First ever story on here :) Tell me what you people think. Its rated M for language and well, gore later on and sex. Yay. Uploads are gonna be slow but with summer coming hopefully I can start writing more. I put the songs used for each chapter into heavy consideration so please check em out, they're pretty cool and related to the chapter. If I ever finish this yes, it will have a sequel.
"All Your Light" by Portugal. The Man is the title inspiration for the entire story and an upcoming chapter.
So I don't own the Hunger Games or any songs listed in here :) Enjoy.
It's Time by Imagine Dragons
-Logan: District 7
It seemed like I had only been asleep for a few minutes when the soft sound of bird song wakes me and after a minute of debate I hesitantly open my green eyes. I glance to the side towards the window but all I can see is darkness; it's too early, probably around five in the morning. Eliciting a deep sigh I carefully shift my weight as gently as I can without moving the bed, trying to not disturb my partner.
My eyes pause on her and I can't help but smile, resting my head on my hand as I gaze at my girlfriend, Marilyn. She's so cute, just lying there without a care in the world, her mind off somewhere in sleep. After deciding that I had enough time of watching her snooze, I carefully get up off the soft bed, wincing as my leg swings around and hits the floor causing a creak to ring out from the bed. I shiver at the ice cold feel of the wooden floors on my bare feet but I quickly get up, the bed bouncing up slightly without my weight.
Marilyn's cute little face scrunches up slightly, her body turning and hugging my pillow, unaware that I am no longer in the bed. Smiling slightly, I decide to continue with my daily routine which included as many sit ups and push-ups as I can muster, this time an added challenge accompanying my task as I tried to be quiet and not wake her.
When that's done, I quickly get dressed in the clothes I had brought over to my girlfriend's house. Then I leave the house, jogging past the other wealthy houses and all the way to the forest where my feet take me down a familiar path. It's when I've jogged some time that I begin to slow down, my senses recognizing where I am even in the low light. After a quick sweep of the area around me my eyes narrow in on some certain shrubbery and I move some of the branches aside, revealing my axe's hidden place. The Reaping starts at 11 AM and the sun is only just rising, telling me that I have plenty of time, just as long as I give some to my girlfriend. Then with my axe in hand I run farther down to the designated logging area, ready to do my daily amount of chin-ups as well when I get there.
-Marilyn: District 7
My eyelids give a violent twitch as invasive light seeps in, awakening my conscience and I quickly roll over, trying to avoid it as best as I can. Instead of bumping into a familiar warm body, I'm surprised when my roll takes me farther down my bed, nothing there to stop me. It's then that I notice I'm hugging a pillow that smells like the scent of my boyfriend. Squinting my eyes, I groan, punching the pillow halfheartedly. "Logan."
Of course he's not there. The one night I asked him to let me sleep with him and he leaves early for work. What a boyfriend.
I get up and start to make my bed, tossing the covers and pillows together till it looks presentable. When that job is done, I head to my bathroom to draw myself a bath, only getting lukewarm water from the pipes. My family is a part of the upper middle class so we're allowed luxuries such as plumbing and fresher water, which from being in Logan's house, is much better than the lower class but at the same time nothing near the high class. In fact, I've heard that some families located in the Yard don't even get running water at all. It's sad.
Soon my long brown hair and my body is freshly scrubbed and died, ready to be clothed in the richest material that I own. I don't know when it started but everyone wears their fanciest clothes on Reaping day- maybe when this all began it was an order by the Capitol to show just how poor our idea of "fancy" was. Deciding that today I can afford to use a little luxury, I add lipstick and mascara to my looks, combing out my hair when that is done. It's funny but such simple actions can really change how a person looks.
By the time I walk to the kitchen for breakfast the sun is up in the sky, casting its brilliant light down on all below. Logan better get here soon, I scowl to myself as I make oatmeal, adding a bit of honey for flavor. "Dear, don't make faces at your food, your face might just freeze and you will be stuck wearing that dreadful expression forever," my mother chides. I give a tired nod, "Yes ma'am."
-Logan: District 7
I inwardly curse as I log in my working hours, rushing out of the lumber yard as my feet took me as fast as they could down to my house, my axe still in hand. I still needed to stop by my house and get ready for the Reaping before meeting up with my girlfriend, I realize horrified.
I get to my house faster than when I jogged down from Marilyn's, probably because the lower class houses are located closer to the logging area while the higher class is allowed some space away from all that. I burst through my front door, almost slashing the doorframe with my axe as I quickly enter. Unfortunately someone has beaten me here.
"You're late!" Marilyn trills, looking particularly annoyed at me.
"I forgot the time!" I lamely defend, setting my working axe down by the door and hurriedly kicking my boots off. It's obvious that she's not buying my story though, as she knows fully well I know how to read the sun.
She gives me an exasperated sigh. "Here," she says as she shoves my Reaping clothes at me along with a bowl of oatmeal with honey. I bend down and give my tiny girlfriend a grateful kiss before darting to my room to change and eat my breakfast as quickly as I can. I should probably try to take a bath but I know that at this point I shouldn't test fate too much.
-Marilyn, District 7
I barely hide my blush from Logan's parents, who are busying themselves in the kitchen. Luckily it seems they have no idea that he spent the night out at my place because they treat me kindly as always. Knowing my boyfriend will take some time, I sit down with them and make small talk with Logan's father over the Capitol's sudden demand over oak and how Logan's mother couldn't dry their sheets with all the rain we were recently getting.
Eventually though Logan comes out, dressed handsomely in custom made clothes my family bought him because his family was too poor to afford any clothes for his outrageously tall frame. He has on tan brown pants with matching suspenders crossing over the plain white shirt he wore, a dashing brown vest sitting over that. Bonus points, he didn't spill any food on himself and I can smell that he's chewing some mint leaves like always.
"You look good," I tell him, as we step outside after saying goodbye to his parents who were heading out for the Reaping later. He flashes me a shy smile, looking rather uncomfortable in the suit. I notice that he is slouched, and he has his thumbs in his pockets as he kicks a woodchip down the red brick road we're walking down that leads off to the Town Square where most of the shops and the Justice Building are located.
"It's not that I don't feel good in this suit, I just hate the circumstances that sent me into this," he explains, "We only wear it to look good for those Capitol bastards anyway."
I give him a shocked look, quickly glancing around and hoping that no one heard him. Luckily we haven't gotten to the Square yet where all the cameras are located. "Logan, don't say that! You're not going to be chosen—"
"Marilyn! Nobody is truly safe from these games! Anyone can be chosen, no matter how poor or rich they are!" He says seriously, his voice loud and his expression a mixture of seriousness and anger. For a second I'm worried that I've made him mad, but the next moment I know he's picked me up in a massive bear hug, the wind rustling my dress and making me feel vulnerable.
"Mar, please never downplay the severity of the Games, okay? And I only agreed to sleep with you because we're almost done with these Games, but it doesn't mean that we won't be chosen," he tells me, green eyes boring into me with such intensity I feel the need to look away from his gaze.
The rest of our walk is spent in silence, though it is comfortable and our hands are holding onto each other's like our lives depend on it. We slow down as we start to meet the crowds, joining the lines to sign in as the camera crews, perched on buildings like vultures, set things up for the big show. "Marilyn, I love you," Logan tells me, bending down for a short but passionate kiss as he moves to the front of the line to get his finger pricked, his blood smearing onto the paper that reads his name. He walks off to the male 17 year olds section and I step up, wincing at the sharp jab of the needle as my blood too is drawn. As soon as I wipe it across the paper I stick my index finger in my mouth, licking the blood away and going off to join the girl's 17 year old section.
It's not hard for me to spot Logan again though, as his height makes him stick out like a sore thumb, towering high above the other boys around him. He isn't far from me, hanging at the edge of his section in the back, probably talking to his parents. Our mayor begins the yearly Treaty of Treason, his voice sounding sad and yet bored with the whole thing- it's obvious he can't wait for it to finish. Soon it's finished and a brightly colored woman steps up, heels clicking against the stage as she reaches for the microphone, which makes a horrible screeching moment for a second, all the camera's lining up on her. I see our only Victor wince at the sound of the microphone, sitting tiredly in a chair by the mayor.
"Welcome, welcome District 7 and happy Hunger Games! My, what lovely weather this is, perfect for Reaping day!" she squeals in that foreign accent of the Capitol's. She is surprisingly young and I recognize her as a new escort, the one from the last few years having not shown up. "My name is Britannia Meyers and I will be your District's new escort this year and hopefully for many more to come!" she chirps. Well, so far she isn't as bizarre as our other escorts, maybe she isn't that bad.
"Okay everyone, now that the show has started how about I draw the name of our lucky female tribute!" she says, her gloved hand making a dramatic gesture of going in the bowl and mixing up all the hundreds of slips before finally plucking one out. My adrenaline spikes as she unfolds it, Logan's words ringing in my head and turning my blood cold. 7 of those slips have my name on it.
"This year's tribute… Clarissa Merope!" she declares happily. I exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding, one more year of these dreaded Games and then I will be free. My eyes spot movement from the 18 year olds section and a stunned girl walks out, clutching her stomach.
"No! You can't!" a desperate male voice screams, shoving their way past the tributes that willingly part for him. "You can't take her!" the mangy boy begs, his silver eyes wide and voice shaking. I'm surprised to see that I recognize the boy; he used to be in some of my classes before dropping out. His name is Wesley Bass but everyone calls him Buzzard. He and his older brother Robert are considered unclean by the whole district for if a loved one died, you went to them for the burial. They are the district's Undertakers, the morticians, the gravediggers, everything in between that has to do with death.
"You can't take her! Please, take someone else! Someone fucking volunteer!" he screams, eyes swimming with tears. His girlfriend, Clarissa, is crying quietly, and as she hobbles her way up the stairs everyone else and I can see why he is so distraught. She is heavily pregnant, her belly looking like any day now she will give birth to his child. The crowd immediately starts muttering melancholy words, voices grave and upset. The Capitol cameramen are going nuts however, lapping up this drama as their cameras took in the whole chaotic scene.
"I volunteer! Please, anything to save her!" he begged again, tears visibly streaming down his face now. A Peacekeeper, who must be familiar with Buzzard, walks up to take him away. "Wesley, you're 19. You can't volunteer," he sighed, sounding half exasperated and half saddened by his plight. The words are barely out of his mouth however before Buzzard suddenly lashes out, twisting his body and raising his right leg where he roundhouse kicked the Peacekeeper squarely in the jaw, knocking him down.
The crowd is stunned into silence, everyone watching. It's so quiet you can hear the sounds made from the Capitol cameras. Buzzard lunges, his sights probably aimed at the escort but he is almost immediately taken down, tackled from the back by a bigger and heavier looking Peacekeeper. He struggles violently in the scuffle and starts to gain the upper hand, his fist smashing into the Peacekeeper's face. He would have won the fight too if another Peacekeeper didn't jab him in the side with a black rectangular object, sharp electric clicks being heard from the instrument as they came in contact with him.
He jerked off of the Peacekeeper violently, a muffled cry being heard as his body tried to move away from the object. Within seconds of the rectangular instrument clicking into his side however he slumps over, falling unconsciously on his side.
The crowd is still silent as two burly Peacekeepers drag the tall form of Wesley Bass roughly to the Justice Building. I can only imagine how many lashes he will get for that. Now the only sounds heard across the entire Square are the sounds of a small child crying and Clarissa's muffled sobs, echoing off the red bricked Square. The Capitol must be having a field day with this.
Britannia Meyers gives an unsure smile, confused by all the chaos of what to do now. Seemingly remembering though, she tip toes over to the boy's glass ball of slips now. "Now for our male tribute!" she declares, but her voice isn't as spunky or loud as it was before. She dips her hand in the bowl but doesn't give as much of a show as she did earlier, simply grabbing a slip and bringing it up.
"Logan Cooper!"
-Logan: District 7 Tribute
"Logan Cooper!" the pink haired escort squawks, some of her original flourish back. Wait… Shit. "Logan Cooper, are you here?" she repeats, glancing around the boy's section confused as she tried to search out the chosen tribute, aka me.
As if in a trance, my legs carry me obediently out of the crowd of boys and I walk up to the stage, my body carrying me up the stairs as my brain remained a fuzzy station of static. "My goodness, you are a really big boy!" Britannia chirps, apparently seeing a lot more potential in me than in the sobbing form of Clarissa. I'm probably a whole foot and a half taller than Clarissa and at least a foot taller than the mayor.
"Well, let's welcome this year's District 7 tributes, Clarissa Merope and Logan Cooper!" Britannia cheers, grabbing our hands and raising them. She manages to bring Clarissa's hand up to the sky but mine is limp, only reaching near my face which shows just how short she is or how tall I am. This draws out nervous applause from the crowd, and quickly we are ushered to the back, almost walking into our Victor and now mentor before being taken to the nearby Justice Building where we are both taken to separate and private rooms.
I collapse in the soft leather couch, running my hand along the scratchable leather where my fingers twitch to rake my nails down the piece of furniture and ruin it forever. My mind is made up though as Marilyn bursts in, sobbing, and the couch is completely forgotten as she flies at me, arms wrapping around my neck.
"Oh, Logan!" she cries, tears leaking out of her soft brown eyes like little facets. "I'm such a horrible girlfriend! I was making fun of the Games earlier and now it's so real!" she sobs, curling up in my lap as her body shakes.
I begin to stroke her hair which I think calms both of us a little, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Mar, get a grip. This isn't your fault, it's no ones. Only the Capitol's." My voice is surprisingly calm, especially considering how my brain is just starting to catch up on things.
"I'm probably never going to see you again!" she cries, burying her face into my chest, tears staining the white shirt and vest she bought for me once. "Hey, is that doubt I hear in your voice?" I ask her mockingly, adding humor to the situation for the sake of both of us.
"Babe, I'm gonna try my hardest to get back home for you and everyone else, or die trying. Literally. Whatever actions you see me doing on the TV just remember the true me, okay? TV Logan is different to your Boyfriend Logan. And do me another favor, I know you used to know the girl tribute's boyfriend so how about you watch out for him? Okay?"
I falter, not sure what else to say. "Marilyn, just remember I love you and you're a great girlfriend and—" She cuts me off by planting her soft lips against my own and she shifts slightly in my lap so that we both feel more comfortable.
Eventually we part for air as the Peacekeeper interrupts us to let me know I have more visitors. I give her one last kiss goodbye as I prepare to see my family which consists of my mother, father, and mother's sister along with some friends. Then it's all over and I'm rushed out, walking down the train station and up to the train itself. The cameras are once again clicking away and the wind has picked up, ruffling my short hair and whipping Clarissa's around. Then, we enter the train, and District 7 disappears behind me.
