My name is Octavian, and I am going to win.
Of course, if my name doesn't get drawn at the reaping today, I have nothing to worry about. My life in district 7 can carry on as usual, chopping down trees, sawing of branches, and the occasional days that seem to come less often lately that I work with my mother in the small healer's hut next to our house. But I must be prepared for the worst; at fifteen, my name is entered twelve times because I always take out tesserae to support me and my mother. There are just the two of us.
My mother, Cressida Pahla, was devastated when my father died in a lumber accident after a tree fell and crushed his ribcage; there was no way one of her potions could have saved him. Afterword, my mother wouldn't let me out of her sight for over a year, insisting I stay in the hut, help her with salves, medicines, collecting berries, but always with her. Every day she would hug me and say she loved me, trying unsuccessfully to hide her tears. I know that even now, seven years later, she would not live on without me. If I were to be taken by the Capitol, forced to participate in the Hunger Games, and never come back, she would die. Maybe her body would live on for a few years, but her heart, her soul, would cease to exist.
I cannot let that happen to my mother. I have no control over the reaping, so instead I prepare myself in every way I can for the hunger games, to make sure that if somehow I go, I will certainly be coming back. I have been told I am a little crazy, but I have also heard this is one of the qualifications of a victor. No one leaves the arena unscarred, whether it is physical or psychological. I am not a career; this is not a sport. I hate the hunger games for the pain they bring and understand that there is no honor to be gained, though the careers don't see that. Why don't they realize that a victor is not a hero, but a murderer? Besides, my training is based on survival, not how to kill someone in fifty entertaining ways. I have confidence in my skill, and that it will take me home.
Despite my confidence, when my mother prods me gently and whispers in my ear to get up, I have to resist the urge to stay in bed. Maybe if I don't get up, I can skip today and go straight to tomorrow.
But when I open my eyes a crack, all I see is my mother's beautiful face, creased more than normal upon her brow, and there are bags under her brilliant but worried green eyes that match mine. Her white blonde hair that I also share is disheveled from lack of sleep. She is frightened of the hunger games more than me, afraid I'll be taken away from her. Reaping days I always spend with my mother, waking up at six like any other day to get as much time with her as possible. She deserves that.
Throwing the covers up and swinging my legs onto the floor, I look up at her and smile my best. "No need to poke. I'm awake."
She peers into my face anxiously. "Are you nervous?"
I thrust my arms up and stretch, my shoulder bones cracking, the picture of indifference. "Not really." I decide to change the subject. Think happy. "Do you remember that one remedy you made when I was ten? The one that makes you laugh when you smell it?"
"I remember. I had made it by accident. You couldn't stop giggling." She smiles, and her whole face seems to brighten.
"Why don't we make it today?" I suggest. "I could use some laughter." I'm not really in the mood for laughter, but my mother is thrilled with the idea and together we start on it immediately.
It takes the entire morning to make, and by lunch time my stomach is a raving monster because we'd skipped breakfast. But my mother is happy and one whiff of the laughing gas has her chuckling for almost half an hour. I don't try any but smile at her merriment. Laughter makes my mother seem younger, and certainly less broken.
But as our clock strikes one she becomes the sad woman that has been with me since my father died. She shoos me back to the house to get changed, promising she'll clean up our mess.
"Dress in something nice," She tells me, but she doesn't seem to be quite there, like she's not really saying the words.
Quickly I get dressed in black pants, mostly clean, and a red, collared shirt, running my fingers through my light but thick hair. That's as good as it's going to get, and I must say, it's pretty good. When I return to the hut in my reaping outfit, I find my mother standing in the middle of a disaster, staring at a potion, lost in thought. By the time I finish helping her clean up, we need to hurry down to the reaping, arriving minutes before it starts. I slip in with the other fifteen year olds, earning a thump on the back from Jon Meers, and a nod from Sadie Col. They are my best friends, and we've known each other for years, but I rarely mix family with friends, so they know me but not my mom. Jon looks nervous; Sadie looks bored. I turn and focus my attention on the front as our mayor steps up. Behind him are two of our victors, Ballard Kyver and Jetti Myen. The other is a recluse who never leaves his house. I don't know much about these two, except that they are both old, late forties and fifties, and one is crazy.
The mayor begins by telling us about the history of Panem, the rebellion, and the treaty of treason, and practically repeats word for word what he said last year, ending in a good luck. I half listen, but when Collie, our Capitol escort, steps up, I listen carefully, completely focused.
She has turned into a human tree, her skin resembling wood, her hair and dress a deep forest green. No one can doubt she escorts District 7. Her words seem to bubble as she rambles on about how happy she is to be back in District 7. "And now," she says, "The moment you've all been waiting for! Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to pick our lucky tributes for the Fifty- fifth Hunger Games!"
Collie walks over to the one of the big crystal balls. "Ladies first," she purrs, lowering her hand in and rummaging through its contents. She pulls out a slip of paper. I feel the tension in the air as all the girls of district seven hold their breath.
Not Sadie. I plead. She would never beat the games.
Not someone I know.
Collie reads the paper. "Taia Lowes."
A shriek pierces through the sighs of relief from all the girls who didn't get picked. I turn around to see a sixteen year old girl with long brown hair and a stunned expression being slowly prodded forward by her friends, all who wear pained looks. I know her, but not well, which is a relief. She walks to the front in a daze.
"Are there any volunteers?" Collie asks. Silence is her answer. She turns and shakes Taia's hand, smiling. "Congratulations!"
"Th-thank you," Taia stammers. She takes a deep breath and tries to look fierce. I'm not fooled.
"Now for our boy tribute!" Collie sounds too happy.
I feel a sudden tightness in my chest as she heads to the boy's ball. I try to relax, but I can't fight the sudden panic. The boys around me either look nervous or terrified. At least I'm hiding my fear. I know I've trained, but that doesn't mean I want to go. Collie sticks her hand in. I am struck by a wave of anxiety.
What if….?No.
Collie picks up a piece of paper.
It can't be me. It's not me.
She opens the paper.
Someone else….
"Octavian Pahla."
At first, I don't recognize the name. I can't remember my name. Everyone's staring at me.
Relax, I tell myself when realization strikes, and the reality of the situation threatens to overwhelm me. I make my way to the front to join Taia.
"Any volunteers?" Collie asks. There are none. I search for Sadie and Jon in the crowd and find them holding hands tightly, staring at me, there expressions so stunned they are blank. I think Sadie is crying.
"Congratulations!" Collie tells me. She directs Taia and me to shake hands. As we grasp each other, I stare into her eyes, finding terror lurking behind the clear blue iris'. I feel an urge to protect her, to save her, but a picture of my mother fills my mind. This will break her. There is only one victor. It has to be me.
"District Seven, I give you your 55th Hunger Game tributes! May the odds be ever in your favor!" Collie is smiling, but thankfully no one else is. "Happy Hunger Games!"
As we are ushered off the stage by peace keepers taking us to the Justice Building I quickly scan through ideas, making plans for my mother, and pondering still about Taia. But I can think of no solution to let both of us live, and I owe my mother to come back. I push all thoughts of saving the girl from district seven away. I try to calm my mind, until there is only one thought running through my head. It is the solution to my problems.
My name is Octavian, and I am going to win.
The peace keepers direct us to two different but identical rooms that are nice but nothing more. They are bare but for one seat, which I take. I wait for less than a minute before my mother comes running in, her eyes wide with fright and despair. She rushes to me, throwing her arms around me like a noose and squeezing me tight. "My baby," she whispers through sobs, "My baby."
I let her hug me for a moment, then gently pry her off. "It's okay Mom. I'll be home soon." I say this with as much confidence as I can muster. I have to make her believe it. I have to make me believe it.
Tears continue to flow down my mother's cheeks but her eyes have lost the hopeless gleam, and a hardness has come into them that can only be defined as strength. She reaches up to her throat and grabs the gold necklace that hangs there, and undoes the clasp. She reaches up to my neck and silently loops it around me.
" Mom-," I begin to protest, but she will hear none of it.
"Take it," she insists, "It will help you remember us here, and remind you that you must return home. Here. With me."
The gold chain necklace is our most valuable possession, even more important to her, because my father had given her it. It is packed with good memories and a reminder of events to my family. I realize it will be the perfect token.
"I promise I'll return it to you," I vow. "I will come back." For a moment, I am sure I will.
We hug one last time before she turns to go, telling me my friends are waiting to say their good byes. I can't help but think how alone she looks as she leaves. She is a widow who's lost her only son.
Not yet, I tell myself grimly. Not for long.
My friends arrive together, Sadie still holding on to Jon, her face white. For someone whose brother was killed in the games at the age of twelve, she is handling this very well. Jon appears calm, his face neutral, so I don't know what he's thinking.
When Sadie sees me she grabs me in a strong grip and hugs me tightly, more fiercely than my Mom. She's not crying, but from her expression she could be. She releases me and takes a step back.
"Show them what you can do," she whispers, and there is a harsh tone in her voice. "Make them pay."
I don't know what to say. Make who pay? The game makers? Suddenly it makes sense. She wants revenge on the people who killed her brother. She wants me to sabotage the games. She believes in me, knows I can do it, and I am flattered. Slowly, I shake my head. I can't do it. That would mean a brutal death in the games.
"I'm sorry Sadie," I tell her quietly. "I'm not going die. They can't beat me. I'm going to win."
She smiles sadly at me. "I know. I thought you'd say that."
Jon steps up and reaches out his hand. I start to shake it before he pulls me into a crushing embrace. "If anyone can do it, Octavian, it's you."
I am humbled by the faith of my friends, but also empowered. If they believe I can win, then I must. I thank them and tell them I'll see them soon. They walk out the door, Sadie dragging Jon by the hand as he gives me one last look. In return I give a small wave. Then they are gone.
I do not expect anyone else to come, so I am surprised to see Muck Brewer, my boss and tree chopping partner, clamber into the room. He looks uncomfortable, like he's not used to being indoors, which is true. Muck has wild brown hair and a layer of dirt for skin, but his soft blue eyes are kind. I jump up.
"Muck!" I cry. If I had to choose only one person to visit me, besides my mother and friends, it would be him. I surprise even myself by giving him a hug. He blushes and I feel very awkward, but he's the closest thing to a father to me and after all the hugs I've been getting I think he deserves one too.
"What are you doing here?" I ask to break the silence.
"Same as everyone else, I s'pose," he says, "'came to wish you good luck. And to give you something." There is a twinkle in his eye. He reaches into his grubby pants pocket.
I start to shake my head. "Thanks, Muck, by I've already got a toke-"I stop as he opens his palm, revealing a beautifully crafted stone charm, flat, round and the length of half my middle finger. On it the symbol of district seven, an axe crossing a hammer on a background of wood, was carved. It has a hole for a necklace to go through. I can't imagine how much time and effort it took to create.
"Muck-," I begin, but he holds up a hand to cut me off.
"Don't complain; it wasn't hard to make. I just want you to remember us here. I don't have a chain to put it on, but I brought some rope…" he holds up a piece of string, frayed at the edges.
It is my turn to stop him. I reach up to my neck and undo the gold chain my mother gave me, dangling it in front of Muck's eyes and grinning at his awed expression.
"No need for the string," I say, "We can just put it on this." I am so glad that I am able to take not one token but two, from two people I love.
Muck smiles, takes the necklace, and slips the charm on before handing it back to me. When it is secure once again around my neck, Muck gives me one final stare, full of mixed feelings. I detect gladness at seeing me, but there is sadness and anxiety for the days to come. Peace keepers come to the door, waiting for Muck to leave so they can escort me to the train that will take me to the Capitol.
"Good luck, Octavian," Muck says as he makes his way to the door. He stops for a moment and I recognize the ghost of a smile on his face, and a hint of pride in his voice. "I have a feelin' we'll be meetin' again soon." He disappears through the peace keepers.
The train is not far from the Justice Building and soon I am on the platform beside the waiting train, blinking from the flash of cameras as our last moment in district seven is covered by the Capitol press. Taia is beside me, tear marks on her cheeks but no sign of them in her eyes. She boards the train without turning back. I take a glimpse of district seven, and in the distance I can see smoke from cabins rising up among the trees. This is my home.
Suddenly I feel a wave of longing stronger than ever to be here, in this district, my district. I want to come back. The peace keepers are getting restless, waiting for me to board the train. I take one last look.
If I'm going to come back, I'm going to have to leave.
"Good bye district seven," I say, turning to face the train. I force myself to step into its interior.
"Hello Capitol."
