On the 25th Annual Hunger Games; the first Quarter Quell ever, the President ordered the districts to choose which children will represent our home as tribute.
My District chose me.
My name is Rania Braeleigh and I am the female tribute from District 12.
I grew up in solid middle class, a merchant's child. My mother was the owner of an apothecary which made medicine, and my father, a doctor, often went out into the woods to gather such plants for her when he wasn't tending to patients, which were plentiful in District 12. I often tagged along too, because the woods were my only solace in the grim place where I live. It was the only place where I could relax, and breathe, without choking on the dusty air of coal that permeated my district. Another reason I found it delightful to be out in the woods were all the wonderful animals there; from friendly mockingjays, to sleek and mysterious lynxes, to wild dogs who'd befriend anyone willing to toss them a few scraps. The only animals that made the woods forbidding were the trackerjacker nests. I always backtracked upon seeing one of those nests. That was the Capitol's way for keeping us in line; making sure there were firm obstacles between us and the precious resources we needed.
Still, despite trackerjackers, every weekend, my father and I would head straight to the woods, gather edible plants for our dinner, medicinal herbs for the apothecary, and see if our domesticated wild chicken has yielded any eggs. We had built a relatively sturdy little shed deep into the woods where we kept a few wild chickens for food, especially during the winter months when meat was hard to come by. I tried to avoid hunting as much as I can, mostly because I can't bear the guilt of taking another's life. Farming, or rather, keeping livestock were more 'humane' in my eyes, thus the chicken farm. There was also a lake down in the woods where we farmed some fish, mostly to gather cavier from but sometimes to also hunt.
Usually we didn't need so much eggs, or fish, or plants, because my father's a doctor and doctors are rather well paid and my mother's apothecary business was always flourishing, but the surplus materials were often traded or donated, usually to the poorer families from the Seam. Because of my family's generous actions, we were often loved by all from the Seam, but looked down upon somewhat by other merchant families who were better off and didn't approve of us 'mingling with common folk'. That resulted in me being quite unpopular at school sometimes, but I didn't mind. I preferred a couple of close friends only, in opposition to a whole horde of insincere friends. Coupled with my habit of unconsciously staring at a person with my big gray eyes until I've analyzed their personality down to the very core, my high school grades and how I sometimes predicted a person's actions before they even did something has earned me the nickname: "Rania Brainiac". I didn't mind. I took pride in my intelligence and didn't let their words beat me down. After all, why would I care about their opinions of me? I had my opinion of myself and that was all that mattered.
I didn't realize that my unpopularity would actually affect everything.
This year was the year of the Quarter Quell.
The President had announced that the annual Hunger Games would have a twist to it every 25th, 50th, 100th and etc year. Those years would be the Quarter Quell. This year, the year I turn 16, is a Quarter Quell year. Nobody knew what this year's Quarter Quell would hold, since there were no Quarter Quells before. I was sick with trepidation about a month before the reaping. Everyone was. You could tell by the way the children from the poorer families would shiver and shake at any mention of the Hunger Games, the way the girls in my class ran from the room every now and then to throw up in the washroom and the way the boys were always on the edge, tense and aggressive. We were all waiting and dreading the new horror unleashed upon us by the Capitol.
Then, one night, we were called for a mandatory viewing. People filed into the square in front of the large TV screen, silent and worried. It was dark, and as I made my way to the square with my parents, my hands found theirs and squeezed tight, unwilling to let them go. It could be me next, as the female tribute, and even if it was relatively unlikely, given that I never took any tesserae, I was still scared. The spotlights blazed on once everyone stood in formation, and the air was thick with dread. Everyone stood still, afraid to move, unable to run, as the TV turned on. The President was onscreen, wearing an expensive suit, silk tie and white gloves.
"Good evening, citizens of Panem," he started, voice deep and rich, but unable to disguise the cunning, cruel mastermind beneath it. "As we all know, this year is the year of the 1rst Quarter Quell. And, this year there will be no reaping."
There was a stir of surprise from the crowd. My head was spinning. No reaping? Does this mean that there will be no Hunger Games this year? My heart leaped in hope.
"There will be no reaping," the President said again, "But there will be a Hunger Games. Each District will choose the male and female tribute to represent their District in the 25th Hunger Games. You will all submit the names of the two tributes to your area representative by reaping day. I repeat, each district will choose the male and female tributes to represent their District in the 25th Hunger Games. Submit the names to your area representative by reaping day. Thank you and have a good night."
The screen turned off.
All around, parents were weeping, whether from relief or fear, I don't know. Others were silently calculating their chances that their child will be chosen. I felt myself go numb with shock. This was worse than the reaping. I had a definite chance of being picked, given I wasn't too popular to begin with, but, with my parents as the doctor and the apothecary owner… would they choose me? Half of me was concerned for my own survival. The other half was feeling quite sorry for whatever child was chosen. Poor them! It must hurt a lot to be chosen by their own district to act as tribute!
I forced myself to calm down and calculate my chances and what the rest of the district would do. Would they do a Career and choose the kids most likely to survive? Or would they just send whatever unfortunate child who happened to be expendable to the Arena? Will only the adults vote? Or will my classmates have to vote?
Beside me, both my parents stood, unmoving, calculating my odds of being chosen. A babble of voices broke through the crowd, loudly discussing who should be tribute, and gradually, the babble spread, until everyone in District 12 was arguing. Some families went home. My mother steeled herself and told me to go home alone while she and my father sorted this out.
"Why?" I protested.
"Go home, Rania. Right now." She had on the expression she uses when she won't take no for an answer. I realized I couldn't change her mind. All I could hope for was for her and my father to persuade the others not to choose me. I went home.
The next day, I was woken by my grim faced parents. Forcing the words out of my mouth, I asked them, "Who did they choose?"
They looked at each other. My heart thumped.
"We don't know," my father said. "Eventually everyone agreed that the adults shouldn't vote. They didn't want the responsibility and the result to affect badly on them and their relationship with the rest of the community. They suggested that the children do."
All my breath whooshed out of me. My classmates, vote? Oh, no! Everyone in my entire grade except for a few outsiders always bunched in a gigantic group, leaving the people not belonging in the group as outsiders. Everyone in the exclusive group would make the same decision; find an outsider to sacrifice to keep their group together. And I was an outsider. I had a VERY big chance of being chosen right now.
I opened my mouth to speak, to ask them what will happen next, and then I promptly burst into tears.
"I d-don't want t-to g-g-go to the Arena!" I gasped out in between sobs. My mom sat on the bed with me and put a reassuring arm around me. My dad did the same.
"Shh, you won't go," my mom said reassuringly.
"Yes, we are in a position of power in this community," Dad said, "We won't let you go."
"Y-you don't understand! I'm n-not p-popular! They'd ch-choose me!" I wailed. And it all came bursting out. I confessed that I never was really popular and how nobody liked me, and how everyone calls me "Rania Brainiac" and never talked to me… all these things I've never told anyone before. My fears of the Arena also came pouring out. All those years of watching tributes starve, die of thirst, get killed, get maimed, get attacked by animals and other tributes… a whole lifetime of watching the Hunger Games has ingrained this fear so deeply into me that I can't escape the darkness. And the terror of being chosen! And worse, being chosen by your own District! I should have been nicer and less weird to everyone… then maybe I wouldn't be targeted as an outsider. That brought me into a whole new round of hysterics and, at last, I calmed down, after half an hour and a cup of herbal tea.
"Don't worry, darling. Sleep tight, and may your dreams be sweet." My mother crooned. Then she started singing a very old song, from a long time ago.
Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound
The sweet melody lulled me, I could feel myself drifting off, lying in my bed with my mother and father by my side like I was six years old instead of sixteen. I sang the next verse with her, softly, trying to believe the calming lyrics.
Don't you dare look out your window darling
Everything's on fire
The war outside our door keeps raging on
Hold onto this lullaby
Even when the music's gone
I was almost asleep now, sleeping in the protection of my parent's voices, willing away the Hunger Games. Maybe I wouldn't get chosen after all…
Just close your eyes
You'll be alright
Come morning light,
You and I'll be safe and sound...
When I woke up at the crack of dawn next morning, the first thing I did was to stumble bleary eyed to the washroom and assess the damage done by crying the whole night. Looking into the small, dusty mirror propped up on the wall, I could see that my eyes were red and swollen, and there were pillow wrinkles on my cheek. My hair was all tangled up and I looked in no shape to go to school. But I had to, otherwise, how am I to know if they've all voted me to be their tribute? It took 2 whole hours to make the swelling go down by applying herbs, and another 30 minutes to untangle my hair. By the time, I looked reasonably presentable, it was 7:00 a.m. Only 20 min until I had to walk to school.
I ran back to my room to pull on trousers and a soft cotton shirt; I wanted at least to make a good impression on my classmates to not pick me, and after grabbing my bag and a piece of bread for breakfast, I dashed out the door. When I got to my classroom, everyone was quite subdued. Almost all of them looked rather ill and nervous; even the popular people. Had they bothered to fear for their safety? They needn't fear anything; after all, basically everyone's on their side.
My attention was suddenly diverted when the grade teacher called out;
"As it is my duty only to supervise you in your choosing," she said, rather disapprovingly, "I am thereby not allowed to interfere in any way. However, that is no means to disrupt the class or to excuse bad behaviour from any of you. You will have 1 week to debate, and one day to vote. I'll be collecting all the votes in this box. Proceed."
As soon as she finished talking and started sitting down at her desk to mark some work, everyone in my grade broke out in a babble of debating. I slumped in my chair when I heard the popular people saying loudly;
"Let's start in choosing the boys. Then we'll choose the girls."
"For guys, how about a guy who'll stand a chance in the arena?" someone suggested.
"Good idea, I was about to say that."
"Who's the best fighter here?"
"Don't forget about survival skills!"
"Choose someone who can kill!"
"No! Choose someone who can survive!"
"Why? You might as well kill some Careers while you're at it."
"What about the school wrestling champ of our grade, Davis?"
"Nah, can't tell one plant from another."
"What about Michael? He's a good fighter!"
"Look, we only need to find the guy to represent OUR grade. They'll let us choose between the people from the other grades too later!"
"No, only from the 15 year olds and up because-"
"-the 12 year olds don't stand much of a chance against those Careers,"
"So just choose a guy and later we choose between the guys from the other classes…?"
"Basic idea,"
"Oh,"
"What about Cemeren?"
"The tall, strong looking guy?"
"He's Seam, right?"
"Is he even here today?"
"Nope"
"Still, we could choose him"
"And apparently he's quite fierce-"
"When it comes to fighting, that guy's been fighting all his life!"
"What do you mean?"
"Hello? He just had a brawl with the other Seam boys some weeks ago."
"He won?"
"Obviously"
"Alright people, for today, let's choose Cemeron for our boy tribute for our grade!"
"Alright!"
"Yeah!"
"Watch him fight it out with the 17 to 18 year olds. See who wins."
"Okay!" the voice of Ashleigh Dean, the most popular girl in our grade rang out. "We vote Cemeron Imade for the boy tribute for our grade!"
Our teacher just briefly looked up at them. "Have you chosen your grade's girl tribute yet?"
"Oh, okay."
The discussion turned right to choosing the girl tribute. I prayed that they wouldn't choose me. Unfortunately, Ashleigh Dean had other ideas.
"For the girl tribute… well, none of us are really good at fighting…"
Of course you aren't, you've been too busy flirting…
"So we'll choose a girl who… will be a tribute."
The meaning was clear. They intended to choose a girl who nobody in this class would really miss. They didn't care anymore about which girl was most likely to survive, they just wanted a tribute to replace themselves in the Arena.
"So who wants to volunteer?"
Silence. Nobody spoke. Some girls looked nervously around to their friends. I sat tensely in my chair, waiting for them to speak first. I was afraid that if I called attention to myself, they'd all remember that there is one girl who isn't part of their exclusive circle.
"Girls, I think we need to girl talk." Ashleigh grabbed her friends and swept out of the classroom imperiously. All the girls in my grade followed her out into the hall. I reluctantly followed along.
"For this… I think that we'll debate." Ashleigh said in a confidential whisper. Other whispers followed.
"What about… uh, Nelly? She's good with… uh, wrestling." Ashleigh's friends said. I could tell she didn't mean it. Nelly was one of the least unpopular girls in the class and they were all just finding excuses to volunteer her. Nelly's eyes filled up with tears.
"But I don't know how to wrestle!" she wailed. "And why are you all picking on me?"
"Fine," Ashleigh said hastily. "What about… Thalia?"
"Nah, I like her, she's my friend."
"Meg? She's good at running,"
"Nope, she's actually okay sometimes…"
"What about Rania?" Ashleigh looked directly at me, like a predator circling its prey. I froze up. I didn't know whether to scream at her or choke her.
"Rania?"
"Rania. Yes, Rania." Ashleigh smirked, looking at me. "Why not? She's 'Rania Brainiac' after all. She could stare right through the Careers and read their souls, wouldn't you? You'd be perfect for the arena."
I flushed. "Well, what about you, Queen Ashleigh?" I spat back. "You could seduce all the guy Careers into giving you food, shelter and etc, the same way you charmed Adam into giving you answers to the history assignment we had, you'd be perfect for the arena."
Ashleigh's pretty face contorted into a snarl. She stepped forward towards me and the whole group melted back. A major battle was going to begin.
"Well, Rania, why aren't you so eager to volunteer? Maybe you're scared that you'd miss homework? After all, what could a nerd like you be afraid of other than missed homework and a B+? Or, are you just afraid that some big Career will come to pick on you?"
"I'm not-"
"Or," she continued even more loudly, "do you not want to show the entire Panem how pathetic you are? Even if they pretty you up or train you in the Capitol, I don't think people will sponsor you… nor do you have any skills you can show them in the training centre…"
"Well, if you get chosen, what will you do in the training centre, Ashleigh? Strip for them?"
"Okay, that's it!"
The next thing I knew, Ashleigh was trying to get her hands to my throat. I managed to punch her in the jaw and get up before she could launch herself on me again. The other girls looked scared; they had huddled in a dense circle around us two and were watching the show with trepidation, excitement and indifference. I stepped out of Ashleigh's punching range.
"Girls," Ashleigh cocked her head in my direction, "How about we give Rania a taste of what it feels like to go into the Arena?"
A few people nodded their heads in excitement, but most of them just looked scared for me.
"Or," continued Ashleigh, sensing unrest and determined to keep her cool in front of everyone else to preserve her image. "We all vote her to be our district tribute. Why ever not? She can fight, she's smart, and she knows plants… the only thing is she's too pathetic. But we can overlook that little flaw… we all need our tribute, don't we?" she tossed back her mane of golden blonde hair.
Everyone was nodding all around me, their will crumbling in the face of Ashleigh's determination. She had basically everyone under her thumb. I was the most unpopular, I was the scapegoat, meant to replace their sorry lives in the Arena. I swore under my breath. I couldn't believe that she was to do this to me! Feeling infinitesimally too angry to fight her, I stormed back into the classroom.
They've done it.
They've chosen me as tribute in representative with the 16 year olds of my region. Tomorrow, I would have to compete with the representatives of District 12's 17 to 18 year olds. All the youth of District 12, from the 12 year olds to the 18 year olds would vote for who to represent our district.
I laid in bed, tears still dripping. It had been a long and exhausting day. After the shouting match with Ashleigh, I had gone back to the classroom and sat rigidly in my chair while the rest of my class declared their female tribute. As soon as the end day bell rang, I swept all my belongings in my bag and ran out the door to my house, never stopping on the way. Without a word of explanation to my parent's anxious faces as I burst through the door, I ran straight to my room and collapsed on the bed, sobbing.
Why me? I thought. Yes, why me? I never did anything that really gave them cause to hate me, they just did. It's not like I humiliated them before… Ashleigh just hated me the moment we met for no apparent reason. The only time I ever fought back was earlier on today, when I taunted Ashleigh about her and the guys, and that was only because she had backed me into a corner! Why me?
I drifted off to sleep, not bothering to answer to the smells of dinner and my parent's questionings.
By the time I woke again, it was midnight, and all was silent except for the crickets chirping outside. It was late spring, and the best spring I ever encountered before. Too bad I'd probably be heading off to the Arena in a month's time. I got off my bed, careful not to make the rusty mattress swing, and approached my bedroom window with silent footsteps. The dirty glass concealed some of the beautiful scenery outside, but I could still clearly make out all the shapes and the stars and the moon shining above. I cool breeze whispered through a hole in the glass. I breathed in the fresh air. Were my breaths numbered now? Seeking to get away from it all, I gazed through the window at the night scene, immersing myself in the beauty of nature. Somewhere, a mockingjay sang. The sad, sweet note mixed with the chirping of crickets and the winds rustle of leaves. A lump rose to my throat. I had a very big chance of being chosen as tribute; Ashleigh would make sure of that; her realm of influence extended from the 14 years olds to the 17 years olds. She probably would sway their opinions to fulfill her own agenda.
Suddenly the room seemed too oppressive. Pulling on a woolen sweater over my nightdress, I slipped out of the front door and stood, barefoot, in the cool, dewy grass. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm down. Calm down. My mind begins to clear. I'll think up a strategy; something that will keep me out of the games. I can, can't I? I'm one of the smartest people in my class; I can think of something.
Slowly, a plan begins to form, first with flaws, but soon it is whole, perfect, and a safety net to keep me out of the Arena. The day after tomorrow, I have to compete against the girls chosen from the 17 and 18 year old age sector. If I act mediocre and weak, perhaps people will choose the 17 year old or 18 year old over me? If I get back into Ashleigh's good books… perhaps it will work? Or should I start being really, really nice to the younger kids in hopes of swaying their influence. That in mind, and with the night's sweet, cool air in my lungs, I head back to bed.
"Rania Braleigh, please step up to the stage,"
The school principal called me up to the stage to stand beside the other two girl tributes for District 12. One, the 17 year old, is tall, strong, and brawny looking, and looked as if she wrestled for a living. The other, the 18 year old, is small, thin, and ill looking; she clearly came from the Seam. I stood next to the 17 year old, hoping to look small and pathetic and make everyone choose her instead of me. My head only goes up to her chin. The 18 year old looked at me shiftily. I raised my head up to cover my nervousness to the crowd, all whom are 12 to 18 year olds. They were the ones to vote for which tribute. They held our fate in their hands.
The boys had already been chosen, following a wrestling competition, plant identification test, obstacle course made shoddily out of boxes, and coal mining equipment, and various other tests meant to judge who was most likely to survive. Cemeron was chosen as the boy tribute for District 12.
Now it was the girls' turn.
To my left, in the side of the school gym was the obstacle course, with various vines, ropes, boxes and etc. Behind the course was the plant identification table. To the right of the gym was the wrestling and hand to hand combat place, where, apparently, I was supposed to go face up against the 17 year old and the 18 year old. In the far back of the gym were weightlifting, archery and knife throwing, and later on, we all would head outside to the schoolyard for sprinting races and tree climbing. If this wasn't a fight for my life, the entire experience could actually have been fun.
I felt the crowds' eyes hold me in place. Everyone was judging us, and those stares could change the whole course of our lives. I slouched down, wanting to get out of there, while the 17 year old flexed her muscles. She clearly thought that she had a chance in the Arena, despite the fact that no one in District 12 had ever won the games before. The 18 year old, silently sobbed, trying to hold tears back. I scowled. She was stealing my tactic! Now, if people didn't choose her, they'd either choose me or the 17 year old!
After 5 uncomfortable minutes of staring, we were led to the obstacle course. Adrenaline coursed through me, and my suppressed fear had my fingers shaking involuntarily. The 18 year old went first. For someone who looked as if a strong breeze could blow her over, she performed pretty well. In a flash, she was over the ramp, jumped over the 'sinking' sand pit and started the climbing ropes. She fell twice, but managed to get up to the rope after about 10 minutes. Then came the wire trap, where dozens of intricate, almost invisible wires criss-crossed the air and the objective was to go past the wires without touching them, which could set off a trap. That didn't go so well for the 18 year old. After two steps, her ankle got twisted in between the strands and she ended up in a heap on the floor, dragging all the wires down with her. It took 20 minutes just to reset the wire trap after that.
The 17 year old was next. She performed admirably in all areas, got through the obstacles with minor difficulties and manages the time of 15 minutes, and I was secretly hoping that people will consider her to be tribute. Then it was my turn to test my skills.
Being thin, and medium height, with a relatively healthy body from eating herbal plants all my life, I thought that I had a good chance. I wanted to act mediocre, but since the 17 year old proved her worth, and really, no amount of sniveling will make me look weak compared to the 18 year old, I decided just to go for it. Plus the thought of proving to Ashleigh that I wasn't pathetic at all also gave me iron hard determination to outdo myself.
Squaring my shoulders, and tossing my white blonde braid behind my back, I entered the obstacle course.
I bent my knees, preparing to launch myself over the ten, metre high hurdles, while I calculated my strategies and tactics for all the obstacles that lay beyond that. The timer hasn't gone yet, and my brain buzzed with activity.
Bzzzzz
The timer had gone off. I took off at a full out sprint towards the hurdles. They were getting closer… and closer… and closer… I jumped and cleared the first hurdle easily, the rest were just as easy as the first. I thought I made good time. Then, remembering my tactic of appearing mediocre, I purposely wasted 3 minutes trying to act mediocre in the rope climbing section, which, in fact was one of my strongest assets; the ability to climb. But Ashleigh and her minions' taunting faces egged me on and I cleared the criss-crossing wires with no difficulty. For the rest of the obstacle course; I was competent, but not as competent as the 17 year old, partly because I purposely lagged behind to avoid being voted. Finally, I cleared the obstacle course with the time of 16 minutes and 50 seconds.
Next was the plant identification table. I didn't even bother to appear average. Everyone knew my parents were apothecary owners and doctors. I swept the plants test with a blink of an eye. It was so easy that it was instinctive; years of gathering herbs and edible plants with my father had given me a sharp eye for detail and a thorough knowledge of which plants to eat and which to not.
The 17 and 18 year old had a harder time; they couldn't tell which plants were edible and which were not.
Then came the part I was dreading; the hand to hand combat part. To say that I knew how to fight was an overstatement; I had a general, theoretical idea, yes, but I never actually got the chance to apply them. I was an only child, so I never fought or wrestled with anyone, and, being a girl who lived in the merchants' side of town, I was generally discouraged to fight. But I was a quick study, and once I had seen two Seam boys brawling and summarized some of the techniques. Now, I prepared to analyze how the 18 year old and the 17 year old fought it out, and hopefully, once I knew the basics, I should be able to hold my own. My tactic was to defend my ground and not be humiliated, but still to be defeated so people will consider voting for the 17 year old instead.
The 17 and the 18 year old stepped into the ring, muscles tense as they circled each other. A few feints were made, but none of them started moving. The crowd hissed; they wanted to see some action quick. The 17 year old eventually clenched her jaw and dashed forward, hoping to tackle the smaller girl. Unfortunately for her; the 18 year old was faster and she quickly evaded the attack, which left the 17 year old wheeling around to see where her brethren had gone. This continued for a few more minutes, with the large 17 year old wheeling all around the ring, the 18 year old dodging. It started to look like a bull fight between the two. Until at last, the 18 year old girl's reflexes slowed down somewhat and she got slammed into the ground by the 17 year old who quickly made a mock slit-throat motion which concluded the match.
Knowing I didn't have much time left until I got called into the ring, I hastily summarized the motions. Lunge, evade, dodge, keep centre of balance, swing with dominant hand with the opposite leg in front, kick bending your supporting leg knee slightly, keep motions fluid and balanced, don't overbalance, stay vigilante.
"Rania; you're up against Clive."
"Alright," I said, trying to keep from calm. Breathe in, breathe out, calm down. "Alright," I said again, my voice steadier. I ducked in between the ropes and stood in the ring against the 17 year old. She looked me up and down, assessing my strengths and weaknesses. I looked her up and down, seeing that she preferred force over speed, and liked to wrestle and grab rather than punch. She had strong upper arm muscles, however, her centre of balance was slightly off, leaving her vulnerable to being tripped or thrown against the ground. I widened my stance, bouncing on the balls of my feet to keep agility and balance. I was not big, tall, and strong like Clive, but although I'm petite next to her, and thinner with leaner and not so bulging muscles, I was fast and my balance was perfect. I'd do better relying on swift jabs, evasion, some elbow work, and a lot of fast kicks and punches. I raised my fists in defensive position and got ready. Clive made the first move. Lunging ferociously towards me, she drew back her right arm and tried to hook it at me. I dodged easily under the attack and swept her feet off the floor whilst she was precariously balanced on the tips of her toes in her eagerness to punch closer. Clive crashed to the ground and swore loudly. I heard some 12 year olds titter. I backed away to a safe distance from her while she got to her feet, red faced and looking very angry.
The game was about to start for real.
With no warning, she threw her whole body at me, shoulder first, and although I tried to evade, her shoulder slammed into me and I was knocked to the floor. Winded for a moment, I rolled out of the way just in time as Clive punched a vicious punch right where my head had been. Her fist hit the hard ground and she howled with rage and pain. This battle was personal now. I saw the danger coming and flipped over onto my feet and ran to the opposite side of the ring. Advancing on me menacingly, Clive growled in a voice that seemed almost more animal than human,
"You think you can get away with this? You're mistaken."
There was a blurred movement. I flinched and brought my guard up, but too late. Suddenly, I was thrown back into the ropes with such force that if I hadn't been held up by her hands at my throat, I would have collapsed on the floor. Her fingers were squeezing so hard I almost blacked out; the pressure on my throat was unbearable. I could feel myself falling semiconscious as the seconds crept by, blackness filled the edges of my vision, and Clive's smirking face was sliding in and out of focus. I knew, from the look in Clive's rage filled eyes that she wouldn't stop squeezing until I fell unconscious. And I couldn't let myself fall unconscious. How could I? There were all those people watching, and even if there weren't so much people I'd never let someone trumpet their victory over me. Summoning up the last of my energy, I raised my hand and dug my fingers into her face. Shrieking with pain and anger, Clive stumbled back, hands flying up to her eye which she massaged while swearing profusely, back hunched over nursing her wounds. I collapsed onto the floor, gasping as I massaged my throat. I felt like I was going to faint. But the fight isn't over yet.
I got up, leaning heavily against the ring's ropes, feeling sick and dizzy. The ground swooped beneath my feet and I almost blacked out. But I had to keep going. Now that I've injured Clive, she wasn't going to stop until she hurt me. Seriously. I had to win this fight then, to save my own life.
Once I'd composed myself, and could stand unsupported without swaying, I launched myself at Clive just as she had her back turned to me. I knew this was underhanded and everything; attacking someone who is unawares, but I knew that if this dragged on any longer, serious injuries might occur. Better to end the match sooner before anything big happened. I pretended to slice her throat from behind and the buzzer sounded; I had won the match.
A referee came in between Clive and I just seconds before she reached for my throat again. Thank goodness. I didn't think I could take any more fighting.
The next station, the weightlifting, archery and knife throwing station were less violent, but Clive kept edging closer and closer towards me, while I backed away just as fast. Naturally, she excelled in the weightlifting while the 18 year old and I couldn't lift the heavier packs, but all of us were thoroughly incompetent in the archery and knife throwing. Eventually, after minutes of all of us looking lost as we tried to figure what the correct way to hold a knife is and how to notch a bow, a man from the Seam, who was a known hunter, got called over to instruct us. I watched him closely as he drew back the arrow on the bowstring. Thwap! The arrow sailed through the air and landed right on the bulls-eye. I mimed stringing back an air bow and arrow, mimicking his every move and lined it up with an imaginary target. Shifting my weight the way the Seam man did, I mimed letting the arrow go. Clive scowled at me and made a 'crazy' gesture next to her head in an attempt to infuriate me. I ignored this and repeated the motions.
"Since this girl is so eager to try out the bow and arrows, why don't you go first? Ten tries each person."
I jumped when the bow and arrows were shoved in my hands.
"Uh," I nervously laughed, "I don't think I'm really ready yet… why not she go first?" I gestured to the 18 year old.
"No, no," the Seam man said, not unkindly, "You seem so eager to try out. You go first."
I made my way to the archery range slowly, feeling a hundred people's eyes on my back. Let's hope I don't mess up this time, I thought.
I notch the arrow in the string, and pull it back. The bow's stiff and I could feel some muscles in my arm trembling as I drew back the arrow and lined it up with the bulls-eye. A little higher… a bit lower… a bit more to the right… Then, something in my gut told me that was the right place to shoot. My arms trembling with the effort of holding the heavy bow still, I let the arrow fly.
Thump!
The arrow sank into red painted wood.
I had hit the bows eye.
A moment of shock came over the crowd, and despite Ashleigh's best glares, it couldn't stifle the whoops and cheers from many people, kids and adults alike. I beamed back, feeling rather proud I had accomplished this difficult feat. Then, I was knocked aside and the bow and arrow snatched from my hands as Clive stormed past me and yelled, "Anyone can do that! Easy!"
She strung up the bow, notched the arrow and took aim. Before the arrow even left her fingers, I knew this was a botched shot. Her elbow was too low, the arrow too high, and her balance was off. Sure enough, when the arrow flew, it hit the wall with a solid crack, 2 meters off target. Flushing with rage or humiliation or both, Clive strung another arrow and did it again and again and again. Each missed by at least 1 metre. When the boos from the crowd grew too loud to ignore, she stomped off the stage, shoved the bow and arrow into the 18 year olds arm and shoved past me, making sure to knock me aside with her shoulder. Rubbing my arm, I continued to watch the show. The 18 year old fared no better than Clive in the archery, even after 10 tries. After 10 tries, she just dropped the bows and arrows into the Seam man's arm and slouched down the stage. Suddenly a voice rang out.
"Rania did it only as a fluke!" Clive yelled. "Make her do it again!"
The Seam man gently took hold of my elbow and led me to the stage again. I seem to recall him as one of the fathers of three starving children in the Seam which my family had fed before. The bow and arrow were placed in my hands again. I nodded in thanks. He nodded back, in that gesture, conveying his gratitude to my family. Heartened by the support I now realized that my family and I had, I drew back the bowstring, notched the arrow and peered down the shaft. Again, I had that gut feeling when I should shoot, and again, I followed that feeling. The arrow hit centre again. Remembering my strategy to appear mediocre, I notched another arrow, purposely aimed at the very edge of the target and let the string go. The arrow stuck in on the place where I had just aimed. I secretly smiled to myself. Looks like I have good aim after all.
I aimed at various random spots, but my pride prevented me from purposely doing wrong too much, so by the time I finished my shooting round, I didn't hit bulls eye every time (because I didn't aim for it every time) but I wasn't as bad an aim as Clive and the 18 year old. I used the same strategy for knife throwing; studying the trainer's movements thoroughly before attempting my own, and, I have to say, if I did aim for bulls-eye every time, I would have gotten a bulls-eye aim every time.
Next were sprinting, which was pretty uneventful. I let the 17 year old beat me, but it was impossible not to beat the 18 year old; she was slowly jogging along at snail's pace. After sprinting, was the tree climbing test. The 18 year old went first, huffing and puffing herself up the tree. At last, she got a few metres off the ground, looked down, and went into hysterics. We couldn't get her either down nor up, and she was stuck up there until someone fetched a ladder and carried her down. My turn was after hers. I hauled myself up the tree, going rather slowly to deceive people. In fact, I was actually really good at tree climbing. I loved to scurry up and down trees to look at the sky whenever I went gathering with my parents. But I forced myself to go slowly, even pushed out a fake whimper or so whenever I looked down and I finally got to (almost) the top of the tree. I slid down and it was the 17 year old's turn. She didn't seem so happy to wait a long time, so she rushed at the tree with all her might and began practically flying up. Halfway up the tree though, her foot caught a dead branch and sent the branch down. Clive was left hanging by her hands to another branch with no place to put her feet when the branch she was gripping also cracked. Down and down she fell, limbs flailing and tearing through the air and when she hit the ground, everyone heard a crack that made people wince. Clive was on the ground, gritting her teeth to prevent from crying as she clutched her leg. From the angle it's at, her leg must be broken. The district doctor rushed forwards and patted the leg lightly to feel it. Clive gave an ear splitting howl and started yelling swear words.
"Her leg bone's broken," said the doctor, "It'll take at least 6 months to heal."
Six months.
The Games were in three weeks!
I felt the blood rush out of my face as I comprehended what was going to happen. No! No! It can't be! They were going to choose me! I'm going to the Arena!
My legs felt weak, and I felt dizzy. Shock gripped my heart and I almost stopped breathing. My brain worked frantically. They weren't going to choose the 18 year old, that was for sure. And with the 17 year old's leg broken, the only viable option for to go to the Arena was… me. I was going to the Arena. I was going to the Arena. I was going to the Arena.
Without warning, my legs gave out, and I collapsed on the grassy ground where we conducted our sprinting evaluation. Everything was fading, my head was spinning, I heard screaming.
The last thing I saw before everything turned to black was a mockingjay flitting on the branches of the trees above.
"She's alright now, she's coming around."
"Shh, don't be so loud."
"Are you okay sweetheart?"
"Did they vote yet?"
"Yes…"
"What was the result?"
"Um… well."
"It was…"
"No! I'll tell you later."
I blearily opened my eyes. Blurred shapes were moving in front of me, obscuring the light in places, and then letting the bright light shine right in my eyes. What was happening? What had happened? Why was I lying here? Where is 'here'?
I mumbled blearily, "Can someone turn off the light?"
"She says to turn off the light."
In an instant, the candle lamps were extinguished and I was in relative darkness. I sat up gingerly.
"What happened?"
"Oh, honey." The school nurse said, as she bent over me checking my pulse, my pupils, my temperature. "You co-"
"No, I mean, the voting." I said, rather more sharply than I intended. "Who got chosen?"
Another voice chimed in. "The big tall boy who's the son of the butcher, and for the girl tribute…"
"How about we explain it later…" the nurse interjected.
"No." I said, voice trembling. I was almost verging on hysteria. "Who got chosen for the girl tribute."
"You have to understand that this may come for a shock for you…"
"Who!" I was hyperventilating now. "Tell me!"
The nurse hesitated. "It-it was… you," she said in a soft whisper.
"What?" My voice rose shrilly. I didn't attempt to conceal my hysterics. "What? No! No! No! It can't be me! No!" Screaming now, my arms flailed around, knocking over a lamp. I attempted to get up from bed. "No!" I kept repeating. The nurse's words; 'It was you,' echoed in my head. It was you. It was you. "No!"
I tripped in my bedsheets, got tangled up in them, and then crashed to the floor, bruising my shoulder. "No!" They were trying to calm me now, saying it was okay, nothing's wrong. Silly words, empty air, empty promises. I was chosen! Why try to conceal the fact! "It's NOT okay!" I screamed at them. "Everything's wrong!"
Then, someone faintly yelled,
"Someone get the sedative!"
"No! I WON'T be sedated!" I tried to get up, to shake myself free of the blankets and sheets. I wanted to run away, far into the woods and never return. Scrambling on my knees, I stumbled to my feet to run out the door.
"Get the sedative!"
It was all chaos. People were running, shouting, screaming. Was the screaming coming from me? I had to get away from the noise. Tripping over my own feet, I made three steps before someone launched itself at me and knocked me to the floor. I hit it hard on my already injured shoulder and tears mixed with my shrieks. I flailed wildly trying to get the person off me, but instead of the pressure decreasing, it increased. I felt hands pin me to the ground and then a sharp stabbing motion in my arm. Immediately, I started to feel woozy and tired.
I slipped into the hazy dreamland of sleep syrup, glad to be away from the harsh hard world.
When I awoke, I was in my own bedroom, alone, and judging from the crickets outside, at night. For a while, I just lay there in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to comprehend what had happened. It felt like the whole voting part, the tests… it had all been a bad, bad dream I just woke up from. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed it to be a dream. When I opened my eyes, I realized that it all was real. I still couldn't believe.
Sighing, I swung my legs off the bed and got to my feet. I was still dressed in what I had been wearing today at the testing. Staring at those clothes in uneasiness, I quickly changed to something else, all the while trying to keep from looking at the testing clothes. I didn't want any reminders of what had happened today.
Slipping into a comfortable white top with pale pants, I crept noiselessly to the door and stepped through into the hallways. How many times will I get to walk in this hallway again? Will I ever come home after the Games? Walking down the halls, going down the stairs, heading outside. Once I was in nature, I could breathe. Every lungful of cool sweet air seemed to calm me down. The sounds of nature were comforting, and the cool grass practically begged to be stepped on. I stood there for a while, enjoying the meadow, thinking of nothing in particular when all of a sudden an urge to go into the forest and swim in the lake took over. I followed the impulse and found myself running like a deer through the dense trees. All was dark and there were shadows everywhere, but I wasn't afraid. There was a talisman in me that protected me from all harm. The moon guided my way, shining its silvery light down on the leaves, making my blonde hair sparkle white. The moss was soft beneath my feet. Soundlessly, I ventured into the woods alone. I had never been in the woods by myself, least of all at night, but tonight… I dared to. Continuing on the barely visible path, I headed straight to the lake wanting to plunge beneath its cool surface. Stripping off my clothes, I waded into there, relishing in the feel of the silken waters against my skin. When the waters grew too deep for my feet to reach the bottom, I slipped my head inside and dived down beneath the surface. Under the lake was a whole new world; a world of breathtaking beauty, of mystery and of magic. The silver light of the moon filtered through the surface of the lake, illuminating underwater grottos covered in sea weed, shoals of small fish and the occasional pike. I held no fear. Animals loved me, and I love them. They wouldn't hurt me. We had a connection.
I lingered down there for a few more seconds, then dove up to the surface to replenish my air supply. After I had taken a deep breath, I dove down again, this time, swimming, winding my way through the semi-clear water, taking in with my eyes every little detail. I wanted to enjoy what remained of my life as much as I can.
Suddenly, an idea struck me. An idea to avoid the Arena. I might get killed in the Arena by some Career tribute in a way I wouldn't want, but if I take my life on my own terms… will it guarantee happiness, will it work?
I briefly contemplated just drowning myself in this place of beauty, right now, but the thought of never having to say goodbye to my parents stopped me. We were together for fifteen years. I wouldn't go out without saying goodbye to them. Saving the idea for tomorrow, where I can properly say goodbye to them, I lost myself in the swirling waters of the lake.