District 1 Reapings
Katherine J.
Erie's POV
Sweat streamed down my pale face, dripping off as I swung the mace across the dummy's abdomen countless times. Stuffing was shredded and flew across the room showing just how strong I was. I flipped the dummy by the tummy, tumbling over while bashing its head with the mace one more time. The power and strength took over my mind. How good it felt to be so ruthless like this…
Just another reaping day.
Finally… I have been training for years. This year, I could finally volunteer! With extra overprotective parents like mine, I've had to watch year after year as little 12-year olds were allowed to volunteer, racing up to the stage on their tiny legs. It's not like they would actually be the first ones there, but jealousness always creeps over me when parents are smiling in their young ones' attempt to volunteer as that year's tribute.
Sometimes, my legs are already outstretched to run forwards, but I just can't. The evil stare my mother can give you will make any monster retreat into a shadowy corner. Maybe she could've won the Hunger Games that way.
Apparently, 16 is the year to volunteer. My mother has been saying that in honor of Katniss Everdeen. Blah! It's the 98th Hunger Games!
That "girl on fire" has started the second Dark Days. If it were me, I would rip that girl to shreds, it's her fault the Games are getting worse and worse, harder and harder.
If 12 was still there, I would kill the girl very quickly. Now District 13 takes their place, since it was recently discovered. Two years ago, the arena was a giant frosted cake of doom that they had set fire to. I wonder if that had any relation with the fact that the so-called "star-crossed lovers from District (BLEH) 12," Hint hint: Frosted cake, fire?
No? Never mind.
Before leaving my personal training room, I take a random necklace out of the jewelry box at a stop in my bedroom. What? We're from District 1… It seems like a very dull necklace, but luckily it was the only thing in that diamonded pink box that held personal value. Towards the center of the simple, stretchy, silvery string was a rock. It was nothing special in its looks. In fact, it was ugly. The orangey color was overwhelming, and friends over would always ask why she had it. The rock did have meaning though. An illegal place now, Lake Erie, was the place where a distant ancestor in District 9 picked up the rock on the day she was chosen to go to the first Hunger Games. She brought it to the arena, and before dying, gave it to my great-grandmother, her ally from District 1. My great-grandmother had won that Games, and decided to pass the rock down through the generations. That's why I was named so. It was passed down through generations, ending with me.
All these thoughts flood into my mind as I walk down he steps to reach my very worried mother. She is cooking something wonderful, cinnamon toasts and apple tarts for breakfast. She must know it's my favorite. She must be trying to persuade me to stay home. No way, mom. Putting on a wide smile, I reach her and lay the necklace in her hand.
"I've turned 16 a few months ago. It's time that I will finally be allowed to volunteer," I smirk. Before my mother can start disproving, I start telling her more, "I just wanted to show you the token I will be bringing to the Arena with me. I will beat everybody else up to the podium first, and will come home victorious. Next time you see me, I will have a crown resting on my head!"
Grabbing a crispy toast that's aroma has wafted through my nose, I go upstairs to put on the reaping dress that I wear every year. By now, by breakfast has crumbled like my mother's own face.
At the reaping, with my hair cascading in tresses of silvery blonde down on my silky pink dress, I search for anyone I recognize in the crowd. I smooth down the flowing skirt in attempt to stop the wolf whistles protruding the boys' mouths in my age group. My only sister, Hiua, who is 18 years old looks as excited as I am to volunteer as tribute. She looks at me with the same bright green daring eyes that I have.
Our Capitol Escort, Leeann, is already reaching into the girls' reaping ball by the time I look up from my sister's scary face. Immediately, my legs are ready to run up to the stage, the adrenaline is already rushing through me. They are already starting to lift up as Leeann's two brightly pink-painted fingernails grasp on to a slip of paper. Maybe it had my name to start with. Then again, maybe not. It goes by much too fast, and immediately, a girl tribute's name is being called out. I think it's Silk, a girl two years younger then me, but I actually get up to the stage before Silk. Silk is looking up at me, and I know she will let me take her place in the games. Her family is one of the richer ones, but our Capitol escort eyes me curiously.
"You're not Silk Scholars, are you?" the crazy woman asked. I mean, look at her, with the freak surgery to her nose. Where was it? I start to gulp, and finger the rock necklace that I have kept in my pocket. The bumps make dents into my skin, massaging them. No, I was not Silk Scholars.
"No, no, but I volunteer!" I choke out. "My name is Erie Couture and I volunteer as your tribute for the 98th annual Hunger Games!" Beaming, I smile. I watch the sadness on my mother's face, what little color it had started with, leaving it.
Ebony's POV
One and only President Cresta lays the ever-so detailed crown apon my head. I can practically hear the twinkles of diamond and gold enlaid on top of it, I know that was definitely from District 1. It's velvety, I can feel that on my ears. It comes naturally now to wave out to the crowd without a doubt. They are chanting my name, "Ebony! Ebony!" They love me.
"EBONY!" I wake up staring at my sister, Ivory. Her pale skin is a stark contrast to her raven black, like mine. Her gaze is intense as always, a stormy blue that digs into your soul. She's creepy like that. Yet, her thick hair will fall around her shoulders effortlessly and seems smooth like silk. We don't even own a brush.
Then, Ivory's gaze finally softens as she looks innocently at me, practically waiting for a response.
"What do you want?" Ivory's not much of a talker, but she sits on the edge of my bed patiently waiting. "What?" It's the kind of thing my sister does. She waits for me to realize what she's thinking about.
And then it hits me full blast. I didn't have that dream for no reason. It's the reason why I can smell Ivory's sweat, and the tension coming off of her. It's the reaping day! When I finally say so, she just nods her head and starts to speak. "Please don't volunteer." I knew she would say that.
"I gotta. I'm sorry Ivory. I know you think this is all just a bunch of bogus, but I need to." If he could win, their family wouldn't have to worry with all the hardships they've been handling with. With the last uprising from many districts, the Capital has chosen not to trust almost anyone from the districts. Our district no longer held as many 'fun and games' as before. We aren't trusted. Yet, still with the benefits of starting as a richer District, we've managed to survive longer.
"I'm going to train," I told Ivory, getting up from bed and reaching for the doorknob. I could just imagine it already, taking my favorite sword off the ground at the Cornucopia, immediately taking the head off of some helpless 13-year old girl or something. Ivory tried to stop me, but I was already out the door by the time she's cried out.
After vigorous hours of practicing with the broadsword in the cold, stone basement, I throw on the white dress top in preparation for the Reapings. It's hot, close to the end of summer, and even when I press up against the icy walls for a drink, I'm still sweating.
When I climb up the stairs, Ivory greets me grimly, and starts to shift some of the loose strands of my hair up to one side. Sometimes, those wisps of hair remind me of darkness curling this way and that. It's like it's trying to escape from something I don't know of. I know there's something there that I am questioning, but I can't get at what it its just there.
We walk down to the Clearing in District 1, getting ready for a moment that would change our lives. Now, there is nothing to say. We don't discuss anything as we shuffle down the weathered dirt lanes. Every so often though, Ivory does her little twitch that tells me she's nervous. I know she isn't scared of being picked. Somebody would immediately volunteer, she's scared for me. I feel kinda bad now.
But nonetheless, the thought is already in my head. I could win the Games. I could win, and come back home with the crown on my head, providing all kinds of riches to the District, maybe gaining favor from the Capital once again.
Ivory and I are corralled into the 18-year olds section with the prick of a finger. I stretch my legs in my little spot, getting ready to volunteer like all the others. Little did they know that I would be there first.
Our escort has appeared, lively as ever, and without a nose this year, stands to welcome us. "Hello, girls and boys of District One! Are you ready to rock this new Hunger Games?" A few boys behind me start muttering curses, and making sarcastic compliments about her face. I snicker, but hold my head high to listen.
The girl is chosen, and I almost mistakenly run up there forgetting it was girls' first this year. She is light on her feet and very pale looking. I can just make out blonde curls, and the same guys behind me who made the comment about Leeann wolf-whistle at the pink mini dress.
Right now, I realize that I have to be fast to volunteer, considering how fast this other girl, Erie ran, like a blowing wind. Ivory and I have something to ourselves, we can kind of disappear among crowds. It's not really a power or anything, we just can do it when something interesting is happening. Now while the boys are still yelling and whistling, I slip under the fake leather rope and make my way as close to the stage as possible. Leeann's finger are grasped around a slip of paper, and lifted it as I get on the stage.
She eyes me. "You know? These years just get weirder and weirder. What's your name?" What the hell was she talkin' about? Has she ever looked in a mirror before? The sight is absolutely horrifying. Does she have to breathe through her mouth? Doesn't it hurt to sneeze?
"Ebony Kresh."
"Well then. Let's all put our hands together for this year's tributes, Ebony Kresh, and Erie Couture!" We both hold hands, smile and raise them up together in power as few other people clap for good luck.
It's almost a silent communication, but I can feel these words between our two heads, 'You're a good partner. Too bad I will have to kill you.'