Ah, yes, District 4, at the time of America, would have been the south-east lands of the past, glorious, Unites States of America. At one time, there was nothing but the ruins of a great empire, smoking, destroyed, and in shambles from wars and oppressions. Then, rising from the ashes of a fallen regime like a phoenix, Panem, a shining Capitol surrounded by thirteen outlying districts. During the Dark Days, the districts rose against the Capitol. Twelve districts were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The remaining twelve districts and the Capitol signed a treaty, the `Treaty of Treason`. New laws were put in place to guarantee peace. As a yearly reminder of the oppression, the Capitol forced every District to send two tributes, a boy, and a girl, their age ranging from 12 – 18, to the Capitol, and participate in a gladiatorial fight, were the last person alive and standing won. In these death-match rounds, the tributes were placed in an unknown, pre-chosen arena, with a large pile of weapons and supplies. With only those items and their creativity, the tributes each had to find a way to fight their way home. Thus, began the Hunger Games.
District 1, 2, and 4 often formed an alliance. The three wealthiest districts, banding together to fight. More often than not, the victors of the Games were from the Careers, the nickname for the alliance. In the Games, winning meant fame and fortune, losing meant certain death. In the Career districts, winning was to bring an abundance of food, supplies, glory, and honor to yourself, your family, and your district. At a young age, children from the Career districts trained for their big day. Winning the Games was the ultimate goal in life. This was the mindset I had grown up with. To me, District 4 was a Career district, home, and a place of preparation for the Games.
I stumbled back home, a small cottage by the sea. Tropical conditions made even a five minute walk exhaust you, especially when one just spent twelve hours training for the Games. My sixteen year old, 5'4 frame dragged itself through the door, and dropped onto the plywood floor, my jet black hair spilling from my ponytail, and pooling on the ground. I scooped up the fishing rod and pail by the side of the house, and dragged my sluggard body to the dock. The salty sea mist sprinkled into my face, the hot sun beating down relentlessly on my sleek hair. The cedar wood dock creaked as I sat on it, moving to the time of the waves. Overhead, a seagull flew, squawked into the clear blue sky. The bait on the end of my line squirmed in protest as I cast the worm and the line far out to sea. As I waited for the fish to bite, I registered the gleeful shouts from some children not far away. The kids splashed water over each other's bronzed skin, cannon-balling off a small cliff into the bay below. Out on the horizon, a fishing boat headed for shore, its rugged fishermen lifting their haul, and unloading all the squirming fish onto the dock. I felt my line tug, and I reeled in my catch. A tuna swung on the end of the line, and I smiled as I cut the line, dropping the flapping fish into the bucket. Once my bucket was full, I headed to Fiststink's store. Fishstink was nicknamed after his infamous fishy reek, but in District 4, everyone smelled slightly of fish. I entered the little shack, and plunked down my haul.
`Already finished for the day, Aqua?` The man behind the counter asked, eyeballing me suspiciously.
`Once the bucket's full, I'll call it a day.` I muttered to the short Asian man, and threw a good pile of fish into his tank. `There's your fish. Money?`
Fishstink tossed the cash onto the countertop, where I scooped it up and put in into my pocket. `Good business.` I wished him as I staggered out the door, eager to run away from the pungent smells.
`Mm.` He called after me, not looking up.
Because I was training, my family had no source of food other than the tesserae. By fishing for food every night, and not taking the tesserae, Josiah would never have to go to the games. Too bad I had already been short-listed as a potential tribute. I guess it was because of my sinewy build, agility, strength, reflexes, and brains. If I passed the tests, I would go as a tribute to the 66th Hunger Games. Not so great in terms of my family's survival. Since my dad died on a fishing trip, I had become the breadwinner of the family. Without me, Josiah and mom would be in deep, deep trouble.
When I entered the little cottage, five-year-old Josiah ran towards me, and clasped onto my leg, grinning broadly. `You have the fishes? I'm hungry.`
I rubbed the top of his head. `Yep, Josiah, I've got the fishy. And it's smoked too. Tonight we gonna eat smoked tuna.`
Josiah cheered and clapped gleefully as I set out the table, and served the fish. He clambered onto the chair, and said his prayers, then bit into the salty fish. `Mmmm… It tastes so good, Aqua!`
My mother just sits silently, eating her portion. I understood. She was born with a rare disorder where her vocal chords were not fully developed, and as a result, would never be able to speak. Mute, she enjoyed life to the fullest by having two kids, and spending her free time on the porch, reading, and caring for her two crazy kids. I had always admired her for that.
I polished off the last of the fish, stood up, brought my dish to the sink, and stepped out the door. `I'll see you later, mom. Josiah, be in bed by the time I come back okay?`
My mom nodded, still chewing on the smoked fish. Josiah clapped, and smiled, his mouth jammed with the smoked tuna. `Okey dokey, Aqua, good night!`
I shuffled through the property and towards my stop. Across the backyard, a fence was painted with massive bulls-eyes, and marked with a thousand dents from thrown knives, spears, and hatchets. On the other side, stabbed, slashed, and sliced dummies lay on the ground, awaiting me to sweep them up. A weathered tree trunk, and split rocks sat in a corner, damaged from the fury of my fists and feet. The far wooden gate was home to a large assortment of weapons, all sharp and nasty looking.
Passing that, I went to Spencer Watchorn's house, and kicked down his front door. Knocking? That's not in my dictionary. I'm sure Spencer wouldn't mind…
`Aqua Kent, what on all of bloody earth are you doing?` I heard his voice call down from upstairs.
Well… maybe he would mind… I sighed. `Hello, Watchorn. I need a favor.`
Spencer walked down the folding staircase that lead to the attic of his house. The usual lustre in his sleek hair was covered by a coating of dust. `Yes, Aqua?` He used the back of his hand to wipe away the grime on his shirt.
I rambled off a list of things I needed from him. `New practice dummies, fishing rod, hatchet…`
Spencer scratched his head. `Yeah, um… Kent, I can't memorize that…`
I huffed, and wrote it all down on a sheet of paper. `Don't call me Kent. It's Aqua, and I wish for it to stay that way.` I gave him the paper, and spun around, and trotted out of the house. `Get it to me by Sunday alright?`
`M'kay…` I heard him say, then ran back to my house. I swept away the hacked up dummy pieces, and entered my room. Knackered, I changed into my pajamas, and hit the sack, going out like a light.
A/N: New story! Just a little bit of a peek of the next chapter, Aqua's boyfriend is Spencer, she is chosen for the Hunger Games, and Aqua's district partner makes an appearance. Stay tuned :)
-Katara Macken