Three months before the Quell

I laid on my back, spread-eagle on the bed, my glasses askew, blood slowly staining my white button down shirt. My breathing was slow, very slow, and even; my heartbeat snail pace and quiet, whilst the blood slowly pooled in my face because it dangled off the side of the bed. My feet were over the opposite side, and they were starting to get pins and needles because they'd been hanging there for so long.

And then finally she entered. The new maid who had only been here a week and who was scheduled to clean the boys dormitories today. She slowly cleaned the others beds, and my brown eyes followed her progress, watching her bend over and make the beds or crouch down to pick up someone's laundry and add it to the basket at her hip. She was old-looking, maybe in her forties, which was a rare occurrence here in District Seven, but she hadn't made anything better of herself than a housemaid, even though she survived the war. My eyes almost narrowed at the thought.

The blood from my death wound had almost soaked my whole shirt now, just the collar and the back to spread to. My breathing was quiet and slow, and I knew as soon as she looked at me that I would be dead in her eyes. There was no help for someone whose blood had covered the whole front of their shirt.

Finally she straightened up from scrubbing a bedpan; she saw me and shrieked, literally throwing her basket into the air and running, screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs, from the room. I could hear her from down the hall when she reached the director's office telling Mrs. Ferwere that a boy, here, in the community home, had died! And then I heard Mrs. Ferwere's heels clicking furiously against the linoleum floors as she trotted with the distressed maid down to the boy's dormitories.

And when Mrs. Ferwere saw me, sitting up on my bed, crying and shaking from laughing so hard, my unmarked-chest bare except for the empty bag of red dye taped to my stomach because my blood-stained shirt was on the floor, her face immediately turned purple from rage and I knew that I would get the worst discipline speech ever. And, as always, it started off with Mrs. Ferwere seeing the need to use my full name.

"Isaac Joshua Alldrenn!" she was very severe. I saw some of the other boys slip into the dormitory, some glaring in my direction, some indifferent; others giving me subtle thumbs ups. I noticed my fingers still had dye on them. Without thinking I licked the dye off, sucking gently on my fingers while pretending to listen to Mrs. Ferwere rave, until I had cleaned them. Since I was already on my bed, I leant back into the pillow, adjusted my glasses to a comfortable position, put my arms behind my head and lay there listening to Mrs. Ferwere like I had done it a thousand times. Which is probably because I had.

After I was set to cleaning duty for six months and was slapped across the face three times, all people in the community home were called to the recreation room to see the mandatory viewing that our mayor had informed all in District Seven to watch. President Statia, the Capitol's monarch, appeared, smiling thinly to the crowd. He had close-cropped grey hair and very deep blue eyes, but he had a sort of fatherly look around him because he was very portly and walked with a swagger that created the image of him rolling. But his eyes were cold and his lips were thin.

He cleared his throat and started a rumbling speech dictating the Dark Days that only finished twenty-five years ago, concluding in The Hunger Games- a gift to the rebelling Districts from our beloved Capitol.

But apparently, this year's games were going to be special, perhaps themed or maybe have a special requirement of the Districts. Not the normal battle to the death, no, this was our first ever Quarter Quell to celebrate the quarter of one hundred Games the Capitol will get to enjoy. But when he pulled out a shiny wooden box with hundreds of envelopes in it, it seemed they plan for many, many more Quarter Quells than four.

President Statia slit open the very first envelope with a fine pointed dagger and unfolded the paper within it. He read the words written on the heavy waxy paper out to the microphone "Now to honour our first ever Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every District will be made to hold an election and vote on the Tributes who will represent the District." The crowd of Capitol people on television were screaming in assent, looking excited and hopeful, and why wouldn't they? It was a new event for them, something exciting, a twist on the thing they love.

I blinked at the screen, and then I looked at the people around me, feeling the tenderness in my swollen cheek from where Mrs Ferwere had slapped me. All the grungy boys with grubby faces and hands, in second-hand clothes and shoes two sizes too big. All the girls with their missing teeth, soiled dresses and dirty knees with their hair greasy and stringy. Then I look at the adults. I see the more motherly carers gathering the younger children into them, assuring the ones who were crying that they'd never vote for them. But I see them glance at me when they think about voting, I get a fleeting glance of Mrs. Ferwere's satisfied raised eyebrow and I catch the eye of the new maid who had finally come out of hysterics, I realise that there may be a very real chance of them voting for someone in this room. And my guess would be the odds are not in my favour.

One and a half months before the Quell

It was Saturday today, and that meant no school but chores for me. And today was the day that District Seven would be voting on their Tribute for the twenty-fifth Hunger Games. I went through a checklist in my head of the qualities I possessed for the possibility of being a Tribute this year.

Adults hated me, and only adults were voting.

I have no parents, and the corpses that were my parents were unrespected alcoholics who- yep, you guessed it- everyone hated.

I'm a bad influence on the other kids.

I steal.

I scare people.

I kick puppies (I'm just kidding here, but you may as well put that on the list since everyone hates me anyway).

So I'm pretty much in the Games aren't I?

But there were loads of worse kids in my District. I mean, there were those kids who beat up others, ones who bet on who was getting reaped, ones who were so poor and hungry they sold their bodies to older citizens, and those who got pleasure of ratting out the wrongdoers to Peacekeepers. So why wouldn't the adults vote for them?

I was in the main market streets of District Seven, dodging around people carrying their heavy lumber and sneakily swiping food like buns and apples off the stalls lining the streets. Of course the shopkeepers saw me do it, but they couldn't get to me in time to beat me for being a kleptomaniac because I melted into the crowd and artfully timed my pilfering to when they had at least a few customers.

I suppose I shouldn't be stealing now that I was trying to win people's favour but it was second nature to me. I had been 'shop-lifting'- as Peacekeepers called it, because the stalls are such big shops- since I could roam the streets alone. It wasn't something I needed to do; I just enjoyed the thrill of being unstoppable. Sure, I liked the food, it tasted great, but for the amount of times I had been caught and punished, you'd think it wasn't worth it. The Peacekeepers or the stall-owners themselves either beat me, which is what happened most of the time, or tell the community home and let them deal with me; the delinquent. I had been beaten often, so now I had three broken teeth, a slightly twisted nose and a finger which wasn't set right when it was broken so now it's permanently twisted.

I wandered back to the community hall and saw that now, at noon, adults were filing past me to go to the Justice building and vote on their Tributes. I walked by them, saying hi to some and smiling as sweetly as a tall, ropey, seventeen-year-old can, hoping to win some last-minute favours. Some smiled or waved back, others scowled, and more still were burying their faces in their hands as they thought about what they had to do.

It won't be me, I thought, and I believed it because there were worse kids and I lived in good, strong District Seven, and they wouldn't vote for me because they hated me. No, they would vote to get rid of some person they thought doesn't deserve to live, a kid who they would want to put out of their misery, or that was so bad they couldn't remain here living with the rest of us. Yes, that would be the category that the kids they voted for would belong to.

Quell

Hair brushed and presentable. Check.

Teeth cleaned and white-ish. Sorta.

Clean clothes and semi-shiny shoes on. Yup

Confidence that I wouldn't be chosen. Nada.

I walked with the other community kids to the main square, straightening a little girl's jacket, and telling another seventeen-year-old in the faded, grey orphan dress to keep her head held high. She nodded bravely at me, and we took the lead of the crowd of orphans, lining them all up and telling them to be brave.

See, I'm not that bad. To children at least. Adults I don't care for, and the law I just don't respect. But kids? Yeah, I love them.

I stood with the other boys my age, nodding to them and noticing the ones who looked like they were accepting the fact that they could never be chosen, and searching the lost eyes of the others whose faces were closed and pale. In other words, the ones who had acknowledged that they could quite possibly be the ones chosen to die.

Instead of the usual two glass balls at the stage, there were two envelopes, weighted down with silver paperweights stamped with District Seven's emblem. Four chairs stood at the back of the stage, all occupied. In two sat previous victors, the mentors for this year. One was a sickly morphling addict, the other a brown-skinned Capitol pawn with bleached-green hair and studded ears. Seated next to them was our escort for this year, Cameria, who was chatting animatedly with our mayor.

Then the clock's bells rang and Mayor Saige stood and walked to the microphone. He was a strict man with cold grey eyes, olive skin and black hair. He told us what he told everyone every year, adding on the Quarter Quell's requirements at the end, and then introduce Cameria who tottered forward on her massive high heels to the microphone, smiling with her bleached Capitol smile and waving.

She was dressed head-to-toe in butter yellow, and had on a shining wig of metallic gold curls that was shaped into a huge beehive. He hands were adorned with rings, which, even plain, were a great prize here in Seven, but hers were adorned with gems and accents. Ropes of precious stones lined her throat and wrists and ankles, and she had wings tattooed upon her breastbone, probably symbolising her ultimate ditzy freedom. I was aching to run up and rob her of all her possessions.

"Hi!" she called into the microphone, waving ecstatically to us. "I am so excited to be here!" Everyone in Seven knew she was actually being sincere since she got moved up here from District Twelve three years ago.

"Well, let's not delay any longer and see the lucky two Tributes who your District has volunteered for the Hunger Games this year!" She squealed, and tottered over to the envelopes. "Ladies first!" she slit the envelope and pulled out a white card. She came back to the microphone and spoke in a clear voice, "Gabriella Vulthasson."

I had never heard of this girl before, and as she came up to the stage, glaring at the crowd, disbelieving that they voted for her, I saw why. She was bone thin, with a baggy dress on that was too short. I didn't recognise her face but I presumed she was one of the girls who sold themselves for food. Her hair was long and black, and her brown eyes were filling with tears.

"Anything to say, Gabbie?" Cameria held the microphone for Gabriella and I saw her flinch at the nickname. She shook he head, but her anguished sob could be heard through the speakers.

"Okay then. Boy's turn!" Cameria placed the microphone down and went to collect the other envelope. She came back and I felt pretty safe since they voted on someone who had done crime. All I did was stole occasionally, and that wasn't that bad. Was it?

Cameria cleared her throat and spoke clearly "Isaac Alldrenn," into the microphone. I cussed so loudly that the boys near me jumped, but I jogged up to the podium soon enough. "Anything you want to say, dear?" Cameria held the microphone to me. I saw people smirking at my expression, but I turned the joke onto them, the horrible people who voted for me.

"I am so excited!" I gushed. I saw people's faces fall and stare disbelieving at me as I clutched my hands to my chest and gave the ultimate expression of a person dying of excitement. "Thank you all for giving me the chance to participate in this year's Quell. I am so happy, gosh, thank you all!" And I spread my arms as if to embrace the whole District. Cameria was near ecstatic tears next to me, but Gabriella just stared at me, incredulous.

Cameria took control of the microphone again, and spoke in a tearful voice, "Wasn't that beautiful? Let's give a big hand for these two wonderful young people, District Seven!" And she broke into a smattering of Capitol applause while the citizens followed her lead. "Now shake hands," She gestured to me and Gabriella. I smirked at her.

"Nice to meet you, Gabbie," I grinned. She gave me a scathing look and she shook my hand with only her thumb and forefinger. I grabbed her whole hand, trying to forget the places it might have been, and pulled her in for a hug. She struggled; all but screaming profanities, and then I released her with a quick shove, sending her tottering a few steps away. Cameria was really crying at our 'unity' now, and I grinned at her. She pulled me close under her arm and said into the microphone,

"Wasn't that lovely?" she was trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. She squeezed my hand in hers and I discreetly slid one of her many rings off. "Say goodbye to your Tributes, people!" And they all remained stony faced as we walked offstage. I waved and blew kisses to them, subtly dropping the ring into my pocket and they all but snarled. The last thing I did was wink at the cameras.

As soon as I entered the waiting room in the Justice building my brave, overjoyed façade faded leaving me brittle and scared. I didn't imagine what lay ahead of me, nor did I try to wish I hadn't been chosen. I just stared blankly at the wall, running my fingers over and over again on the velvet couch I was sitting on.

I didn't expect any visitors, so when there was a knock on the door and a girls' voice said "Can I come in?" I all but fell off the couch.

"Sure," I righted myself in time to see a girl slide through the opening. The one I told to keep her head up at the start of the Reaping. I didn't know what to say, and she just stood there awkwardly, so I said, "Sup?" to get the ball rolling.

"Do you have a District token?" She blurted out. I raised my eyebrows, fingering the ring in my pocket, but I hadn't thought about it. I guess the thought never concerned me before.

"Nope," I popped the 'p' and smiled wearily. Then I saw her quickly detach a necklace she was wearing and pass it to me without a word. I looked at the grotty, rusty silver chain and the small tarnished disc hanging off the end. On the disc was just the initials A. L. in cursive writing. It held nothing else, not even a picture. I raised an eyebrow, thinking of giving it back, but shrugged. I guess I could wear it.

"Thanks," I said, acting like it was no big deal she probably gave me her most expensive possession. "Be sure to come and retrieve it when I return." In a box or not. The words hung in the air but I let them slide coolly away by fixing her with a penetrative stare.

She had brown eyes, pale, freckly skin and long brown hair that stuck up in irregular angles. It looked like she tried to tame it with combs, but the effects were more like she stuck random combs in her hair because she could.

"Yeah, yeah sure." She looked at the floor, knotting and unknotting her fingers together.

"Um, I suppose you can have this, since you gave me something." I tossed her Cameria's ring. She took one look at it and her eyes widened and she shoved it in her pocket. I grinned sneakily at her and she almost glared back, the surprise arching her eyebrows greatly. The awkward silence after that was all that remained of our pleasantries.

I couldn't sit still so I got up and walked around. My fingers ached to do something so I started pulling the combs out of her hair. She started to protest, but I gave her a pointed look, cocking one of my eyebrows, and she stopped, plainly knowing her hair would look better without the combs.

I gave the combs in a neat pile back to her just when a Peacekeeper came to collect the girl. I realised I didn't know her name. "Wait! What's your name?" I asked quickly, because she was already getting escorted out. She widened her eyes, probably remembering I had only known her as a community house kid before today and said,

"It's A-" she starts but her guard forced her from the room, shoving her out the door so hard I hear a thud and her squeal as she falls over onto the fine carpet outside. I sighed, but it didn't really matter because I didn't need to know her name, all I needed from her was to know that someone here, at least, is rooting for me.

I struggled to put on the old necklace, and when I finally did I realised it's so long the disc finished where my sternum ends, and it felt weird and cold against my skin. No one else came in to see me, so in the end when Cameria comes to collect me I was lying with my back on the couch, feet on the wall, tugging on my curly black hair with the necklace between my nose and upper-lip. But I grinned like she lit up my world when she walked in, so she just smiled ostentatiously back and ushered me out the door.