This Fanific is rated T for Gore, Cursing, Angst, and much much more. Just a warning before you are hooked.
The birds outside is the first sound that greets my ears when I open my eyes to the new morning. My hands placed in front of me shift, one running through my long waves of chestnut colored hair. Feeling my scalp, they attempt to pull through the tangles that came from rolling about from the on going nightmares my mind conjured up this past week. Each one consisting of my worst fear; The Reaping Day. Last nights was possibly the worst, seeing as it was about my older brother Maverick. I'd rather not get into it at the moment though.
My pale green eyes flick over, squinting against the pale light that spreads across my wooden floor and graces my face, erupting from my window. I lean up, elbow propping my body up as I look around. Across from my bed lays my father, his deep breathing showing how tired he is. Though I have no pity for him, since he was up last night screaming at my brother again. After that he just began throwing things across the small space we call our kitchen. I wince at the memory of the sounds that would invade my ears. His screaming, glass shattering, wood breaking. God it kept me up the first years after his little livid paroxysms of depression and annoyance towards Maverick. This was all thanks to the sudden leave of my mother. Of course she just got up and left us, and of course I don't blame her. My dad was a steam engine always blowing off steam, and taking it out on my mother with angered yells and the occasional beatings. The first few years weren't like this, but then my dad began to get angrier, and then it all became something we were used to.
Moving my legs over the edge of the bed, I stand, leaving the warmth of Maverick and the bed, and begin making my way to the small box where I keep my clothes next to his. The cold sends chills and goose bumps up my arms, the simple tank top and cloth pants I wear aren't exactly the best thing for chilly morning air, but I know I'll get used to it in a few moments. Though, I still rub my hands up and down my bare arms in a vain attempt to get warm once more. Longing to just roll back into my warm bed next to Maverick makes my movements sluggish. I envy him today, seeing as he has the day off and can get up at any given time. Since today's the reaping day, and he has the afternoon shift, he was just given the day off since everyone has to report to the middle of town for the Reaping. I have the unfortunate luck of having the morning shift, stuck in the cold chopping wood and clearing parts of the forest.
Pulling on my long sleeved brown shirt and grey thick flannel, I begin to warm up just slightly, the goose bumps subsiding as I next put on my baggy denim jeans and grey dull boots. I hate having to work at this time of day, but if I neglect my job there most likely won't be dinner on the table tonight. I mean, it's not like my dad works. He just lounges around somehow making himself busy, always relying on us to put dinner on the table.
My hand yanks the door open, the cold morning air rushing in and making me shiver a bit. The loud squeak of the door makes me cringe slightly, my head turning to check if Maverick has woken up. A small smile spreads over my lips as I see him thankfully still breathing deeply, only rolling over to the sound with the sheets clinging to his body. Turning my head, I grab my hair tie and grey cotton hat on the way out, rushing down the empty streets with my hands attempting to tame my mangled messy hair. The low pony tail I now have my hair in pokes out slightly from my hat as I put it on, the wind teasing it's fringes and edges. A low wave of chestnut hair still curves out of my grey hat, flowing to the side as the wind blows against me.
I grit my teeth against the cold as I pass the houses and the few people awake at this time. Most of the people in District 7 on reaping day stay inside the morning and evening, only coming out of the house to go to the Reaping, sadly watching the ones who disappear behind the capitol train doors. Always keeping their blinds shut, either because they are celebrating, or they are weeping for the ones who have left their lives with a slim chance for survival. I do not envy those who lose their children to the Hunger Games. I know the worst part is watching their children get slaughtered on the screens they are forced to keep alive with the Games playing.
The sound of multiple axes meeting wood awakens my mind, and I know I've arrived. Work isn't the worst place ever. Actually it's the best place in all of District 7 around here. Well, it is to the people who are poor like me. If you're rich, then you usually don't work here with the lumber. The rich make their money working with bakeries or other stores around in the main town that is rarely busy. The only reason I would ever go there is to buy the things like the rare produce we get blessed with occasionally, or to get my tessera. My brother hates that I put my name in more than it should be, but I do it in secret without him, knowing that he can't change it once I've done it. He would always yell at me, asking me if I was asking for a death sentence, and why I want to go into the Games. In a sense, I guess I just do it to prove he isn't the only one that has to do everything. He still has his name in more than mine though. 28 to be exact. It's the most you can put in for his age, since he's 18. I sometimes hate being 15 because I know that I have less than him, and he provides more. For some reason, I just hate not helping out. It's more like that I hate being dead weight.
As I slam my ax against the wood and go through my daily work routine, I can't help but think of my chances if I do get sent into the Hunger Games. I have good aim with throwing, and I've gained a lot of strength since I started working last year. I would like to think that I could win, but I have no idea what survival in the wilderness, let alone the Hunger Games, would be like. Not to mention that the people in the higher districts that are closest to the capitol actually train to be in the Games. They are the people who usually win. It always frustrates me that the better tributes band together and take down the weaker, but in a way I would most likely do that if I could. I just keep wishing that I could help them somehow, but I can't, and that's it.
I look up, sweat dripping from my fore head as my pale green eyes scan around me. I start to see the regular filing of my co-workers when they prepare to leave, axes in hands that are stained red with blisters and burns from the constant holding of the wood and axes. I follow in line, swallowing hard as I rush back up the street in a light jog, anxiety running through my veins as I try and stall the inevitable. The now high sun of the early after noon tells me I have about half an hour to put on my best appearance. The capitol always wants us to look our best if we become a tribute. It sickens me.
The smell of pine clings to my clothes as I open the door, stopping my shoes against the mangled and torn rug, dirt falling from the bottom of my boots as I do so. I look up to see Maverick sitting at the small wooden table, ignoring the scowl my father has delivered at him. His messy dark brown hair is combed out to look some what nice. But in my opinion, he doesn't even have to try. His handsome angular face and sharp green eyes seem to be the perfect fit that every girl craves. He wears a button down white shirt, rolled up to his elbows and held there with buttons. His sharp green eyes flash up at me in the silence, his shoulders tensed and hunched over as he toys with the table in boredom. I stare back at him, my eye brows furrowing in curiosity as if to ask: 'What happened?' to him. I tear them away from him though, breaking the small conversation we have with our eyes to rip my boots off. I set them silently next to the door, shuffling across the room and to our bed, unable to think of what I should even wear. I always think that everyone should wear all black, because you basically drag our children off to their deaths. It's more of a mourning day than anything else, and if not a celebration day that it wasn't us. I have high hopes that me and Maverick will get the opportunity to celebrate. It is the last year that he can be legible for the Hunger Games.
Peeling my clothes off piece by piece, I switch my outfit out for my only good clothes reserved for days like this. A light green dress is laid out before me on my bed, it's short sleeves lined with a darker green on the edges. The simplistic beauty of it brings a small smile to my pale lips as I begin to finger the collar of it. It's soft material rubs along my fingers as I take in the only nice thing I own. I was tempted to sell it at one point, but my brother never let me. It did belong to my mother of course.
My arms slip through the sleeves as I put it on, my long wavy hair still remaining in the dress as I slip my head through the top, pulling the dress down to where it should end; my knees. I stare at the broken small mirror as I inspect my appearance. The dark green pattern stretched along the rim of the bottom of the dress curves and curls like tree vines. I frown at myself as I begin to see how right my brother is about me looking like my mother. I did actually take after her, so I'm not so surprised. Maverick got my father's looks, and he hates it. One thing we both share from my mother is our eyes. Though his are sharper and dark than mine, they are both a soft green that the District shares as a trait. Our skin color matches perfectly, both a warm light tan.
I turn quickly to the sound of footsteps behind me, green eyes wide with surprise at the sudden presence. My face slacks though at the sight of Mavericks smiling face as he approaches me, his footsteps loud against the wood floor.
"Well, what do you think?" I ask, raising my arms as I give him a shrug. I watch as he pretends to think, a hand rubbing his chin as he inspects me.
"I think you're the one that inherited mom's looks, Althea. I swear I could mistake you for her." He says with a slight chuckle, placing a hand on my shoulder as I now face the mirror. I frown at myself as he watches me, feeling suddenly insecure next to him in a mirror. My eyes stare at my reflection as he rests his chin on my shoulder with a sigh. Shrugging him off, I shuffle to the other side of the room, yanking my hair out of it's pony tail as I talk.
"I look nothing like her. Our faces are different, and she has darker skin than me. Not to mention she fits this dress much better than I." I laugh out, shoving my hair into a quick sloppy braid before placing both hands to rest on my hips. I frown at him, anger bubbling up inside of me as he begins to try and suppress a laugh. "What?!"
"It's just the fact that you have no clue how to do a braid." He laughs out, walking towards me with a grin on his face. Annoyance rises in my eyes as I cross my arms, glaring at the floor as I feel his hands undo my careless braid. I can hear him chuckling still behind me as he begins to neatly do my hair. It's a miracle he learned how to braid, or I would be going to the Reaping with a rat's nest and a pretty dress.
"Not my fault that I can't do hair." I mumble angrily at him, earning another chuckle from his deep matured voice. I feel my hair tug with each layer he does, grateful that he doesn't do anything else with it. He walks away from behind me, the braid neat and even. I watch as he opens his mouth to speak once more, only to have his words unspoken thanks to the loud ringing coming from the bell in town. I suddenly go frozen with fear for Maverick, knowing it's time for what I've been fearing all weak.
His eyes shift to the ground as he moves to the bed, sitting down to put his boots on with ease. I do the same, though only propping myself against the wall next to the door to do so. Suddenly beginning to feel like lead, heaviness grows in my legs and head as I'm unable to stop thinking what if he's chosen in the Reaping. My head turns to stare at my father leaning against the wall, his scowl still going on but directed at the floor. I'm suddenly hoping that he won't come with us for once instead of alone. Usually he's just a major embarrassment that we pretend to not know. Sadly though, he just yells at Maverick and earns us side glances from everyone before the peacekeepers come over and separate him from me and Maverick.
I look up at Maverick before he gives a curt nod, smiling at me with that optimistic nature of his. Standing up, he makes his way towards me, gripping my hand quickly and giving it a good squeeze before opening the door. I turn and follow him out, my father trailing behind us with that scowl of his and his dirt covered flannel and jeans.
People of different ages and sizes trail down the street with a heavy look to their steps. They all make their way towards the center of the District where we all gather together to get our fingerprints and names written and accounted for. This is the one time where they can get a next to perfect count of the population. If you aren't there for the Reaping, there better be a hell of a good reason because other wise you're arrested basically.
Joining my brother outside, I walk with him, our steps in synch as we make our way with the others. A slight fearful gleam to everyone's eyes, if not tiredness. I tread over to my age section near the middle of the line. The sound of weeping and fear filled sobs come from the twelve year olds who try in vain to look brave. Only a select few have achieved to stay neutral, but I can see behind their mask. They are scared that the slim possibility will come true, and they will be forced to fight for their lives in the Games.
The line shifts ever so slightly, my age group looking solemn and tired as each of their fingers are pricked, their blood making for ink as they stamp their fingerprints next to their names and pictures. My turn comes, and I shift my gaze to the ground as they snatch my finger up, pressing the pen like object against my finger. A slight zapping sound is heard as I flinch from the stab of the knife, my finger being forced down on to the paper. The scarlet red liquid stains the paper as my print shows up onto the paper. I blink back a glare as I stare at my picture and then the peacekeeper. My hatred for the capital will probably swallow me up forever as I live on, if I don't get picked for the Reaping that is.
Feet shuffling against the dirt as I move in a slow gate, I file in with the rest of the girl's around me, my eyes shifting over to Maverick's as I wait silently for the rest of the people to have their prints taken. I nearly jump up into the air in surprise as I'm startled by the loud boom of the Capitol Anthem beginning. I block it out though with the worry inside of me for Maverick. Just having to watch that large clear orb with his name in it 28 times makes me want to bite my nails in frustration.
My attention snaps quickly as the sound of the music changes, the video turning to the one filled with things about the uprising and how it failed so badly. No one really watches it, since it's basically the same thing every year. Me and Maverick make it a joke to recite the thing in boredom with the video as we listen to it. I had to force myself to keep from pressing my hands against my ears in annoyance though. For once, I just watch the video instead of Maverick, and my lips don't move with the words. I don't glance over at him to have a slight laugh, nor do I think of a way to cheer myself up this time. I just watch for once, fear rising up inside of me only for Maverick, my only real family with me anymore.
My eyes peer over to Maverick's finally, meeting with his dark green one's as he gives me a grim smile. I can tell by the look in his gaze that he fears to leave me, to leave and go to the capital and prepare for the games. Though I know that he would rather go than me. The worst part about it all, is that we can't volunteer if one of us is chosen. With our opposite genders, we have the unfortunate slim chance of us both getting chosen. Hope arises that he will be quickly given mercy, and another boy will be chosen for the reaping.
A loud tapping against the microphone takes the place of the usual droning video, everyone's attention turning to the speaker. Our usual escort named Trenice Feren smiles to us all, shifting her weight from one tall silver heel to the next. Her cotton ball shaped purple hair topples over her head as she grins, green lips and pale mint colored skin shinning in the sudden sunlight peering from behind white clouds. The shinning skin tight purple dress added with silver and green sequins and see-through cone shaped sleeves only adds to the ridiculousness of the capitol. I always wondered what heights they would go to for their 'fashion-statements'.
"Welcome District 7! Another happy Hunger Games and Reaping day is upon us! Now, it is time for us to once again select one amazing and daring tribute, boy and girl, to compete and represent our beautiful District in the 73rd Hunger Games! Now of course, let's do the ladies first, then followed by the gentlemen. Shall we?" she speaks in a high pitched thrill of a voice, happy unlike the rest of us. I watch as she saunters over to the reaping ball that gleams in the sunlight, hand fishing around to snatch up a name that could be mine. I glance over, Maverick and my eyes meeting as I nod with fear, his lips giving me that optimistic and sad smile of his before he turns back. Though my eyes only leave the side of his face when I hear the name that kept me on edge every reaping.
"Althea Fairstead!"
That name, my name, sent me spiraling into shock as I closed my eyes, trying to disappear. My hands clench into fists as I stay frozen, hearing the calls from the microphone for me to come up. I can only imagine Maverick's despair as he heard my name too. In fact, his yells of shock and anger rise up from the crowd as he makes his way towards me, shoving through the crowd in a rushed run. My green eyes open only to see a peacekeeper blocking my view from Maverick, the crowd opening up for us to walk on stage. The stead gloved hand of the man grips me by the arm, waking me up to reality.
I finally turn, Maverick rushing towards me against the will of the peacekeepers, and outstretched hand reaching for mine. My mind finally begins to turn the gears, my eyes widening in fear as I turn, snatching up Maverick's hand in fright, my lips parted as he begins to scream his name.
Swallowing hard, I watch with quiet sadness as he is forced back into the crowd, his despair showing in his sharp green eyes as he stares at me. I only turn when I am forced up the steps of the stage, my eyes glancing widely at the row of important people like the last victor and the mayor, along with several other Capitol residents that were directed to come here. From the look on their bored faces, they obviously didn't come here by choice.
Stopping next to Trenice, she smiles down at me, my eyes wide with shock as I am frozen like a board. I feel her cold hand grip my shoulder, hugging me slightly as she smiles back at the crowd, only releasing me to go towards the other reaping ball containing my brother's 28 slips.
I hold my breath as she slips her hand into the ball, fishing for the name that could mean my life or my death. Though I barely pay attention, my eyes locked with Maverick's angered and sad one's and tears threaten to slip down his cheeks. I shift my gaze over to the area holding the adults area. Some faces hold a sign of relief, happy that I was picked instead of their child's. My father's contains no sign of happiness, nor sadness. Only a blank emotion of not caring. Typical. It's not like I was expecting him to pull the same stunt Maverick did. It would be a sudden personality shift if he did though.
"Oh my…."
My head turns to the sound of her voice over the speakers, brows furrowed by her sudden shock as she walks back up next to me. Her composure is saved quickly by another stark white grin as she calls out the name.
"Maverick Fairstead!"
Hello my lovelies! This is my first Fanfic that I have posted, and I'm hoping it's one that will really catch everyone's attention!
I'll be uploading soon, so don't fret! And comment away! I will accept advice in the comments, and please tell me what you all are hoping for. Romance with another tribute? Or would you prefer a specific person to show up in the story? I happily will be await your answers and comments my lovelies! c: