Okay, to explain. I'm jumping on the bandwagon of interactive stories. I made up the characters, but you have the opportunity to sponsor them, and possibly affect who will win the Games! Choose wisely, because sponsors of the winning tribute will get a complimentary virtual muffin basket! (And possibly a mention in the final chapter/Epilogue) Enjoy, but not too much, you sadists, you.
And if the names/personalities look familiar, I am using some of the characters I submitted to other stories.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Games. The Capitol does. How heartless do I look?
Silk Lauters- 17, District One
District One is the best. That's why we're District One. As in, number one. Winners. If I didn't live in district One, I might just die. Especially if I had to go in the Hunger Games. See, here, in district One, we train. It's part of what makes us the best. In 57 years of the Hunger Games, District One has had almost 20 victors, 18 if you want to be specific. I think we all know what that means. It means that this year, Our District will have its 19th victor. I, Silk Lauters, will wear the crown this year. I have trained for seven years for the moment that I will volunteer to take the Games by storm. My parents told me not to volunteer, but they don't understand the glory of the Games. They don't understand that the District's reputation must be upheld. And who better to do that than me? After all, I'm the most popular girl at the training center. I'm the best with arrows, and I can wrestle all the fifteen year olds to the ground without breaking a nail. I'm obviously the best pick.
These thoughts in mind, I'm eager to get out of bed. The digital clock on my bedside table tells me it's only 6:15, but I absolutely can't wait to get ready. I decide to go ahead and pick out my outfit. Though the Reaping won't start until 9:30, I need as much time as possible to look perfect for my big day. I swing my feet over the side on the bed, and make contact with the thick white carpet. A flip of a switch and my room is flooded with light that dances off the golden walls. I throw open my closet door. So many choices, and only a few hours to get it all straight and get down to the Square. I pull out dozens of combinations, before settling on just the right one. It's a gorgeous blue dress with sparkles that comes down just below my knees. To complete the outfit, I add an almost transparent silver shrug. I step back and admire myself in the mirror. I add silver flats. Yes, perfect. I allow myself a smile. Next is my hair. I pile the black mass into a perfect silky bun on top of my head, and add a clip with a beautiful blue gem. It's an heirloom from my grandmother. It will be my token in the arena. I apply makeup next. I outline my dark eyes with silver eyeliner for an added sparkle. I'm finally ready. But it's still only 8:00.
I go downstairs, where Mom gives me a once-over with her eyes. She smiles weakly at me and heaps eggs and French toast on my plate. I eat about half, and then watch Hunger Games re-caps. They're showing the 50th Games now. That stupid Abernathy won. The boy was from the coal district for goodness sakes! He should have died at the beginning. He would have, if not for the poison-girl. Then Rainbow definitely would have won. Oh well. I hit the button and turn the TV off. It was time to go.
In the square, I see plenty of people I know. After joining the other seventeen, I wink at Agate Sandors, the cutest boy in the world, who also happens to be my boyfriend. Of course he is. it's not like he has many other choices. He smiles back. He's the only one who knows I'm going into the games today. He's proud of me, I can tell. He knows I'm going to win the Hunger Games, and when I do, we're going to live together in the Victor's village. I've already picked out a house. It's two stories, of course, pale blue, with white lacy molding on the outside, and a window that sticks out from the house, giving it personality. Agate likes it too. I've already showed it to him, the same day I told him i was volunteering.
"Come on, Agate!"
"I'm coming, Silky, wait up." I slow my pace a bit, knowing that my training has made me faster than him. He catches up, and we stand outside the house. I point out every detail. Every regular grain of wood in the building. I have to win. I have to be a Victor. Because if I can't win, there's no other life. I tell Agate this, and he doesn't answer. He's a man of few words.
"That's why it's a fight to the death, Agate. If you don't win, there's no glory in living anymore. If you don't win, you might as well be dead," I say passionately. I believe it too. Those who can't win aren't worthy of living. Some who won weren't either, but that was beside the point. Agate looks at me seriously for a moment, then he smiles. He pulls me down on the grass, and we lie there for some time. Later, he kisses me. He begs me to win.
"I can't wait to live there with you, Silk."
Agate turns, and I follow suit, paying attention to the others around me. People are wildly discussing who will be chosen, and whether there will be volunteers. I join in, and chatter excitedly with Violette and Weiss, my two best girl friends, but I keep my mind on the prize. I can't miss my opportunity. I make sure to look confident. If they show shots of the crowd later, and I'm recognized, I want to make sure I give my sponsors no doubt about my ability to win. We talk about boys, about how Weiss spent four hours picking out the perfect dress this morning. I mention the ridiculous workload given to us at school for the weekend, but keep silent about my plans to participate in the Games this year. The mayor is running late. It's five minutes past time.
Eventually, the mayor finds his way to the stage. He clears his throat and makes some speech about the Capitol, same as usual. One of the elevens from school reads aloud the Treaty of Treason. Then, finally, the agonizing wait is over. The moment I was born for is here. Seventeen years of waiting, all leading up to now. I know I could still back out, take the safe road, but there's no chance of that. I'm not a quitter.
"Ladies first!" calls out the escort. Our escort is male, one of the only ones. His name is Fillswick, or Fintwick or something. He grabs the first slip he makes contact with.
"Kirsten Reade!" Kristen?? What kind of name is that, I think. Not exciting at all. Not that it matters. Jut like her name, she will be seen next to me as dull and forgettable. Some tall, rough-looking kid from the fourteens makes her way to the stage, looking indifferent. I think she's one of the few poorer kids in the District. I'm glad I'm volunteering for her. Someone who doesn't care doesn't deserve the crown. And she obviously doesn't care. "Are there any volunteers?"
"I volunteer as the female tribute from District One!" I announce. Violette gives a happy squeal, and Weiss gasps in delight and surprise. I smile and take the stage, shooing away the glowering fourteen with a wave of my manicured hand. I barely hear the boy's name called. Agent Meller, I think it was. I'm too busy basking in my glory. Some scrawny little redhead comes up next to me. I want to laugh at him. He's at least a foot shorter than I am! How old is he, ten? He doesn't care either. He just stands there, looking harshly over the assembled crowd. He won't last long. We shake hands, with as little contact as possible, and face the audience. I can't wait to get started.
Before we go though, we have to have visitors. Scrawny doesn't get very many, I don't think. My Mom and Dad come, of course, and sob over me. They don't even think I can make it past the first day, let alone win. I roll my eyes as they leave. Next are Violette and Weiss. They wish me luck and hug me. Last is Agate. He says nothing. He just kisses me and runs his hands through my hair for fifteen blissful minutes until he has to leave. I don't say goodbye to any of them. I don't need too. Why say goodbye when I'm coming back?
Argent Melanger- 15, District One
I hate living in District One. Sure, we're the richest district and all, but I'd be so much more impressive if I came from one of the other high-end districts, Two or Four. See, I want to win the Hunger Games, but I want to make an impression when I do. And coming from the District with the most victors, winning will be nothing special at all. They train like us, but they almost never win. Not like district One, with our 18 victors. And on top of all that, we have to get up earliest of all the Districts. If we miss the 9:30 reaping... well, I don't know the exact consequences, but the can't be good. At 9:00, I roll out of bed and throw on a black long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and black sneakers. No need to look particularly nice. I won't be going into the games until I'm 18. The last thing I add is my silver ring with the huge emerald. The one that was a gift from my Dad for starting my training.
Training is my life. And I'm good at it. In fact, I'm kind of the best. Not because I'm good, really, but because no one else is. It's a combination of the two. But if I'm the best now, I can hardly imagine how great I'll be at age 18. I've been training since I was seven, and it's the hard work that has gotten me down the long road to the top of my class in the Training Center. People laugh when they see my average frame and 4'10 height. They're not laughing when they're pinned on the ground, my hands on their neck. My size is an advantage, not a weakness. And that average frame is pure muscle. I can wrestle and fight some people bigger than me, but I love spears most. They're heavy, but effective. And I'm pretty good with them. I realize that I've been scanning my appearance in the mirror as I think. My red hair is combed straight over my eyes. That's good. It hides the fact that they're too wide apart. I smile condescendingly into the mirror. My reflection mocks me in return.
"ARGENT!!" the shout echoes through the house.
Oh crap. Oh crap! The hidden green eyes staring out at me from the mirror widen in realization as they catch sight of the backwards clock. 9:21. nine minutes. Platine, my older sister, who for some reason lives at home even though she just turned 20, is the one calling me. I dash across the house and grab a slice of bread. I spread it quickly with some kind of jelly and run out of the house, leaving the jelly jar and the rest of the loaf on the table. My parents have already left, and Platine is coming behind, at her perfect pace. It matches her perfect everything. Platine was never late for the Reaping when she was eligible, and I know I'm going to get hell from it out of my parents afterward, just like every year. She doesn't have to be perfectly on time, though. She can slip in the back unnoticed, now that she's an adult. I'm glad my Dad is already gone. All he'd do is try to get me to volunteer this year, claim it would make me more disciplined.
I reach the Square just as the Mayor begins his speech. Hah! The Mayor was late too! That makes me feel a bit better. I slip in the back, jostling a few Twelves to get near the center of the crowd. I don't dare to move into the fifteens and attract more attention. Besides, I fit in here, visually. I feign paying attention, and wonder if my friends are looking for me. Probably not. They know I'll have been late and tried to hide out in the back. I do that every year. Oz says I'll get caught eventually. he says sooner or later they'll notice that one Twelve always stays Twelve and always shows up late. I'm sure he's wrong. Finnwick, our escort, wishes us a "Happy Hunger Games" and grabs a name from the girls' ball. Ladies first, of course.
"Kristen Reade" Hmm, I don't know her, and I don't see her until she's on the stage. She's tall. She looks strong, and she doesn't even seem to notice the crowd. I can't see much more, being in the back as I am. It doesn't matter though, because a girl from Training who thinks she's all that comes up to the stage. I hate her. She's smug and arrogant and thinks she can do anything. She's got talent with a bow, I'll admit, but just the other day, a Thirteen beat her in hand-to-hand. Admittedly, that same boy was six feet tall and bulging abnormally with muscles, but still. She introduces herself as Silk Lauters and smiles dementedly at the crowd, like she's trying to split her face open.
We get it, all right? You want to be in the Games. You gave that away when you volunteered. I pity whatever poor sucker has a mad person like you as a District partner. I hope they get loads of sponsors.
Finnwick moves to the boys' ball. I hear my name called. There is no hesitation on my part, just a slight stab of self-pity for having to work with Silk. I push through the Twelves, Thirteens and Fourteens. I nudge my cousin and best friend, Oz, as I go through the Fifteens. I grin at a few girls in the Sixteens and Seventeens, who subtly recoil from me. Ah well. When you win, they'll come around. And looking twelve doesn't exactly help your case.
Eventually, I struggle out of the mass of kids and ascend the stage. I move to my place next to Silk, and look out, challenging the would-be volunteers. I hope they have the sense to stay put. Nobody volunteers for me, and I'm glad. I'm excited about going into the games three years early. I can feel my heart pounding in excitement as I turn away from the crowd. I shake hands with a very detached Silk, and I have no trouble looking fierce and indifferent to my "fate". I survey the people in the District One Square. The same as every year, they looked upon the tributes with respect. Wait, not me. I see them eyeing me with distaste, taking in only my size. Just you wait, I think.
I only get a few visitors. Platine tells me I better win. Mom and Dad don't show, unsurprisingly. Oz comes in later, and we talk, mostly about memories of our childhood. Oz is the only real friend I have. I have loads of friends of course, being me, but outside of Oz, I never felt any kind of loyalty to any of them. He hugs me, and tells me he'll see me soon. I flash him a smile, and he leaves. I entered the visiting room, and the next victor of the Hunger Games emerged. I was ready to go. Silk seemed ready too, confident. That could be a problem. For her. I hope she's the last one left. The disgrace of killing your District Partner would be nothing compared to the satisfaction I would feel at foiling her confidence. We're shown to the train, and I flop over on my bed, staring at the ornate ceiling.
"Look out Panem," I murmur to myself. "Here comes Argent Melanger. I hope you're ready for him."
So, like them, hate them, want to sponsor them?? Let me know!