Decimated Dreams
A/N: What goes on, fateful readers? This is Subject Matter and Let The Foxx Fly, joining forces to create this story for yous. From this point on, Foxx and I will have separate Author's Notes. SneverusSnapers might just help us later! (If you see any parentheses, Foxx and I are debating something).
~SFSFSF~
Chapter 1 - Derryl's Reaping
I had dreams. Once, before everything shattered. Died. Decimated. I had a life, once upon a time. When my mum was alive, Diamond didn't exist, and I wasn't reaped. Before my life ended, and I began killing.
It all started on a normal day. As normal as a day could be, considering it was the day of the Reaping. I was getting dressed in my bedroom when Sahara, the cutest little pet mockingjay, started cawing. She never did learn to love the shack Diamond, my step-mother, forced my dad and I to move into.
I took a glance in the cracked and dusty mirror, noting my hair was in disarray, the dark blond locks falling into my eyes. I made sure that my necklace with a shark pendent rested in the crook of my neck, as I headed through the curtain that divided my space from the rest of the shack. My tread seemed awfully loud on the rotted wooden floor, creaking with every step. My father was waiting at the warped dinner table, wincing as my footsteps echoed around the house. Diamond just glared at me, disgusted by my presence. I momentarily wondered what she was doing in the shack my father and I were forced to live in, but she was there with her bastard children, all of them staring at me.
Their death stares always made me feel self-conscious and insecure. They were always thinking that they were much better than me, and their glares almost made me feel that way. Diamond sneered over at me, and I felt an urge to go around and yank her hair out bit by agonizingly purple bit.
Diamond was my stuck up step-mother, who was deported from the Capitol for multiple counts of adultery. She married my father for his money, and used it to buy herself a mansion, get her skin dyed a bright yellow, and her hair was made the ugliest purple. Her children came from the multiple pieces of Capitol trash she had affairs with, but they were all dyed to match her shade of coloring.
Under the glares, I lost my appetite for breakfast. Subtly rolling my eyes, I pushed past them and headed out the front door, grabbing my father's jacket and dragging him with me. I was determined to never see their disgusting faces. A smirk played across my face at the thought. For it was the reaping to which I was headed.
My father tried to wrench himself from my jacket, complaining.
"Derryl! You let go of me right now, young man, or-" I blocked him out as I so expertly learned how, and I released his jacket from my grasp. I kept walking at a resilient pace, determined to get to the Reaping as fast as possible.
Upon arrival at the town square, I found that I was one of the first to present themselves. There was only one chubby boy in the pen of fifteen-year-olds. The girl's section was only dotted with possible tributes. The crowd was filled with people nonchalantly betting on the age and reaction of those tributes selected. I wondered if any were betting on me.
I joined the chubby kid in my section, and not-so-patiently waited for the rest of the square to fill out. When the square was finally full, our helpful resident Capitol representative, Beatrice Gramp, cheerily greeted us in her eccentric accent. Taking the stage, our mayor, Bruce Puff, gave the boring, monotonous speech we were all used to. I sighed. The reapings were always so tedious.
"And may the odds be ever in your favour," Beatrice squawked in her strange accent. I started to pay attention when she reached her hand into the glass container filled to the brim with slips containing the names of the some 700 girls in the district. Beatrice squeaked the name out loud.
"Sasha Twiff." I didn't recognize the girl, but when she stood up from the 12 year-old section, her whole slight frame was shaking with silent sobs, with her elbow-length red hair bouncing along with her. She shakily walked up to the stage, and I could hear the murmurs of disappointment. No one liked it when the younger years were reaped. When she took her seat, the Gramp woman continued.
"Derryl Flywood."
"WHAT!" I yelled out with all the voice I could muster, interrupting her before she could even beckon me towards the stage. She stared at me quizzically, as did everyone else in the crowd. Tributes weren't supposed to speak out of turn.
I stepped forward resiliently, ignoring my dad's insistent yelling. I refused to look back into the crowd, even when I sat down in my pro-offered seat. Beatrice continued to close the speech. Before I could even think of glancing back towards the crowds, Peacekeepers surrounded me and Sasha, and we marched towards the city hall, where people came to give us tear-filled final goodbyes.
My plan had been destroyed by the fates. I hadn't been able to save some poor child's life, but was forced to instead follow the Capitol's orders, effectively killing myself. My plan had been to volunteer, not be reaped like so. When I was sat down for my final good byes, my father was already rushing in.
"I can't believe you, being reaped (A/N: At one point, it said 'raped'. xD) like that!" Father roared, tears streaming down his face unashamedly. As if it was my fault. He then burst into sobs, and I had to comfort him for the next five minutes.
"I-I just want you t-t-t-o win-n." He hiccuped, before the Peacekeepers came in and forced him out.
I wasn't expecting someone else, but here she was. In living purple.
"You better die like the filthy brat you are, so I can comfort your dad into giving me my money." I glared at her. It took all my strength to not scratch her eyes out then and there. She abruptly left, my string of curses following her. I knew that was the end, until another visitor flew in, cawing her way through the window pane.
I was, to say, surprised when Sahara promptly landed on my head. I stroked her soft feathers, and whispered to her.
"You aren't supposed to be here. I'm leaving soon, go!" I all but yelled the final word, and she flew away, hopefully back to the shack. Her caring brought tears to my eyes, and it was the most heartfelt goodbye I could have hoped for.
The Peacekeepers came rushing in to discover the reason I was yelling, just to find me smirking up into their confused faces.
"We're leaving." The burlier one grunted, and he promptly grabbed my arm and dragged me to the train station. I barely had time to focus on the gleaming beast of a transportation vehicle it was until I was forced in, the door slamming into my back. Here I come, Capitol. To win the Hunger Games.
A/N:
We hope you liked the story. Don't look at Subject. He doesn't like fingers pointed at him.
Are we deleting it? *GASP* HOW DARE YOU. We could put it on the bottom as an ending A/N. Hahah... maybe... Mindless rambling, don't pay any attention to it.