So here are the District 1 reapings! This should have been out yesterday, but I was slightly delayed. So here you go now! Hopefully they went alright, you can always let me know through a review! :)
Anyways, thank you to natural disaster and Elnur for these fantastic tributes!
Cordelia Schylla's POV
It's five against one. The towering figures loom over me, each one armed with a knife at the least. Whereas I have no weapon, no allies, and almost no energy left. But maybe I can last for one more fight.
The first figure lunges and I grab its arm and swing myself around, redirecting the fatal blow meant for me at one of the other beings. It falls to the ground as I wrench the sword from Figure 1 and stab him in the gut. Two down, three to go. I twist on the spot and duck as Figure 3's mace strikes the wall right were my head previously was. I jab him in the arm with my sword, slowing him down, then somersault behind him and finish him off with another thrust of the sword. Grabbing the mace I whirl around and swing it at the fourth attacker, whose axe is raised above his head. Too bad he never got to use it. He tips over and I'm left standing over the corpse. Wait a minute. I got three with the sword, one with a mace. That's four…
I let out a small squeal as cold hands grip me from behind. Try as I might, I can't break free of the iron grip. It holds me in one hand as the other raises a gun, pointing straight at my heart. I struggle even more, but it's no use. The finger pulls back on the trigger and with a bang! the bullets fly out, aiming to kill. That's it. It's all over.
"Hahaha," I laugh as the foam bullets bounce off my chest. "That tickles!"
Someone flicks the off switch on the training dummy holding me and it lets me fall to the ground. I push myself up and come face to face with my father wearing an extremely disappointed face.
"Cordelia Elizabeth Schylla, this is no laughing matter."
Uh oh, the middle name. That means I'm in trouble. I put my hands on my hips and stare up at my father. "But he had a gun! That wasn't fair!"
"Do you think the other kids in the arena are going to play fair? Do you think they'll hesitate to kill you just because it's not nice?"
"No Dad," I say, giving the response I know my father wants to hear.
"You still need to work on your skills with weapons. You're fair with a bow and arrow, but you definitely need more training with an axe and you could use some tips on how to properly hold a spear-"
"Dad," I say firmly, cutting him off. "I'll be fine. I've been training for ages and I'm going to volunteer today. Besides, I learned from the best."
My dad's face relaxes and he gives me a smile. "Alright sweetie. I think your mother's up, why don't you go see if breakfast if ready?"
"Okay." I nod and head out of the room, grinning. My dad may try to play up the big mean training coach role, but inside I know that he's my lovable softie of a father. And I do want to volunteer this year, to make him happy. I'll be 16, just like he was when he won the 20th Hunger Games. Like father like daughter.
I walk through our house in Victor's Village and soon arrive at the kitchen. Dad was right, mom is up. And she's made pancakes. I breathe in the delicious smells and hurry to take my seat at the dining table.
"How was training Cori?" asks my mother as she sets a plate in front of me. I give her a thumbs up and dig into the food, pausing only to pour some syrup before continuing. My dad enters the room and mom greets him with a kiss on the cheek before handing him his own plate.
"You two were up early today," she says as the two of them sit across from me.
"Less time to train today, Reapings in the afternoon," my dad replies. "Oh, Cori that reminds me, I was thinking after breakfast we could head to the gym and practice your climbing skills. And maybe do a few laps as well."
I make a face. Running is fine but I absolutely despise climbing. Besides, I was planning on hanging out with my Bree and Caspian today.
"Oh, Michael give her a break," my mom says, swatting him playfully on the arm. "The two of you have spent more time in the training gym then at home these past few months. And anyways, Cori probably has plans with her friends."
As if on cue, the doorbell rings. I swallow the rest of my pancakes and gesture to my parents that it's for me before running to get it. The smiling faces of Bree and Caspian, my two best friends, greet me as I open the door
"Hey Cori," Bree says. She takes in my sweaty training outfit and grins. "Working hard?"
Training is actually what brought the three of us together. I remember meeting them for the first time in the training gym at the tender age of six. Caspian had just knocked over the barrel of powder the gymnasts put on their hands to help them stick to the bars and was sentenced to cleaning it up by a very annoyed trainer. Bree and I had stooped to help him and our friendship was born. Okay, admittedly we'd both laughed at him first, but then we did help him clean up. We've been inseparable ever since.
"Yeah. Come on in guys, I'll be ready in a sec." I usher them in and dash up the stairs to my room where my Reaping clothes were laid out last night. Normally mother buys me a new dress for the occasion, but today I need something I can move in. There are always plenty of volunteers in our District, and whoever can get to the stage first gets the honour of going into the Games.
After throwing on some silky black pants and a red cardigan I hurry back down to my friends, who are making polite talk with my parents. They know my dad pretty well, as he's given them tips and pointers to help them train.
Some people might find that odd that my dad is helping other kids train, but I don't. There's never been an ounce of competition between the three of us when it comes to the Games. We've all agreed that we're going to break a record and have District 1 bring home three victors in a row. Me, for the 37th Games, Caspian for the 38th and Bree for the 39th. We'll go down in Hunger Games history.
Achilles Atromitos's POV
A haunting, clear melody rouses me from the depths of sleep, soft and slow yet powerful at the same time. Though no words accompany this eerie tune, I would recognise it anywhere. It's Marie's song.
I rise from my bed, in a daze, and slowly walk out of my room in search of the source of the noise. Opening the door across the hall from mine softly, I enter the kids' bedroom. Deimos is still sleeping, his tiny face peaceful for once, but Quinne is sitting up in her bed, humming to herself as she plays idly with her doll. I come closer to her and she looks up from whatever game she was playing. "Daddy," she whispers. Even at two years of age, she's already grasped the idea of keeping quiet when her twin brother is still asleep.
Her words bring me back to reality and for the first time that morning my eyes focus on her, actually seeing my little daughter instead of looking past, of envisioning someone else where she sits. "Hey Quinne," I say, taking a spot on the edge of her bed. She crawls over the blankets to come sit on my lap. "What were you singing there?"
"Daddy's song," she says, pointing at me with her finger. Daddy's song? Had I ever sung that to them before?
Small memories pierce my mind. Cleaning the dishes while humming the tune. Making jewellery for my godfather's business while singing it under my breath. All these moments in life; little in importance but large in numbers. Of course Quinne would have picked up the tune. And a small part of me can't help but think, she had her mother's voice.
"Daddy?"
Once again, Quinne's words stir me from the fog of misery clouding my head. I look at her. "Yeah Quinny?"
"I hungry."
I smile. "Well let's get you some food then." Balancing her on my hip, I carry her down to the dark kitchen, flicking on the lights as I go. She sits on the ground and resumes her game as I get out some crackers and peanut butter and start slathering it on with a knife, making her favourite snack. Unfortunately the menial task isn't enough to distract my wandering mind, which is still focused on Marie. I could almost see her this morning, that tune bringing me back to when we first met. The silly contest, not really meant to be anything, her friends pushing her to try and that song, the melody that still haunted him. And with the relentless melody came the guilt, always the guilt. Neither had left his mind for even a moment these past two years since she passed away.
Soon enough, I hear the tell-tale sounds of my godfather waking up and moments later he's coming down the stairs, a sleepy Deimos trailing behind. I owe everything to Zeus Dynamos, one of my father's best friends. My parents died when I was young, and I had no relatives and nowhere to go until he took me in. Apparently my father and him had made a pact when they were teens that if either of them died and left behind children, the other would care for them. They grew somewhat estranged when Zeus went off to the Hunger Games and came back a victor, but he always remembered his promise to my dad.
"So," my godfather begins, "Reaping day today."
"Mm," I say, sliding the scrambled eggs out of the frying pan and onto the plates while Quinne and Deimos hurry to climb into their seats.
"Your last year."
"Yeah." I sink into my own chair and begin to eat, barely repressing a sigh. I know where this is going.
"Any plans for what you're going to do?"
Cross my fingers and pray I'm not reaped, I think. But I can't say that to him, even though he knows that's what I'll do. Ever since I came to stay with him Zeus has been training me to follow in his footsteps and win the Hunger Games. I guess my tall, muscular build did nothing to dissuade him from the idea that I could easily emerge victorious. But I hate the Games and want to tell him that the idea of them makes me sick, but I don't. Instead I keep all my negative thoughts on them hidden away, where they can't hurt anybody. Sometimes I wish my godfather had children, then maybe he'd understand the horror most parents must feel if their children are reaped. I know I could never let that happen to Quinne and Deimos.
"Achilles," my godfather says. "Look at me."
I raise my head, seeing the hope in his eyes that I'll volunteer and come home a victor. But they harden as they examine my own, the fact that I'm not going into the Games if I can help it written all over my face. I hope he won't start another fight, not today.
"I'll take the kids to Abalone," I say, trying to find any excuse to leave. Abalone is an old woman who runs a small jewellery shop in the district. Occasionally I make a few products for her and in exchange she'll watch the kids from time to time. But Zeus grabs my arm before I can go.
"Achilles," he begins, but then stops. I guess today isn't a day he wants to start a fight either. He let's go and I'm leading the kids to the door when he calls out, "I just wish you'd live up to your family name is all."
My family name, Atromitos. Fearless in Ancient Greek. Yeah right.
Cordelia's POV
After a few hours of mischievous fun, involving a potato and one shopkeeper who will probably never let the three of us into his shop again, we head to the square for the Reapings. I don't know how other districts celebrate today, but I'm pretty sure none of them go as all out as we do. Different coloured gems hang down on the ends of streamers tacked to buildings, acting as prisms for the sunlight to reflect off of them and shine all sorts of different shades. In short, the square looks absolutely magical.
Bree, Caspian and I give our names to the Peacekeepers and head over to the sixteen year-olds section. We're wedged in with a bunch of other kids in our district, more than half of which our probably setting their sights on volunteering this year. But I will make it. Luckily the fact that my father's a victor holds some power over everyone, and I'm able to secure a spot closer to the front. Bree squeezes my shoulder and we share a smile. Today I will make it into the Hunger Games. I will continue our family's legacy and I most certainly will come home alive.
The mayor's speech is over and done with quickly and soon our escort dances onto the stage. She looks happy and why wouldn't she be? She's in charge of the best district in Panem. She makes a few comments hinting that these Games will be even more exciting than the others, which only serves to make me more excited. I bounce up on my heels, willing her to get on with it, and accidentally hit Caspian in the face as my long brown ponytail swishes with my body. I grin apologetically and turn my attention back to the front as the escort makes her over to the glass ball containing the girls' names.
"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, we're about to find out which special boy and girl will get the honour of competing in this year's Hunger Games!"
Finally.
Achilles's POV
I'm almost relieved when it's time to head to the Reapings. Handing the kids over to Abalone and not wanting to head back to the house for fear of a confrontation with my godfather left me with plenty of time on my hands. I hadn't even realised where my feet had taken me until it was right in front of me. Marie's grave.
I just stood there for hours, thinking about her lying no more than four feet away from me, skin the colour of chocolate, so rare in District 1, curly black hair, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle when she laughed. And one thought kept repeating itself over and over again in my head, in time with the beating of my heart. It's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault.
I'd been the one to insist she keep the twins when she was pregnant. She didn't want to at first, she thought she was too young to have kids she was worried what people might think. But I told her I'd protect her from them, I'd protect her from anything. When really I killed her.
So when I hear a man shout at his friend that it's time to go, I get up from where I was kneeling and attempt to brush the dirt off of my pants before heading out to the square and piling in with all the other 18 year-olds. My eyes pick out Abalone in the crowd of parents with a kid on each hip. Up on the stage my godfather sits with the other past six victors. Our eyes meet briefly and I can see in the harshness of his gaze that he's still disappointed I won't be volunteering.
The escort walks up on stage and suddenly I'm worried, though I shouldn't be. I've never had to take tessera, and anyways, someone always volunteers. But though my last name may mean fearless, I am anything but at the moment. My palms begin to sweat and I run them down my pants in an effort to dry them. It's not going to be me, I repeat to myself. I just want this moment to freeze; I don't want that escort to walk over to the glass bowls containing hundreds of names. It's not going to be me.
"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for, we're about to find out which special boy and girl will get the honour of competing in this year's Hunger Games!"
Please no.
Cordelia's POV
My eyes stay glued to the escort as she traipses over to the bowl containing the girl's names and digs her hand in. I tense my legs, ready to race over there once she asks for volunteers. We may enjoy volunteering for the Games, but we still wait for the right moment to, unlike the rude members of District 2.
"Caitlin Hathwell!"
A skinny thirteen year-old makes her way to the stage. The sound of hollow footsteps rings out as she climbs to the stage and I imagine it as a countdown. Five, four, three, two...
"Are there any volunteers?" the escort calls out.
Bam! It's as though someone's shot off a gun to start a race. I try to run as at least a dozen more girls attempt to surge forwards towards the stage. But I have one thing all these girls don't; great friends. Out of the corner of my eye I see Caspian struggling to hold back two smaller girls. He gives me a thumbs up and I nod and keep running. I'm in the clear- no, wait. A massive girl from the fourteen section is speeding towards the stage. I push myself harder, ignoring the complaints from my legs, but it's not enough. There's no way I can make it before her.
Just as she puts her foot on the first step of the stage, someone comes flying out from behind and tackles her. It's Bree. The bigger girl manages to push her off, but the delay was all I needed and I dash past her and up to the stage. I hear her furious shrieks from behind me, but they barely register. I made it. I'm going into the Games.
My dad is beaming at me as I shake his hand and each of the other mentors'. Then I turn back to the escort as she asks "And what's your name, hon?"
"My name is Cordelia Schylla!" I say, shouting it out so the whole crowd can hear me. They whoop and cheer as they recognise the last name of one of their victors; I can tell they're excited for these Games. And I will give them a show they'll never forget.
"Let's choose the lucky boy now, shall we?" She wanders over to the bowl but honestly I don't care who he'll be. We'll work together in the Career alliance and then go our separate ways. But I'll be the only one leaving that arena alive.
Achilles's POV
The crowd attempts to reorganise itself after the disruption of volunteers for the female tribute. I can see the girl, Cordelia, standing up on stage, trying to tone down the delighted smile she's wearing. I recognise her, vaguely. She lives in Victor's Village as well, though admittedly I don't have much time getting to know people. Her father was a past victor, that I remember.
And now our escort, Cherry Kwinee I think someone called her, is walking over to the boys bowl and around me everyone tenses, ready to lunge forward when volunteers are called. She gropes around then finally grabs a slip before clearing her throat and reading aloud.
"Achilles Atromitos!"
I freeze, everything inside me tensing up and going cold. Me? She called me? But then the moment of panic passes and I remember all the other eighteen year-olds around me ready to volunteer. All I have to do is walk up onto that stage, and soon I'll be coming right back down again, my life saved my some stranger craving eternal glory. I start to head over when something catches my eye. A woman, standing not too far from Abalone and my kids, is watching, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. It confuses me; I have no idea who she is. But then I realise she isn't looking at me, she's looking at one of the boys in the thirteen year-olds section. He may be young, but he's got that diehard Career look so common to our district. He's trying to volunteer for sure. But unlike most parents in our district, his mother doesn't want him to volunteer. She wants to keep him safe, she wants him at home with her and their father to live happily ever after.
Just how many parents are like this in the district? Even the ones pushing their kids to volunteer would feel some remorse and sadness when their children died in the arena. And I realise, I can't let anyone take my place. If I did, I would be sending them off to their deaths. Their parents would weep with the loss of their child and once again, another death would be all my fault. I can't let that happen.
I reach the stage and head over to the escort. "Will there be any volunteers?" she asks quizzically into her microphone.
"No," I say harshly, grabbing her microphone from her. The gaggle of boys who surged forwards at the word "volunteers" stop in their tracks. "There won't be."
For the first time in my life, I am grateful to my grandfather for training me. As I stand on the stage, cold and menacing, my six feet five inches and muscular build enough to make anyone think twice about crossing me. The volunteers look around confusedly, wondering what to do. One boy starts forward hesitantly but stops immediately in the face of my glare. I don't like to do this, intimidating people into following my orders, but if it saves one of their lives in the end then so be it.
After a few minutes of silence it's clear that no one is going to step forward. "Well," the escort says, trying to get the ball rolling again. I hand her back her microphone and go to stand next to Cordelia, who's eyeing me curiously. "Alright," Cherry finally says. "Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes of District 1!" The crowd bursts into cheers and the anthem begins to play. I keep my face emotionless throughout the entire thing, trying to ignore the small grin creeping onto my godfather's face.
Well I hope he's happy.
Well, that's District 1! I was going to put in the goodbyes but I think I'll save that for a flashback in later chapters. After all, can't have all the reapings follow the same format! Then it wouldn't be interesting :)
I'm still looking for some tributes, mostly males, so please send in your tributes! Also, check out this link: .net/forum/The_Hunger_Games_SYOT_Awards/104224 It's for the Hunger Games SYOT Awards, if you couldn't tell, so make sure to check it out!