Hey! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far, here comes the second chapter!
Just to clear things up: Mockingjay and Parts Two and Three of Catching Fire never happened.
Disclaimer: RiversOfVenice doesn't own the Hunger Games, and neither does SneverusSnapers. If either of us did, we would not be here.
I feel a little hand shaking me gently. I let out a groan; I don't want to get out of bed yet. But the little hand insists, so I open my left eye and I see my younger brother Robin, smiling at me through my foggy vision.
"Good morning Blue!" he chirps.
I groan again. Why did he have to wake me up? In fact, why did he have to come into my room anyway? I have always told him not to come in. No one is allowed into Bluebell Everdeen's room. But my brother doesn't seem to understand it, since he surpasses the room's limits without even caring about what will happen.
"Dad told me to wake you up," the little daredevil tells me.
"Well, tell dad I don't want to wake up," I snap, rolling over to the other side of the bed. When I do, I find my older brother smirking at me, his usual pale blue eyes defying mine, contrasting in a dark brown. Ugh. I'm surrounded by siblings.
"Wake up," he tells me. "Do you need me to drag you out of bed?"
"NO!" I yell, and I bolt up, sitting up straight. My brothers bolt backwards from me, automatically cringing. All three of us have good reflexes and are always alert, I guess that's what happens when both of your parents are hunger games winners.
My brothers laugh and I examine them carefully, frowning. Jay, my eighteen-year-old brother, who has blond hair and blue eyes, as every wealthy boy in District 12. He's almost a spitting image of my father, unlike me. No one would ever say we are siblings, despite the fact that we actually get on rather well. He has that wealthy, rich scent the richer kids usually have, while I can easily disguise myself as a Seam girl, were it not for my extreme popularity amongst our District's population. It's not that I particularly want to be popular, but being the daughter of the star crossed lovers from district twelve basically ensures that. And lastly there's Robin. He has just turned seven, and he has the Seam's dark hair combined with the merchant side's pale blue eyes. His skin is halfway between the olive skin in the Seam and the pale skin in the merchant side. As my dad says, he is the balance between Jay and me. Little Robin, he's inherited all the good traits from both out parents, my father's sweetness and my mother's alertness.
"Duh, okay," I groan eventually. "I'll go."
Jay lets out a smirk, and both of my brothers leave my room. I sigh. I thought they would never leave. It's usually like this, despite the massive sign I hooked onto my door telling them never to enter if they want to see anything ever again, of course they ignored it. I look around my room and when I open my closet I see there's a light blue dress waiting for me, the pale blue like the sky on a calm summer's day, rippling like a lake under a calm breeze when you've just skipped a stone across it, beautiful, elegant and natural. But despite my love for this dress I still feel hollow, empty inside. My eyes glance at the calendar. I had forgotten today was the day; the day of the reapings.
A shiver travels down my back. I have always feared Reapings. I know it sounds ridiculous, being daughter of not one, but two victors, and living in the Victor's Village, being the wealthiest girl in our District. But despite this, I feel tension as the day is mentioned. I have to deal with it, there is no other option. I know it's Jay's last year, and I only have to live through the next three years without being reaped to survive the Capitol's wrath.
For some reason I fail to understand, my parents have always been training me. They always do this privately, though. We have a training gym in our basement that would be worth a career tribute. My brothers and I have learnt many things over the years. It's like the trainings they film before the Hunger Games, but three hundred sixty-five days a year ever since I was six. At first I thought they wanted us to be fit, but then I realized it was something different. They wanted to train us, just in case we were reaped. They want us to be ready, just in case we did have a chance to get reaped. They want us to have an advantage, an advantage that they never had.
"Ah, it's done," I muse as I look at my reflection in the mirror. Not bad, although fashion has never been my forte. My mother told me about her stylist during the Hunger Games, Cinna. I think he still works as a stylist for District Twelve girls. I usually saw his job in the Chariot Rides and interviews - they were truly amazing. They usually replayed old Games at school, but curiously I've never watched my parents'. Curiously no-one I know has either; though everyone knows of them no-one knows what their games were really like. But whenever I mention it to them my mother's face becomes blank and stony like it does when she wants to block strong emotions and my father looks the other way, never meeting our eyes. They treat us like we're children, like we shouldn't be exposed to those terrible things. But we are, every year we have watched the games, trained for the games and dreaded being in the games. But yet if I get reaped today I'll have more to worry about than a television screen because I'll be the one on it.
As I walk downstairs I find my brothers, mum and dad are already having breakfast, and I take a seat between Robin and dad. I can see mom is feeling nervous like she is every reaping while dad is trying to crack a laugh in the tense atmosphere. He's just like that, plain old Peeta Mellark.
"Good morning," he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek.
"Good morning," I grunt, taking a seat. I guess I'm more like my mother, given that my brothers are chatting casually while I try to chew my eggs and bacon in silence. I always feel so bitter when I eat my meals, because I know there are lots of kids starving to death outside the Victor's Village. Dad has told me he had intended to use his victor money to improve the District's conditions, but the Capitol had forbidden it. The Capitol forbids a lot of things, as it comes by. But that's normal, I'm sure they do that in lots of households. But still sometimes I used to sneak food to the lesser off people in my school. My parents found out and stopped me, though the tears that came up weren't tears of sorrow, they were tears of joy. They were proud of me yet they forbid it, they were too worried I'd get hurt. I almost felt like screaming at them, a lot more people would get worse then hurt if they didn't eat. Why do my parents have such a tight reign on me? I even heard rumours that my mother used to hunt, well, my supposed second cousin or something like that told me. But really you can't trust anything he says. For one, no way is he my relative. He may look like my mother but I can tell by the way they look at each other regrettably that they are not cousins, they might have been friends, maybe something more, I really can't tell. All I know is that everything he tells me is either painful or a lie, that's just the way it goes.
I glance at mom, and her grey eyes meet mine. I know she's thirty-seven by now, but she still has that gleam in her eyes which makes her seem young, strong, rebellious. Rebellious to the Capitol? That's what I think, but I can't say it out loud because I have learnt President Snow is everywhere, literally. He has spies around the corner, searching for information to use against us, the Everdeens. I might still be a teenager but I'm not dumb, I know the Capitol hates my parents because they defied the President's power. What I don't know yet is what they did or the consequences that befalled them.
"Is Haymitch coming to the Reapings?" I ask casually.
My old godfather, Haymitch Abernathy, hasn't been to the Reapings ever since my parents occupied his place as mentors for District 12 tributes, although presence is obligatory for every inhabitant of our District, as in every other of the eleven districts that form Panem. When mom and dad leave to the Hunger Games, we stay with him, although Jay has to control his drinking and his rage when Robin starts calling him 'Uncle Mitchy'. Living with your drunk godfather isn't the most exciting of plans, but that's what we have.
"I don't think so, Blue," dad answers. "You know he has never liked anything related to the Hunger Games."
I know that. Why have I asked anyway? Well, I guess it's just genes; I can't help but be like my dad sometimes, caring and always asking after people. Damn genetics.
After breakfast I go to our house's front porch. I sit down in the wooden bench and watch District Twelve's activity in the distance. Here, uphill in Victor's Village, I feel like a brat. Well, thinking about it, I guess I am a brat, or at least counted as one. Otherwise why would everyone else clamor to be my friend? I see the Seam's tin houses which look like they're about to collapse in any moment, and then I touch my house's strong, red brick structure with the back of my hand, the coarseness of the baked clay brushing my skin. My house is sturdy, a lot better than the houses in the Seam where my mother grew up in. Then I look at the merchant side of our District, which looks microscopic compared to the Seam's proportions. I know somewhere in that reduced part of District Twelve stands my aunt Primrose's house, where she lives with her husband Rory Hawthorne, along with our grandmother. When mum and dad married, as they told us grandma wanted to give them some space, so she decided to move into a house mum built for Aunt Prim and her. Of course that seems true, one of the few things that I am told that isn't lies. But somehow I feel mum didn't want her to go, just the way she said it. Regretably, scared even. Though I have no idea why she should be scared, she's comfortable here in our house, she has dad, Jay, Robin and me. A family, just like she always wanted. Or so she said.
"Hey," a voice muses next to me.
My heart misses a beat as I skip in surprise. Then, I hear an unmistakable chuckle I know really well.
"Searbh," I laugh, looking at his shiny blue eyes.
My dad's apprentice, Searbh Cobi, is sitting next to me. He is a young sixteen-year-old from the merchant side of District Twelve. He has been my father's apprentice for two years, ever since his father - an old friend of my dad - had requested him an apprenticeship with my father. And, of course, he was learning to be a baker. Because running a bakery is so exciting.
One year ago when I was fourteen I started being interested about Searbh. It was hard to muster up the courage to talk to him and I was nervous at first but eventually I pulled myself through and started a conversation and it never ended really. After endless hours chatting while he baked the bread we developed a strong friendship that has lasted until today.
"You know it's Reapings today, right?" I ask slowly. He nods. "And there's no work on Reapings day?"
"I thought I should come here," he tells me, smiling. "You know...just to chat."
I smile back, although I really don't feel like it. I know Searbh is a cheery boy who loves having fun but I really don't think Reapings day is a cheery day, at all. I can't understand how my father and brothers can be acting like usually. Before I can think anything else, I blurt the question out.
"Why are you all so cheery right now? It's Reapings day!"
I look at Searbh, fearing an angry answer, but he simply shrugs and smiles. "We all want to be cheery for one simple reason, Blue. We don't want to follow the Capitol's power. If we seem happy and unworried we will beat the Capitol's bloodthirsty games. We have to keep on fighting for what we want, but we don't have to use weapons for this. We can show the Capitol we're not their game pieces if we act normally, without seeming worried or nervous, and they will see they might be able to control our lives, but they will never, ever be able to control our feelings and thoughts."
I stare at Searbh. His speech's words have sunk deep into my heart, and now I feel just a little wiser after all he has said. He only smiles again, but we're interrupted by my family coming out of our house. Dad comes ahead, but when he sees his apprentice his here, he smiles.
"Hey, Searbh, good morning!" he exclaims.
"Good morning, sir," his apprentice answers politely, standing up.
"What are you doing here?" mom asks, hostile. She frowns at Searbh. I don't know why, but she has never liked the idea of having him close to us. I guess she's just too overprotective. What does she think he's going to do to me? He's only a friend, that's all, a friend.
"I thought of coming and go along with you to the Reapings," he explains, and briefly looks at me. I nod, as if to certify it's true.
"Very well then," dad says, and pats Searbh's back. Then he comes to me and says, "Time to go, Blue."
I nod and reach out a hand and brush it against the sturdy red bricks of my house. I never know, this may be the last time I see this place.