Chapter Two.


Pre-Reapings, Part Two.


Meva Ralline, 18 years old;
District Three Female.


From the kitchen, the clatter of crockery startles me from my sleep. I jump up quickly, throw some clothes on, and rocket through my door and down the stairs. There, standing with a smile on her face, is my mother.

"Oops," she shrugs her shoulders and begins to sweep up the remains of some of the plates. Bacon - bacon! - sits sizzling in a pan. I notion towards it and she jumps up again, laughing. "Double oops!"

I start to giggle myself and sit down around the kitchen table, watching her prance about the place, sweeping up the mess and dishing out the breakfast. It'd be easy to lose yourself in a morning like this one; peaceful, relaxed, familiar.

You wouldn't believe what was looming over all of Panem today, waiting in a few hours to strike.

"It won't be you honey," my mother quickly says, latching on to my distress. Always one to be tuned into her daughter's emotions, she says it's something a mother knows, something every mother can tell. I'd like that. One day I hope I can be as good a mother as my own, to help my children grow up, as decent, honest people.

You don't get a lot of that in this place, people are... people. Complex beings. You have good people, like my mother and father, me too, I hope. Then you have the bad people, like those who dwell in the Capitol, or those barbarians in the Career districts who actually, somehow, enjoy the torture and torment of innocent children in the Games.

It's quite absurd, and if I'm honest, interesting how it works out that way. How, the same species, pretty much identical in the way it appears externally, can be so different internally. How it comes together is intriguing, to me, anyway.

"You alright there Meva?" Mother chews into a bit of burnt bacon, crunching away. I shake the silly thoughts out from my mind and nod my head, eagerly picking up a knife and fork to cut away into my own charred breakfast.

"Father couldn't be here?" I ask. By the way my mother pauses, I know she wishes he could. It's been this way for so long, two good, hardworking people, but with two different responsibilities in my upbringing. Someone had to work twice as hard outside the house, and someone twice as hard inside.

Stereotypes live long in this world, it's just the way it works. Things don't change. I quite like that, again, it keeps things familiar, it makes it easier to pin down the way everything has to run.

It'd be good to see him though, especially today.

"He's busy, reaping day means a lot more work to get done in a shorter time. He'll be here for dinner though, everyone has the evening off to... celebrate."

"Celebrate," I laugh at the word. The meaning of celebration is totally different to how we all feel after the reaping. There's nothing at all to celebrate, not a single thing. The only part of today I can try to find that happy state of mind from is the fact I'll have the two most important people by my side.

My parents.

I wouldn't give them up for anything.

"Are you going to see Massie today, I'm sure she'd love to see you?"

I finish up the last crunch of bacon and smack my lips together, nodding my head. "Sure, sure. It'll be nice, spend some time before the storm, you know."

My mother nods sadly and picks up the plates, rummaging around in the sink. When the water starts to drown out her humming and my heavy breathing, I kick out from the table and turn to leave for the other room.

I don't want to be around when it starts. She always cries on reaping day, when she thinks no one notices. But the water doesn't block out everything.

She cries for me, because she doesn't want to lose me.

Well, she won't lose me. I won't let the Capitol take me away from the people I love the most. They mean too much to me, far too much for something so insanely evil as today to ruin.

Life is too precious to lose.

Here, it's something I can't, I won't, let slip through my fingers. Maybe I'm too stuck in my ways, too ignorant or too stupid to accept the way things have to be in this life. But it means far too much to me for things to stay the way they always have been, for our family to be the same strong unit, with Massie there to give me a close friend when I need someone else to speak to.

I cannot let it change, for anything.

I won't be reaped.

You have my word, Mother. Things will stay the same way. Us, together, as a family.

Always.


Assisi Umbria, 16 years old;
District Five Male.


The little girl picks up the can of red paint. Dumbfounded, she stares up at me with those repulsive, sparkling eyes. All innocent like a sweet little baby. I smile and bend down to her level, edging towards her.

The wind behind the two of us is acting up, she sways on the spot and stares over her shoulder, slightly scared.

"No monster's going to jump out from the shadows. The only person you have to fear is me, and I'm here to protect you." I place a hand on her shoulder and nudge her towards the back door. This is nothing, merely something to pass the time of a restless morning waiting for this godforsaken day to rear its ugly head and move on.

Some of us have better things to be doing, like Angelina. She's someone I'd love to be doing right about now.

"Why can't you do it?" she bites her bottom lip and shakily thrusts the can to me, red paint sloshing around inside. I'd strike her if it wasn't against some kind of inbuilt moral code of mine. Girls, especially little girls, are delicate flowers. I won't hit a little girl, even if she's being an irritating little weed.

If you had enough time, you know the best way to do this would be to climb on the roof. Or construct some kind of mechanism, some pulleys, a bit of rope, a lever maybe. Drop it in style.

If only... I close my mouth and repress a pent up sigh. Instead, gritting my teeth to restrain my frustration, I nudge her again, this time a little bit harder than before.

"I have the most important job deary, the part that requires someone a little bit bigger. I have to knock," I gesture to the door and smile. I'd rather gag on this sweetness. I don't do sweet.

"This is what fun is, right?"

I nod and pat her pretty little head. She barely even reaches my waist, this is why it's perfect. I hope she isn't treated that bad, it's just... well, I care about myself far too much to be caught doing something so petty. I'm just bored. Boredom is very, well, boring. I don't like the emotion.

Besides, little merchant girls like her are raised by those with absolute no qualms in getting kids like me, gutter rats, thrown away or locked up. Whipped even. Well, let's see how they like it when it's one of their own.

"This is the definition of fun, all the cool kids are doing it!"

I sense the hesitance, and then, it's as if visibly I watch it leave her with one deep exhale. Smiling, she takes the first step, and then the next, towards the door where my fun lies in wait.

"Ready," I raise a finger and linger by the right side, closer to the alleyway, whilst she's too far away to reach escape in time. Naive little girl, foolish little girl.

I swipe my hand downwards and knock. Without a moment's hesitation, I swing backwards and dive for the alley, peering round the wall. For safe measure, I take another clear look over my shoulder. Don't want anyone sneaking up on me, that's for sure.

The door opens, slowly, almost like it's shoving the suspense in my face and choking me. When the Peacekeeper in his uniform, fully geared up for today, actually steps up, the little girl looks as if she's about to faint. And then, like a second ago, confidence consumes her and the paint leaves the can in a splash of crimson beauty.

It drenches him, from his visor all the way to his steel-toed pretty white boots. Well, they were white. Now it's like Mr Authority waded through fresh corpses, blood from head to toe.

I watch for one last moment as the girl continues to laugh and looks to me, I nod and she turns the opposite way. But it's too late, oh, it's far too late.

The Peacekeeper lunges, and like a sack of potatoes, the girl is hoisted over one rather sodden shoulder and flung through the door of the Peacekeeper's office.

Yeah, I forgot to mention that part to her. She just drenched the Head Peacekeeper. With paint. On reaping day.

I leave with a certain swagger, a certain pride. Maybe someone normal would feel guilt about tricking a little girl into wanting that acceptance company brings. But she deserves it.

They all deserve it.

If they want to treat me like an imbecile, I'll show them the complete opposite from the shadows. I'm not a bitter person because I like it, I'm angry because it's what they've created.

Anger is natural for a teenager anyway, right?

Well, if it's not, who cares?

It's all for the sake of something so much greater, so much more tempting in my life.

Entertainment.


Tamarin Bray, 17 years old;
District Nine Female.


Maisie takes a firm grasp on Caulder's hand, and with Astrid behind our little gathering, we turn the corner. Onto the main street, our group walks together, laughing. Maisie and Caulder whisper into each others ears, gossiping no doubt, whilst Astrid quickly ventures up closer and links her arm with mine.

"Lovebirds, aw," she makes a soppy kissing sound and laughs, scooting even closer to me. I feel her hair tickle my neck and start to laugh too. It's not the funniest thing, what Astrid has to say, or what those two up there do in their private lives, but I'm not going to let Astrid feel insecure about herself.

Or like I don't care about what she has to say.

That's rude, it's impolite. I don't want anyone I call a friend to ever doubt themselves, or feel like I'm not there for them.

Even if, maybe, underneath everything, I don't really feel tuned into anything anymore.

"You know, I heard a rumor that Astrid and Caulder were caught in Mr Nelson's office, doing more than sorting through the files," I pull a face and start to giggle, the pair of us like six year olds with our two infatuated friends none the wiser, walking in front with no sense of real direction.

We'll go wherever this walk really takes us, when it's time to venture towards the Square, we'll know. There's a certain buzz in the District air when the ceremony begins, people tense up, run around like ants, or flock to anyone nearby for a bit of respite from the fear of losing someone they love.

I wish things were different, truly. It's awful to see an otherwise closely knit community be tormented through something so cruel. It makes it harder to really see that all important light, the one thing I need to fuel my relationship with these people around me.

"Oh my god, hey, hey Mr and Mrs Tenneson," Caulder reacts to his last name and spins on the spot, raising an eyebrow. I can't help but gesture towards the people around me, none of them staring, but all of them very much tuned in to what goes on. Especially in the busiest part of Nine.

"Get a room, no one here, of all places, wants to see you two bump uglies."

"Bump ugl-" he throws his hands up and laughs, awkwardly turning back to Maisie and resuming their walk. Astrid nudges me in the side and carelessly stumbles, laughing even more. I steady her out and move towards a wall, for a moment's rest. With this heat raining down on us, anything could happen.

"You drunk or something?" I poke her in the stomach and watch her cheeks flush with red. She hooks an arm round my shoulders and shakes her head vigorously.

"Drunk on life my dear friend."

"Life, what this life, today?"

Don't Tamarin. She's happy, don't bring her down.

"Why wouldn't I be, who cares about the reaping when I have you guys?"

"Very true," I jab her again. She pulls back and lunges at me, ready to hook me round the face. I jump back, giggling and charge at her instead. Maybe this is a good enough distraction from the reaping, being with a group who I'm certain, maybe on some level, care about me. Maybe not to the degree that they act like, but we're still friends.

There has to be some level of care there. It's good to have a diverse group of people, especially when two of them get down and dirty, it brings about a lot of drama, stirs things up. Things I can throw myself into, maybe pull and prod at them, maybe even start some of my own.

Anything to... to make me feel like it's worth it...

Don't.

"Hey." Now it's Astrid's turn to poke me. I blink and level my eyes with her, shaking my head. "Why the frown all of a sudden? It's not because... oh Tamarin, I know it'll be hard seeing him up on the stage, after he practically stole her away-"

"No, no, I'm not upset about my sister. She can do whatever she wants with a Victor, they're old enough. Adults." I laugh dryly, shaking my head. An adult would protect her younger sister, would notice that maybe deep down, she wasn't the girl that people see on the outside, the naïve, stupid girl who only wants what's best for other people.

I do, but for selfish reasons. Because it makes me think things are worth continuing on for. What's so bad about wanting a bit of a distraction, when all Panem does is make me look at life for what it really is...!

"Tamarin, hey, hey, it's alright. Today will be over real soon, and then we can go back to mine and hang out, huh? Everything's alright."

I nod and smile, the same smile I always have to wear to tell myself everything's okay.

When I know for a fact, what I'm going through, is the complete opposite.

It always will be.


Clarence Higbee, 16 years old;
District Eleven Male.


Eleven is lost in a thick fog that drifts above and through the shacks lining my street. Up ahead, I squint my eyes to make out jumbled shapes working their way through their daily proceedings. I should join them, but something feels ominous about today's weather.

Something bad.

I shake off the petty superstition. You're a man, Clarence. Not a baby. I grip onto my satchel and start to walk with my eyes stuck on front. When the fog splits with each step, I make out my neighbors putting out their laundry, or little kids running about, playing games with the wisps of mist as if they can catch it.

A part of me finds their games pleasing, their innocence remarkable given today. Given where we live. But that I'm quickly reminded is not how I should feel, I shouldn't feel happy for them, I should feel sorry. Sympathy. Their lives aren't great, and soon enough, they'll realise it.

We all do.

"Clarence!"

Behind me, the soft tinkling of her voice glues me to the spot. She's not meant to be out, not until I return home in time for the reaping, then we were going to head out together. I turn on the spot and stare with narrowed eyes, meeting face to face with Nettie. Her delicate, pretty blonde hair curls ever so innocently over her shoulders, her deep, sea blue eyes, her pale, milky skin.

She's somehow, despite all my faults, with me. And I have to protect her; from this, from the world.

"Mother and father said they'd sort out a nice breakfast for you, you don't have to come with me."

She stares at me with that all too familiar smile, a smile that hides a thousand and one mysteries. I wish I could be the person she wants me to be, someone she deserves. I'm not the kind of guy who deals with romance, I deal with trees and apples, and occasionally a fight if someone, like Nettie, needs my help.

That's the kind of boyfriend I am. Gruff, inhospitable, but loving, in my own weird way.

"I don't want a bit of burnt bread, I want to be out. It's nice and cold today. We don't usually get cold weather."

"Be happy for that, more people die in the cold than they do in the heat."

She shivers and stares at me, as if I've said something wrong. Nettie has no one, and on top of that, more than anyone she knows the dangers of being homeless when the weather turns sour. I bow my head sympathetically and turn back around, swinging my satchel with me.

"I'm sorry," I say, over my shoulder. Sorry isn't what she wants, Clarence. She wants you, all of you, none of this held back nonsense. If only it were that simple.

"You're not good with words, hey, I get it." I hear her footsteps patter against the ground to catch up to my large strides, and an arm, a simple, frail arm that hooks through my own. Her hair dangles over my shoulder when she goes to rest it gently in the crook of my neck. These moments, it's like time, even this mist, freezes in its place.

The two of us stand stock-still in the centre of our street, with the sounds of her heavy breathing and my beating heart shared between us. Maybe, maybe I'm hating the parts of me she loves the most. She acknowledges that I can't be Prince Charming, someone who will sweep her off her feet, speak soft words, make her feel good about herself when it's necessary.

But I can love her.

"I'm good at some things, though."

She laughs, nuzzling my neck. Other people mill past us in their little groups of family, or friends, or work colleagues. No one pays us any attention, just the way I like it.

"I know you are Clarence. You're a good person, doesn't matter if that isn't obvious to everyone. It's obvious to me."

See, Clarence. See how things are. See how she thinks of you, maybe she's not the only one who looks at you that way. Maybe I'm not such a bad person.

"We should get going, the reaping starts soon and I need to work for a bit."

She pouts, jabbing a finger in my stomach. "Today of all days?"

"Today especially."

Reaping day. The one day of the year, hope, dreams, love, all of that, doesn't matter one tiny little bit. People are still ripped from one another, it's random, bad luck, whatever you want to call it. But it still ruins lives.

It could still ruin my life.

It could take me away, it could take Nettie away.

Today, especially, is what makes this world a terrible place.


Thanks to Cashmere67, Vulkodlak, Foxface5 and SomeDays for these four tributes.


Favourite POV?


It's been, what, four days? That's good for me, usually I'm very lazy. I might even try and update again tomorrow, this is just a lot of fun to write, I'm digging these tributes so far and I'm pretty sure the rest will come easy when I begin to get into their characters too!

Thanks to everyone who's reading, reviewing, favouriting, all that kinda stuff. Means a lot. I hope you liked this chapter, leave a review ;P