whenever I have to venture into the richer areas of District Five to rummage through the dustbins for scraps or pickpocket someone, peoples' eyes have scanned over me with apathy. Nobody cares for one more scrappy kid in the crowds or really care if someone's committing a petty criminal act; such offences are too numerous nowadays.
"Town square." My voice is barely higher than a whisper as I take a couple of steps back, just waiting for some juvenile taunt or passive-aggressive remark about me to pass through his mouth without a second thought.
I see his lips curve upwards, distorting into a clown's face. "It's just along that road, love."
Why is he calling me that? Why is he even helping me? I try reciprocating the smile, unsure of if that will pacify him. As I turn away, I see a small bag attached to his belt. I pretend not to notice this as I continue observing the cobblestones of the alleyway he directed me down, but it's difficult not to imagine how long that plump bag of coins would sustain me for, the amount of food I could buy with that so that I don't have to come here for a while.
My hand's reached down to the thin shard of rock that's hidden in my trouser pockets before I've even thought about it, but then I see him make that weird facial expression at another stranger as they greet him warmly, and the temptation passes. People actually acknowledge his presence; he actually contributes to this society, no matter how futile those efforts are.
Really, I don't even have the right to the scant pickings I take from others. I do nothing to deserve anything.
Trying to ignore fantasies of a hot meal with the money I'm turning away from, I stick close to the walls of the alleyway as I briskly walk down it, head bowed and arms shoved in my pockets. I manage to avoid another confrontation as I approach the growing queue of people. My pace falters at the number of people milling about, polluting the air with their meaningless words and need to shove their opinions in every conversation, but I steel myself. They won't notice me. Everyone will be too busy worrying about the so-called Reapings to worry about anyone else. That's how people are.
Thankfully, the wait is short and I'm staring into the faceplate of a Peacekeeper in no time. I'm not sure if staring into a pair of eyes is creepier or not.
"Hand." When I oblige, they prick my hand with a needle and smear the spot of blood formed onto a small slip of paper which is then held under the scanner. A few seconds later, my name appears with my age on the scanner's screen and I'm practically shoved by the kid behind me towards the pen for the other fourteen year old girls. "Next."
It's different from last year, when they had kept everyone in the same enclosure. The screams of the boy tribute's mother from last year still ring in my ears as I look for my section. She had ended up being dragged away; something that had inspired a reaction from most of the crowd. All the screaming and writhing bodies of the citizens and Peacekeepers fighting had been like a battering ram attacking me on all sides.
Please let people be rational this year, I silently pray. They mostly accept being trodden into the ground by the Capitol the rest of the time, please don't let today be an exception. I don't want any conflict.
Although there's less people to be in close proximity with, I don't enjoy being herded with the other girls any more than I had done last year. Just because I'm now fourteen - an age when I was supposed to start being mature - doesn't mean that this is any more pleasant. It's only for an hour at most though, I reassure myself. Appearing here is necessary to blend in, that's all.
That doesn't help stop me flinch slightly every time I see someone look my way for more than a second, nor does it block out the anxious mutterings of parents and children alike or the occasional obnoxious kid trying to hide their fear. They all have one thing on their minds that they hoped for. Don't pick me.
Well, maybe hoped is the wrong word; expected would be more suitable. After all - as they are no doubt reasoning themselves with - they have so much to live for; why would they be picked? Nobody wants to face the fact that even if they do survive today unscathed, they're only delaying the inevitable. Everybody dies eventually, don't they?
Why is everyone so scared of facing it now? I don't get it.
"Greetings, District Five," a foreign voice pierces my eardrums and my hands fly up to protect my ears automatically before realising that nobody else is doing the same. Quickly, I lower them, not wanting anyone to mark me out as 'weird' or 'different.' "It's that time of year again when two of your children must pay for your folly in rebelling against the benevolent Capitol." I snort at this, earning me a few curious looks. "And must fight to defend what little remains of their district's pride and honour in the Hunger Games! But first, we have a video all the way from the Capitol to be played."
Wait, again? I think as the monotone narration begins to play. I remember them playing this very same clip last year and it's something that I had liked watching the first time. Is this something they plan on doing every year?
However, as I analyse the propaganda that's about as subtle as a brick thrown at your head, I notice that the clip is interspersed with snippets from last year's Games. You can't forget some of the moments they had decided to show here, like the explosion the girl from Three had set off in order to kill her two pursuers and the boy from Ten turning on his own district partner. None of the clips portray us in a positive light, not that I had been expecting them to.
Naturally, they have a screenshot of the District Two boy, Aeneas, pumping his fist in the air after he had won the First Hunger Games alongside the sound of pompous trumpets to drown out the vengeful words against the Capitol that Aeneas had screamed when he had won. If you hadn't watched the unedited broadcast last year where you had heard every obscenity he had yelled, you would have thought that he was supporting his victory.
"Isn't that just wonderful? Truly representative of all children in the districts, I'm sure." The escort, Beatrix, smiles maliciously, like some of the older girls used to do to me when they had found me stupid and they had just smiled with hollow eyes and forced grins as they waited to talk about me when I was gone. "Now, time for the girls!"
There's complete silence bar the wind roaring when Beatrix unfurls the slip. None of the children wanted to risk punishment by betraying their fear here. "And the second girl to bear the burden of District Five's sins is...Anya Swain."
I inhale sharply, looking around along with everyone else for any signs of backlash. It takes a few moments for the girl to be revealed as the crowd in the section behind me shuffles away from the condemned girl who is being held back by a tall girl who resembles Anya closely; sisters, maybe? Her blue eyes are teary as she clings onto Anya, lips moving as she desperately begs Anya to not go into the Hunger Games. Another wail pierces the atmosphere as a woman collapses to her knees. "No! She can't go! You can't take her away from us!"
She has people who appreciate her, people who actually care wherever she lives or dies.
I can't say the same.
Would Mum even have done the same for me, I ponder, as I watch the poor mother break down. Would she have tried to fight for me if my name had been called? The little girl that I had buried in the back of my mind would have hoped so, but I know that my mother never fought for something if it was futile. She hadn't tried to reassure me that everything would be okay in the end; Mum had been honest with me from the moment I was old enough to understand her.
Everybody looks with 'sympathy' at Anya, all the while edging away from her. A couple of people nudge into me as they follow suit, making me stare at them in astonishment. How can people pretend to care about her, yet are happy to stand by and watch her receive a death sentence before they go home and forget about her? It just reminds me of how much I despise living in such a world, how stupid everybody really is for blindly assuming that their life is worth living just because they existed.
Before the squadron of Peacekeepers descend on Anya and her sister, I start darting in between the crowd of relieved girls that are just so glad that their lives had been spared so that they can be worked to death, ignoring the surprised sounds of indignation as I push them out of the way. It seems like seconds before I'm up on that stage - away from all those horrible people - alongside the colourful Capitol woman, who twists her candyfloss-pink lips at me. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I-I-I." I have to stop for a few seconds to pull myself together. "I'll take her p-place."
Beatrix's eyes widen; she surely hadn't been expecting any of the 'brutal' and 'savage' district folk to walk forwards to their death for another person. Well, it's not as if I'm being selfless; that means that I actually have something valuable to lose, and if I've learned anything from my fourteen years, it's that my life is anything but valued here. "Is this even - "
"Allowed? There's nothing stopping her," the mayor interrupts, smiling. When Beatrix opens her mouth to continue, he stops her again. "Oh, let her go in if she wants to. What harm can it do?"
"Er, well." Beatrix seems to have lost her nasty disposition as she tries to take this in. "It seems we have a new girl representing District Five. Isn't she brave?"
Even the wind seems to have dropped as everyone stares blankly at me, their faces a mask of stunned disbelief bar a few people that dare to glare at me. I guess they feel that I'm advocating the Capitol by taking Anya's place. I can say the same for how quickly they've allowed the Capitol to walk all over them again.
"In any case, you still have your male tribute to deal with." Beatrix regains her composure within seconds and has already retrieved another slip while I was busy observing the reactions of the crowd. "And the young boy that District Five have sacrificed to the Second Annual Hunger Games is...Austin Daivat!"
There's silence for a moment before a shriek erupts from the throat of the chosen boy and a disturbance is created as the boy - presumably Austin - shoves another kid out of his way as he makes his way towards the stage. He's making a blatant effort to look tough and I sigh. He might as well show his emotions. It might make the average person think he's weak, but trying to deny them only makes you even more vulnerable. When he makes eye contact with me, his face scrunches up in distaste, although the scorn in his expression is weakened somewhat by the tears streaming down from puffy red eyes.
It's then that the realisation of what I've done hits me, how drastically my life is going to change thanks to that one moment of pity for Anya.
Although Austin must have more people that care about him than I do, nobody visibly reacts to the fact that he's entering the Games. He keeps looking over desperately at two stern-faced adults who I presume to be his parents. Even they manage to remain calm, staring impassively back at their son with no tears threatening to appear. Nobody cares for him either? Austin had been fully integrated into this society and nobody cares about the fact that he would most likely never come back?
They must do; it's not like they're at risk of being Reaped, so it's not that they're relieved it's not them up there. He's their son. If they had spent their lives raising him, shouldn't they feel something that he's going to be snatched from them in a blink of an eye?
I sigh, glad that I haven't wasted my time even more than I have with people as selfish as I am. They would have tried convincing me that there's actually something worthwhile about my life in an attempt at dragging me down to their level of misery.
Well, I know the truth. There's nothing left to live for, I think as I stare at the impassive crowd that refuse to acknowledge me properly. My life is just another speck in the treadmill of life and soon I will be extinguished. Taking Anya's place is only hastening the process and making it less torturous for me. I'll still die.
I might not really be okay with that, but that's life. It doesn't matter what I think of it.
Matteo Desontis (16), District 4 Male
"After you," I say politely as I keep the door open, allowing Chenelle and Nadia to carry the large box full of paint through. Nadia sticks her tongue out at me as she passes and I smile at her back. It's rare that we actually have the money to purchase supplies from one of the markets that are dotted around District Four, so it's good to see that none of them are letting the thought of the impending Reaping spoil the mood. That's probably what the Capitol want, for us to be paralysed by fear every time the Reaping comes around, but none of us are willing to dwell on this much.
Mind you, that could be because none of the children in this room are older than eight and aren't eligible to be Reaped, while I'm just trying to feel as content as they were. It's difficult to focus on anything too much when you're so caught up in the giddy excitement of the younger kids.
"Matteo, what are we painting today?" Calder asks, running over to me and tugging my sleeve stubbornly as he always does. Calder's the most blatant in making sure he has my attention. Being ignored isn't something that Calder likes whatsoever, hence why he usually overreacts to everything. "I wanna make a hovercraft!"
"No way, hovercrafts look stupid!" Nadia retorts, sticking out her tongue again. "Nature's much more prettier! I'm going to paint a lily."
"I'm making a rose." Chenelle sides with Nadia as she clumsily puts down the box with Nadia's help and grabs a pot of red paint.
"Hovercrafts are nice too." Calder defends himself, speaking louder than he needs to while crossing his arms over his chest. "Way more interesting than some boring old weeds and mud."
"No they ain't, don't lie!" Chenelle replies. "Just because you can't paint flowers doesn't mean that we're not allowed to."
Calder pouts, sticking out his lip. "Matteo, help! They're being mean to me!"
"Are not!" The other two chorus before Chenelle feels it necessary to add, "but let's face it, Calder, you only picked a hovercraft 'cos all you have to do is make a grey blob and yer done."
"There's nothing wrong with Calder making a hovercraft if he wishes to," I gently reprimand Chenelle before I smile at them. "In fact, there's nothing stopping any of you painting whatever you want, you three. There's more than enough paper for you to make a picture."
The cheer is unanimous as they rummage through the supplies for the paper before they grab the dried reed stems and some paint before dispersing. Even though we've salvaged enough money for a few tins of paint and some paper, none of us have the extra money for decent paintbrushes, so I had to make do with fraying the ends of reeds so that they vaguely resemble a paintbrush. They break more easily, but they aren't the worst substitute.
It's as if I'm related to any of these three, but I spend so much time with them that every time I'm here - in this small, ramshackle fishing hut - it almost feels like I'm with a loving family. Well, these three are the closest thing that I have to a loving family, anyway, even though I'm only supposed to take care of them while their real parents are too busy to raise their children.
Looking at these children, it's hard to believe that any real parent wouldn't take the time to make sure they develop a close bond with their child. I sigh at how some people can so easily throw away the bond between a child and their parents as a sacrifice for their own ambitions. Even though my own parents are the same way, it still hurts to realise that this neglect - to put it simplistically - continues to happen.
I don't want anybody else to go through the betrayal I had felt when my parents had pressured me into moving out of their home into my older brother's house instead; something that I hadn't taken fondly to. Noah and I had never quite seen eye to eye, having clashed with each other during my childhood as the girls and Calder bicker with each other now. However, none of the children here are as...fanatic about supporting the defeated rebellion as my older brother is.
"Finders keepers!" I hear Chenelle tease and when I turn back to look at them, she's waving Calder's incomplete picture in the air. "Told you it looks like a grey blob."
The lack of malice in her tone shows that she isn't intending to be spiteful, but Calder's hackles rise regardless. "It's not a grey blob, Chenelle. 'Tis just the bottom of the hovercraft, that's all. And it ain't done yet, so there!"
"Why would you draw that?" Chenelle crinkles up her nose in distaste. "That's the boring part!" Slapping the picture onto her head, painted side facing upwards, she makes what I think is supposed to be the noise hovercrafts make as they fly through the sky, but she ends up sounding more like a telephone ringing. "Catch me if you can!"
"Hey!" Calder immediately jumps up from his seat to pursue Chenelle, who just giggles as she waves the picture around like it's a flag. Seeing as Chenelle's far faster than Calder is, I decide that now's a good time to intervene. Usually, I don't make much of an effort to stop them playing games; they're just children, so why should they have to act mature yet? It's as if adulthood allows you much of an opportunity to mess around, so they might as well be childish while they can. However, I don't want Calder to come away too disgruntled from today.
By the time that I've managed to catch up to Chenelle, she's near the entrance of the room, in front of the large stack of crates that we had shoved to the sides of the hut for more space. Outstretching a hand, I give her a firm look. "Chenelle, I think now's a good time to give that back. How is poor Calder going to complete that picture if you keep taking it from him?"
"Peekaboo!" Someone jumps out from behind a large stack of fish crates before Chenelle can reply, wearing one of the white sheets we had used to cover the tables with. Chenelle shrieks, but I just roll my eyes, my content mood gone. I already know who it is from the voice.
"What a surprise, if it isn't Noah messing around again," I say, watching my older brother show himself from under the white cloth, wearing the most ridiculous outfit I have ever seen him in. That's not saying much, since Noah isn't one for having a flashy fashion sense, but he still looks absurd. His brown hair's covered in a green wig and he's painted rough patterns onto his skin with sand. "Honestly, it's no wonder that all the other kids are so rowdy with you acting like that."
"Me?" Noah inquires innocently. "Why, whatever could you mean? I'm a perfect role model." At this, he makes an extravagant pose, although most of it's obscured by the cloak he still has wrapped around his body. "Isn't that right, Chell?"
She giggles. "Yeah, you're my idol."
It's then that Noah notices the painting that Chenelle's holding in her hands. "Oh, you're not painting again, are you?" He rolls his eyes, although the light-hearted tone of his voice takes away the sting of his exasperation. His smile disappears as another thought occurs to him. "What's the grey scenery for? Is that supposed to be symbolic of today?"
"Noah - " I interrupt, but Chenelle's curiosity has already been piqued by Noah's words. "What do you mean? The Reaping?" Her eyebrows furrow as she thinks about this. "But what does grey have to do with that? Calder's painting a hovercraft and me and Nadia are making flowers, not banners."
Chenelle, having already lost interest in the question, waddles away to obediently give Calder back his picture. Once I'm sure she's out of earshot, I glare at Noah. "Was that necessary?"
"What kind of question is that?" Now that nobody else is close enough to eavesdrop, Noah's carefree facade disappears. "You're just encouraging her to be complacent with our situation. Is that really the attitude you want to support when trying to free District Four from oppression?"
"She's seven years old," I retort. "Seven! It's not fair on her that you're forcing ideas into her head at that age, not when it'll just get her into trouble later on."
"Give her a bit of credit, Matteo. Chenelle's more resilient than you give her credit for." His eyes take on that determined gleam that I'm all too familiar with. He's still caught up in his memories of fighting during the Dark Days. He had only been eighteen when he had fought with a gun in his hands and although I can't imagine why anybody would want to commit the crimes Noah had done in the name of a flawed cause, he's far too eager to repeat the same mistakes that he had done by signing up in the first place. "They all are. Trust me, they'll see the truth once I've talked to them."
"Well of course they will; they don't know any better!" Despite my best intentions, my voice is becoming louder the longer I continue this conversation with Noah.
"Better?" he spits out. "You think that supporting the Capitol is 'better' than abolishing the rationing, the censorship and the Games? The Games that they said would only last one year, if you recall. All you're doing is making them weaker by having them think liars like the Capitol as superior to them! How can you say that you want them to accept any of that as 'acceptable'?"
"I never said it was," I reply. "But you've already lost once; trying to fight now will just mean that you'll lose again. You might as well accept the fact that all of those things are here to stay." Noah opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off sharply. "And I don't appreciate the fact that you're trying to drag down these children with you. They're in my care and I'm not letting your ideals put them at risk."
His eyes flash with anger, but he doesn't snap at me. Noah's already backing away from me as he speaks. "You're just making them weak, Matteo. Weak! Do you really think you're helping now? Just you wait until one of them is Reaped one day, let's see how much you really helped them then."
Noah then whips the sheet around him as he shows himself to the little kids once again. "Boo!" He bares his teeth in a cheesy grin at them, laughing as they shriek in mock fear. "Now, don't forget to behave, or else the escort will come and kidnap you, little children." Noah impersonates a Capitol accent, making it out like he's going to pounce on Nadia and she giggles. "Oh, and I almost forgot - may the odds be ever in your favour, darlings!"
Noah looks meaningfully in my direction as the children pretend to gag and boo at Noah's 'escort' costume, clearly meaning to prove a point, before he smiles again and walks out of the building. "See you later, little brother."
I scowl at him, but he's already gone before he sees this. Shrugging, I try and return back to the task at hand, but Nadia interrupts. "I heard that he saved all the people inside the infirmary when it was bombed by the Capitol!"
"I heard that he took on three soldiers and beat all of them!" Calder gushes.
"You're well lucky to have him as a brother." Chenelle grins, clearly meaning that as a compliment. "That must be amazing!"
"Do you think I'll be like him when I'm older?"
Inwardly, I sigh. I sure hoped that they don't turn out like him; someone so deluded about the elusive rebellion that they think sacrificing more lives in its name is a good idea, but it seems that Noah has already managed to get his claws in them.
Last year had been painfully nerve-wracking, having to stand in a huddle with the others, flinching at everything that had made contact with me and shaking at the prospect of having my name called out. And this year, the only thing that I know might happen to me in the Hunger Games is in the form of what had happened to last year's District Four boy.
With shaky hands, Raul plunged his bloodstained knife into the wound, screaming when the knife rips through his skin. However, this didn't deter him as he continued to twist and dig the knife around, trying to reach the shrapnel that was lodged in his thigh. The sounds that erupted from his gaping mouth didn't even sound human.
I rub my eyes, trying to dispel the image from my head, but I can already feel my heart beating rapidly in my chest at the thought of Raul being me. Just last year, he had been the boy that had sat three desks away from me in class, and now he was dead. The Games had driven him to the point of madness.
Thick trails of pus, interspersed with dark red streaks of blood, ran down his stomach as he tried to destroy the infection that his thigh had received. It had been two days since he had narrowly escaped the explosion that the girl from Three had caused, but he had been pelted with debris in the process. Raul had literally been crying with relief when he had dug himself out of the rubble, but it seemed that his joy had been sadly misplaced.
He was still making that inhuman scream, mixed with the occasional hiccup that I just about recognise as laughing. Raul was laughing at the fact that he was tearing himself from the inside out.
"You can't beat me!" Raul yelled at the sky, waving his knife around aimlessly before he retched out bile. There was blood present in the contents that were trickling down his chin, but he paid this no notice as he tried to giggle. "That monster won't kill me, won't ever kill me! I'm going to get it first! I'm going to get me first!"
His taunts had reminded me of how Calder sounded when he was defending himself against an accusation; childish and rash, as if Raul was mustering up the energy for one more act of defiance. He had bared his teeth at the cameras, still holding his knife as he laughs. "I'm going to get me first. Me! Nobody else is worthy!"
Leaning against the rubble that had once been the building he had taken shelter in, he smirks to himself once before he stabs the knife into his chest, mechanically plunging the knife in and out despite the horrible, horrible screaming, despite the pain he must surely be feeling. Raul manages to stab himself three times before his body slumps over like a puppet with its strings cut, still wearing that deranged grin as he fell and as a cannon fired.
The pops of the microphone as the escort, Adamaris, readjusts it send me out of the memory of watching Raul lose his sanity and life to the Games.
Selfishly, the only thing that I can really think of whenever I'm reminded of his fate is how that easily that can be me if I'm chosen today. I have to dig my nails into my hand so that my mind stays focused on what's happening now and not have memories of the other deaths run through my mind. The more I try to not focus on it, however, the more that unfolds in my head. How easily the boy from Ten had killed his own district partner, how the District Seven girl had looked after she had been ravaged by the machinery in the factories, how empty the girl from Six's eyes had been throughout the Games as she threw away every moral she had.
"Welcome, District Four, to the Reapings for the Second Annual Hunger Games," Adamaris recites in a toneless voice, sounding completely bored with the proceedings. "Before you see which two children are bestowed with the honour of representing your district, we have a message from the Capitol."
Word for word, Adamaris had said the exact same thing as she had done last year, and had shown the exact same video as she was doing now. Doesn't she care at all for the fact that she's partially responsible for condemning two children to their deaths last year and will most likely do the same today? There's nothing on her unmarred features that suggests she feels any pity - or any emotion at all - towards us. No emotion is present in her dark green eyes as she unceremoniously walks over to the girls' bowl and takes out a slip.
"For your female tribute, you have Miss Ray Trevally," she reads out the death sentence with the same lack of flair as a reporter. Even when a young girl that is most likely Ray shrieks at this, Adamaris manages to retain a neutral exterior.
It doesn't take long for Ray to reveal herself from the section of sixteen year old girls, tears streaming down her face that she tries to dab away with the sleeve of the woollen jumper she wears as she scurries up to the stage. Her eyes remain glued to the ground, her blonde hair covering most of her face and making it difficult to see what she actually looks like. She remains hunched over as she sits on the steps, beyond caring about the fact that everybody's staring at her.
Adamaris doesn't spare her a glance as she grabs the slip that will seal the fate of another child. "For our male tribute, you have Matteo Desontis."
Her voice is so utterly lacking in emotion that it takes longer than it should have done for me to grasp the meaning of her words, until wails sound from the section for ineligible citizens. "Matteo, no!"
I can recognise Nadia's voice now and that's what breaks me out of my trance. "Oh shit, I've just been Reaped."
The words are out of my mouth before I can process them properly and a few nervous giggles arise from the crowd at my tactless words. They don't mean anything to me though as I focus on just working my way through the crowd and onto that stage, feeling like I no longer have complete control over my own body. My legs feel like they'll collapse from the weight of my own body at any moment, they feel so fragile.
Raul's body, interspersed with self-inflicted wounds, crosses my mind, and I'm not sure if I'm imagining the sensation of the world spinning around me.
Adamaris gives me a cursory glance, just as she had done last year, before she says one last rehearsed line. "District Four, your tributes."
Hello there, I hoped you enjoyed this first chapter. Any criticism or comments on my writing are appreciated, as I would like to improve as a writer.
Just as a side note, Matteo and Nicolet will not be the only tributes with POVs. I would not like to make the victor of these Games predictable by limiting myself to one or two POVs, although there will not be POVs for all twenty-four tributes as that may make it difficult to remember everyone. The story has been prewritten as well, so I'll be uploading chapters regularly.