A/N: Thanks so much for reviewing and putting this on Story Alert! It makes my day!
If I get 5 reviews by the end of the weekend, two chapters go up next week!
Disclaimer: I no own THG, sadly. However, I own any characters, places, and bits of plot that do not appear in The Hunger Games.
Chapter 2: Good-byes
Lilac and Rosie come sprinting to me, grabbing my arms and sobbing. I try my best to keep a straight face. Little Rosie, who was sure this morning that my name would not be chosen. And Lilac, she was so worried when we woke up.
I know that tears are streaking down my cheeks as I turn from my sisters, so young, who will mature over the next few weeks more than in the rest of their lives put together. My steps to the stage are slow and careful, like I'm afraid of slipping on invisible, imaginary ice.
When I get to the stage, I stare into the faces of the crowd. I see Poppy, who is trying hard to muffle her heartbroken wails. I feel terrible for her; hadn't she had enough Hunger Games tragedies? I'm wishing I could talk to Poppy, but I'd have no idea what to say. Because everything will not be okay. We both know that.
"Any volunteers?" the blue-haired woman asks.
There is a rule that a boy can volunteer for the boy called, and the same one applies to girls. The original tribute is sent back home, and the other goes to the Games. This rule is usually only used in Districts 1, 2, and 4. There, kids will rush forward to sacrifice themselves for the joy of killing and the pride of being a tribute.
But I know there will not be volunteers. I have no older siblings or friends, and even then, most wouldn't volunteer. So the woman lets the wind whistle for a minute, and nods. Then she asks everyone to applaud the newest tribute. No one claps. They don't like the Hunger Games, and they hate when 12-year-olds are picked.
I'm stood on the girls' side of the stage, shivering in my thin clothes. Why did I wear a dress?
I watch silently as the boy tribute is called. His name is Thresh, and he has to be double as wide and about 2 feet taller than me. Or more. He looks scared, but shoots me a comforting look. Somehow, I manage to smile back.
We are introduced as the new District 11 tributes. There's another long speech, but I'm busy watching my sisters' faces. They look shocked and incredibly sad. So I think of a happy time with all my sisters.
It was Aspen and Willow's fourth birthday. My parents and I had saved up enough for eggs, flour, butter, milk, and even a little chocolate. As a present to them, we'd all made the cake together.
Lilac had started a small fire to melt the chocolate with, while Rosie helped the twins pour milk and flour into a bowl and mix it with the butter. Only my parents had known how to crack eggs correctly, so they did that part. I had supervised everyone.
As soon a Lilac finished melting the chocolate, I'd helped her scoop it into the bowl with the other ingredients. We could not afford real tools to mix it with, so I had also scraped the outside of eight twigs off and given everybody one. All of us worked together to stir the batter until it was the same brown as our skin.
The celebration stopped when we realized we needed to bake the cake. I volunteered to walk Aspen and Willow around the town to find a family with an oven. A small amount of money jangled in my pocket, the leftovers from the cake ingredients, which were beginning to freeze in the February evening.
None of the houses we'd checked had an oven, except one lady who screeched like a rusty hinge and shooed us away. All three of us were shivering in out worn, outgrown jackets. It had been an hour since we'd left.
Willow suggested the bakery, but I told her it was too expensive. Which it was. Aspen thought of the richer part of District 11, but that was too far to walk and those people didn't want us there.
Another 20 minutes later, a scent wafted toward us. Fresh-baked cookies, which we could never afford but had smelled from the bakery many times before. Our legs drifted by themselves to the front door of the house with the delicious cookie aroma. Aspen knocked on the flimsy wooden door tentatively.
It swung open; a man and woman, maybe in their early thirties, looked warmly down at us.
"Would you like some cookies, kids?" the man asked.
"Um...we were actually wondering if you had an oven we could use. See, we have cake ingredients, but nowhere to bake them." Willow explained in her adorable girly voice.
"Oh, sure. Come on in, and it will be done in half an hour or so." The woman said kindly. Gratefully, we'd stepped in, and talked to the pair before ecstatically bringing the finished cake back home.
Everyone had cheered, and for one of the first times ever, my family went to bed with no hunger pangs. Not only that, but there had been no nightmares for any of the little girls for at least a week.
I could still picture that night perfectly, one of the happiest nights of all our lives.
Then I realize with a heavy heart that I'm on a stage, and I've recently been called up to participate in the Hunger Games. The speech has ended, and the anthem of Panem is played. Thresh and I step to the middle of the stage and shake hands.
Some Peacekeepers grab my wrists and lead us into the Justice Building. We are each assigned a room to wait in while our friends and families make their way across the crowded square, past the people betting on how long we will live, past the glass orbs where my name is still written on six slips of paper, past the stage where I just stood.
It's nice in here. Pretty, I tell myself. And it is. The Justice Building has thick carpet and couches made of a soft material someone calls velvet.
I wait for my family to come in, so I can say my goodbyes. They all know as well as I do that I won't be coming home again. I hope that, for their sake, I can survive past the first few days. Maybe Thresh can be victor, and then they will be better off.
The door of my room creaks, and seven very familiar faces look at me with what I can only call tragic expressions. Lavender clambers into my arms, Aspen and Willow sit on my lap. My parents are on either side of me, my father holding Lilac, Rosie in my mother's arms.
They are allowed 15 minutes. For five minutes, we sit like that and I hug Lavender, Aspen, and Willow tighter to me every second. Rosie and Lilac have their skinny arms around my shoulders; their tears soak through my dress sleeves.
"Okay, now we need to talk," I say suddenly. "Lilac, Rosie, Aspen, Willow, and Lavender are never to sign up for tesserae. You can get by on what we gather. If you need meat, trade with the butcher. Mom, Dad, always make sure the kids eat first. That they get enough to eat. Lilac, it's okay," I add, because her eyes are filling up with tears so quickly I'm afraid she could drown in them.
My parents nod, say they will take care of all the kids, and look away so they can wipe their wet eyes without me noticing. But I do notice, and that makes this all so much harder. Even my parents, who have always known what to do and how to help, are defenseless now.
"But Rue, you'll try really hard to win? Promise?" Willow asks; a small ray of hopefulness illuminates her young face.
"I promise." I try to keep my voice steady, but I can barely manage those two words. Yes, I'll try my best. For Willow, and Aspen, Lavender, Lilac, and Rosie. My mother and my father. I have to stay alive for them, I think.
I hear footsteps outside the door, and I hope it's not the Peacekeepers. Sure enough, there they are, right outside the door, telling me that my next visitor is here.
Turning back to my family, I give a small nod.
"Bye, everyone. I love you all," I manage before my lungs seem to close off.
"Bye, Rue," they chorus. I feel like I'm in a different world, someone else's life, until one last sound breaks my trance.
"Bye-bye, W-Rue!" Lavender has said my name correctly for the first time in her life, and I'm sure this is the last time I'll hear it.
"Lavender," I whisper sadly. Baby Lavender, who will probably now be told the ugly truth of the Hunger Games. At least she won't understand until she's older. Though when she is, and it hits, her sadness will be even worse.
Aspen and Willow also never knew the secrets of the Games, and definitely will by the time they fall asleep tonight. If they can sleep. I wish I had told them now, so they wouldn't have to face reality the same year that their oldest sister is the one "living in the Capitol" forever.
I can only hope that my parents will remember to cover my sisters' still-innocent eyes at my death. Rosie and Lilac will look away by themselves. They've accidentally seen enough deaths to know when one is coming.
I remember Lilac's reaction the first time I couldn't turn the TV off fast enough. The only reason we even had a TV was so that the Capitol could show us the Games and reminders of what happened to District 13.
That was the 72nd Hunger Games, the year Lilac turned seven. It had already been a horrible year for her; she'd begun work in the orchards, and like me, she was too thin and short for even their smallest sizes.
Lilac and I were on our worn couch, watching the last four tributes ward off a mutant squirrel attack. One of them, the boy from 7 that year, was bitten by a squirrel. With his leg now a bloody mess, he'd limped around for a few minutes before keeling over. A cannon fired, and I quickly turned off the screen. But Lilac had seen the empty look in his eyes before the hovercraft had come to pick up the body. She'd watched him fall to the ground lifelessly, glimpsed his mangled leg.
Her arms wrapped around my waist, and I tried to comfort her, but there was no way to erase the image from her mind. At age seven, I had not experienced this kind of thing. My parents made sure of that. The only reason my mother was not here now was because she had to take care of Lavender, only a few days old.
It had been weeks before Lilac could sleep soundly after that. In the next two years, though, she watched more deaths before we could do anything, and each one took a little less to fade from her thoughts.
My death would be different. That would scar all of my sisters for life.