A/N: Yet again I find myself greeting you. Yes it's SneverusSnapers here, your wonderful commentator for the time being. I represent the authors in general up here. Now, we'd all like to say a big thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter, this could very well be the making of a new thing! It's actually quite convenient to do, you know, all you have to do is write one in every twenty-four chapters. Also writing with 24 people has its downsides. You try co-ordinating it… but that's why we have mikki105 and myself! Okay then, onto district two, this chapter is written by… the rampaging Mrslukecastellean (D2 female) and the stupendous FalconFlight (D2 male)!
Mikki105's A/N : Hey guys! I'm Mikki, creator of 24 Tributes, 24 Authors. I just wanted to say thank you to all my authors and all you readers for helping my mere idea take shape and make this! I am working with such talented writers and I'm so glad to have you all on my team! Now, the District Two reapings! Remember, reviews mean the world to our authors!
Hyre Fletching's Point of View (by FalconFlight)
I wake up on the floor. I am not surprised; one becomes accustomed to waking up on the floor after living in the same room as Jaime for eighteen years. Even at eighteen, my younger twin brother lacks a sense of maturity which I'm beginning to think he'll never gain, and he loves pushing me out of my bed.
Sure enough, when I look up, I see my brother standing over me and grinning impishly behind a curtain of auburn hair. "Good morning, Hyre!" Jaime exclaims as if nothing is wrong.
I glare at him as I push myself to my feet. "Thanks," I snap sarcastically. "I'm already ugly enough without you giving me more bruises."
Jaime's mischievous smirk widens. "You're not ugly; I'm just handsomer than you are."
"Is that why Dad loves you so much?" I ask.
Jaime and I chuckle. I don't joke about stuff like this with any one else. Not even my close friends (not like I have many, anyway) can even talk about my relationship with Dad without getting a sharp glare because it's true. My dad loves Jaime, and he hates me. He hates that I'm not as athletic as Jaime, he hates that I'm not as handsome as Jaime, he hates that I'd rather play the piano than do Career training, and he hates me in general. Not a lot of people know that, though.
"So, which one of us is going to volunteer this year?" Jaime presses; there is a certain seriousness in his voice for once because there is one thing that Jaime won't joke about: the Hunger Games.
I shrug. "I don't know; this is our last year we'll be eligible."
Since we started Career training when we were both ten, we both wanted to win the Hunger Games. Jaime just sort of wanted to do it, but I wanted to do it so that Dad might just care about me. Neither of us wanted volunteering to affect our relationship, though. When our first reaping came, we agreed that every year, one of us could volunteer if we wanted to and the other one would wait until the next year. I could have volunteered when I was twelve, or when I was fourteen, or sixteen. Jaime could've volunteered when he was thirteen, fifteen, or seventeen. Neither of us did, though. I never had the guts, and I'm not sure what Jaime's excuse is. All I know is that this is our last year we'll be able to go, and we both still want to.
"Why don't you volunteer?" Jaime suggests. "Maybe when you die, Dad will realize he actually loves you."
I wince slightly at the suggestion because that is exactly what I'm hoping will happen. Jaime is joking around, but he doesn't realize that I'd go to the Hunger Games just to die if it meant Dad would care. He probably won't, though. He'll probably laugh as a mutt tears my head off or as another tribute spears me in the gut.
Stop it, I chide myself. He will care. You'll volunteer, and for once he'll care.
"I've got a better idea!" Jaime exclaims suddenly, breaking my train of thought. "Why don't we have a little race?"
"Excuse me?" I have no idea what Jaime means.
"Why don't we see who can get up to the podium first? We'll both have a fair shot at replacing the reaped tribute, and it'll be fun," Jaime explains.
I glare at him. "You're ten times faster than me! You'll beat me for sure!"
"We have to bully our way through all the other eighteen year-olds, remember?" Jaime is grinning again like he always does before any competition. "I think it'll be pretty fair."
"I don't know-" I begin.
"Come on, please!" Jaime begs. I am still doubtful, however, and Jaime can tell. His smile disappears and he puts on his serious face. "Look, do you have a better solution? We've both had three shots at volunteering, so it's only fair that we both have a chance to enter the Hunger Games."
He's right, I think, and if we don't find a solution now, we'll be fighting to the stage anyway. I'm going to regret this later. "You're on."
Jaime's face lights up and he is grinning ear-to-ear. He hugs me briefly before dashing downstairs. I smile as he runs off and I wonder why he's happy: because I agreed to the race or because he's confident he's going to win.
I walk downstairs a couple minutes later after I'm sure no one is in the house. Jaime is probably down at the Training Center, trying to squeeze in some last practice before the reaping, Mom's out shopping for a dinner that I will never have, and Dad is doing whatever he does. I'm really not sure what that is; he never bothered to tell me. He probably told Jaime, but not me.
As I meander through the house, I pause outside the living room. Plush couches and polished coffee tables imported from District 1 take up most of the space, but shoved into one corner is a grand piano. The paint had once been glossy, but the piano has not been used in years, and now what had once been a fine layer of shiny paint is a thick layer of dust. The grand piano used to occupy the center of the room when I still played, but the corner had been its home since Jaime and I stared Career training.
"You can't be a Career and play the piano; you'll have to choose. Luckily, I've already made the decision for you." I cringe as I remember Dad's harsh voice. "No son of mine will play the piano." That was the last time I had ever even touched a piano and had marked the first time I realized Dad hated me.
And the piano still stands today to mock me, I think darkly.
An idea forms in my head as I stare at the piano. Dad's not home; I could play again. The piano is right here, and no one would know. Slowly, almost unconsciously, I walk towards the grand piano. I sit on the black bench and I run my fingers lightly over the keys. I am still afraid to press down, though. I am too scared to let a single noise from the instrument escape, so I sit there and touch the keys that I once associated with notes on a staff. In a matter of minutes, my hands are waltzing up and down the keyboard, never making a sound. As long as I don't think too much about what I am doing, I can get through entire pieces from memory. It feels great to play again, even if I'm not actually playing.
"Hyre."
At the sound of my name, I panic. My heart rate speeds up, and I lose track of where I am in the song. My entire body tenses up, and my hands come crashing down on random notes, eliciting an awful, scratchy and out-of-tune sound from the piano.
I turn around slowly to see who had said my name. I cringe as I see Dad looming over me, a stern expression on his face. He doesn't say anything; I just have to look at him to know that he hates me. There is a look in his dark brown eyes that screams disappointment, and I shrink under his glare. I slowly slide towards the end of the bench and get up. As I creep across the living room to the door, Dad's gaze never leaves me. He keeps me pinned to the wall with his glower as I sneak out of the living room.
When I have snuck around the corner and have convinced myself that Dad can no longer see me, I turn and run. I bolt for the front door as fast as I can move. I'm not very quick, but the desire to escape Dad's angry glaring is so strong, I force myself to pour in as much speed as I can manage.
I relax only after I've sprinted five blocks. My lungs burn from the effort and my sides hurt like hell. I nearly collapse on the sidewalk, but I mange to reach a bench before completely giving out. My entire body is now physically exhausted from the effort, and I am now convinced that Dad won't care when I die. Not after that display. I hadn't even been playing, but that doesn't matter. "No son of mine will play the piano."
That's when I remember the reaping. That's when I remember that I have to be there to race with Jaime to the stage. Now, I'm reconsidering volunteering. If I know Dad will not care when I die, why should I go to the Hunger Games? Why should I throw my life away for something that isn't going to happen now?
I have to go, I think. If Dad hates me, he's probably convinced I'm going to die if I volunteer. I have to go to prove him wrong.
And suddenly, I'm not planning on volunteering to die. I'm going to volunteer to win. I stand up with a new sense of confidence flowing through me, and I march back towards my house because I still need to put on my tuxedo. Secretly, I pray that Dad has already left for the reaping so I won't have to see him.
Luckily, Dad is not there, so I slip into the house, run upstairs and change into my tuxedo. I frown at my reflection as I examine myself in the mirror. It's not difficult to tell that Jaime is the handsomer twin. I'm average. Average height, average brown hair, average brown eyes, etc. Looks are the other part of the Hunger Games that people don't realize they're playing. The sexy or cute tributes tend to get more sponsors than us plain ones. I can't focus on that now, though. The only game I have to play right now is the one against Jaime; I have to be the first one to the stage.
With that in mind, I leave the house and head towards the square. Much to my disappointment, I arrive there after Jaime does. I see my twin standing in the eighteen year-old section, smiling as if he has already won the Games. I shoulder my way through the crowd of fellow Careers to where he is standing.
"You sure took your sweet time getting here," Jaime announces.
"A 'hello' would've sufficed," I snap back.
Jaime is about to say some witty comeback, but the mayor taps the microphone to do a sound check and silences everyone. We listen silently as he talks about the standard reaping stuff: the history of Panem, the Dark Days, and finally, the Treaty of Treason. Then, he reads a list of our victors. We have the most victors by far, and I'm pretty sure 12 still doesn't have one even after twenty-four years of playing the Games. The mayor reads off 'Malcolm Enclave'. The name sounds familiar, and I realize he's the mentor this year. I wonder how old he is and if he is still eligible for the Hunger Games.
Finally, the mayor announces Polly Clearwater, our escort. She walks up to the stage, smiling broadly. She has aqua hair and aqua eyes, and people loves placing bets on how old she actually is. No one knows, but the general estimate is around 40. She reaches into the glass ball for the girls and pulls out a small slip.
"Do we have a Mary Sweeney out there?" Polly asks cheerfully.
A twelve year-old girl begins to ascend the stairs. She doesn't look like a Career, and it's sad to know that District 2 won't have a victor this year. A reaped victor, that is. When the trembling girl reaches the stage, Polly calls out for volunteers. About a dozen girls surge forward to replace the girl, but only one emerges victorious, and she looks kind of familiar too. The girl is thin, but her black tank top shows off her muscles. The tank top seems rather tight across her chest, though I can't tell from the other side of the square. She's about fourteen and has long chocolate brown hair, but she has the attitude of a skilled Career.
"And what's your name?" Polly presses. She's been smiling throughout the entire reapings, and I wonder if her face hurts. I also wonder if she and Jaime would get along.
"Onyx Marsha-" the girl begins. I realize why she seems familiar; we've see each other at school sometimes. I don't know her terribly well, though.
"And your age?" Polly interrupts.
Onyx glares at her. "Fourtee-"
"Fourteen? Excellent," Polly continues before Onyx can finish. Mary steps off stage, and Onyx sits down with Malcolm. "And now for the boy!"
Jaime tenses next to me, and I know why. I wonder if Jaime will volunteer right away or if he will have the respect to wait. We both watch in silence as Polly reaches her hand into the glass ball with boy names and feels around a bit. I can feel my heart pounding and blood roaring in my ears. The seconds it takes for Polly to pull out the name of the male tribute feels like ages, but finally, she leans towards the microphone and reads off the name of the male tribute.
"George Meum," Polly announces. "Do we have a-"
Polly is cut off as George Meum, a fifteen year-old, begins to walk towards the stage. Jaime doesn't hesitate. He suddenly charges forward, elbowing his way as fast as he can through the crowd of eighteen year-olds. I had been expecting him to start running early, so I'm not surprised when he begins to shove his way forward. What I lack in speed I make up in the ability to push people out of the way. Jaime, on the other hand, is having trouble forcing his way out.
When George Meum reaches the top of the stairs, Jaime and I both burst from the crowd. With no obstacles, Jaime begins to race towards the stairs. I struggle after him, still tired from my sprint early today. Dread fills my heart as Jaime reaches the top step. He's about to take everything from me, about to take my one chance to redeem myself, about to crush my dream… and then he slips. I can't see what he slips on, but one moment he is about to step onto the stage, and the next, he's at the bottom of the stairs right next to my foot.
I don't wait a second longer. I propel myself up the stairs and force myself to the top. At that moment where I am staring at Polly's slightly confused expression, I don't care about my lungs burning or my sides aching. I just care that I won. I beat Jaime. For once, I actually beat him.
"Excuse me," Polly taps me on the shoulder. "What are you doing up here?"
"I'm volunteering," I tell her.
Her smile falters slightly as if she does not like the idea of rearranging the order of the reapings. "We really should wait-"
"What's the point?" Malcolm asks. "He's just going to volunteer again."
Polly nods affirmatively. "So, what's your name?"
"Hyre Fletchi-" I begin, but she cuts me off.
"Age?" Polly presses.
"Eightee-" I start, but Polly interrupts again.
"Got it, okay." Polly turns to the crowd. "District 2, I give you your tributes! Onyx Marshall and Hyre Fletching!"
There's a bit of cheering; I don't have many friends, though. Just then, Jaime stumbles to the stage. "Wait!"
Polly turns, and for the first time, a look of true irritation crosses over her face. "What?"
"He can't go! I have to go!" Jaime exclaims. "He can't volunteer! I was going to-"
"Peacekeepers?" Polly points at Jaime, and Peacekeepers come down on him like a swarm of bees.
Jaime fights and struggles, but the Peacekeepers drag my twin away saying stuff Mom would never approve of. Just before he disappears, he casts me a glare of hatred. For a moment, I am confused. I had thought that Jaime would be happy that I get to go compete in the Hunger Games, but I know he's not happy. He hates me now. I wonder if a death sentence is worth more than the love of my brother, but there's no time for pondering the answer. Polly is coaxing us to shake hands, and I can see the group of Peacekeepers that will take us to the Justice Building, so I shake hands with Onyx and let the Peacekeepers lead me away.
Nobody comes to visit me. I sit in the Justice Building alone because they all hate me. Mom hates me for stealing Jaime's big moment, Jaime hates me for beating him at his own game, and Dad… Dad just hates me. I wonder if they'll forgive me when I die or if I will die hated and alone.
Who cares how I die? I think. I have to be killed first, and I still plan on winning.
As my hour for goodbyes slowly dwindles down, I realize I need a token. Usually, parents bring their kids tokens. My parents do not care, though, so I will have to find a token to bring. I comb my hand through my hair, trying to think of ideas, when something catches my eye: a bracelet made of three red strings. Jaime had given it to me as a birthday present years ago when he completely forgot we had the same birthday. At the last minute, he tied together three strings and called it a present. I've worn it everyday ever since.
You gave this to me a day you forgot I existed, brother, I think, fingering the bracelet. Isn't it strange that I remembered this the day you wished I never existed?
Onyx Marshal's Point of View (by Mrslukecastellean)
"Onyx...Onyx...wake up."
I open my eyes slowly and see the smiling face of my brother, Mason. His bright blue eyes, his soft chestnut brown hair, his toothy grin. I can see every detail of his face, even though it's still pretty much dark a wonderful way to wake up.
"Hey Mason. What time is it?" I ask with a yawn.
"4am."
"4? I usually don't need to be up until 5." I whine.
"You've forgotten already. Ha! I knew you would forget about today! Some Career you are."
"What? What's today?" I ask, pretending I don't already know.
I jump out of bed and scream at the top of my lungs "IT'S REAPING DAY!"
"Oh thank god! I thought you had forgotten."
"How could I? I've been training for this since I was 3."
"And a 1/2."
"So what! I am sooooo ready for this."
"Don't get cocky. You might get Reaped, and you might not. Remember that. And also, your 14. You have 4 more years to be in the Games."
"I'm getting in this year Mason."
"OK. You can try. But why not wait until next year? It would be way easier that way."
"Mason, I'm going this year, and you can't stop me."
"Why do you want to go so badly?"
"Because you didn't." I answer simply.
I walk toward my bathroom, knowing Mason won't follow me in.
"OK Onyx, but the Reapings aren't for another 6 hours. If you change your mind, that is fine too."
"I'm not changing my mind." I yell.
I pick up my toothbrush and slather it with the lime green paste. I am so exhausted, but I know I need to get myself started. An early day is more time to train. This I learned at a young age. I add some water to my toothbrush and start scrubbing at my teeth viciously. I scrub until every nook and space in my mouth is foamy and threatening to spill out everywhere. I spit it out and immediately look back at the mirror, smiling. Still not white enough. I'll do this later. I have training to get to.
I walk out of the bathroom and go downstairs to the laundry room to find my training clothes. I have special clothes, made specially for my body shape. Everything I own is made so that I can look great, and feel great while being great.
I look through the piles of my clothes that I washed yesterday, and yet, I can't find my clothes. A pair of black shorts and a white tank top. You would think they wouldn't be that hard to find. And yet, they aren't there.
"Mason...where are my training clothes?"
"What training clothes?" He asks, looking up from his bowl of cereal.
"The ones I wear to TRAINING EVERYDAY! Where did you put them? Your throwing me off my schedule."
"They are in your room smart one."
"I washed them yesterday though."
"And I got you new ones. Go put them on."
I race back up to my room before Mason even has time to be a responsible adult and tell me to stop running in the house.
Allow me to explain. My parents died when I was a baby, and when Mason was 13. Ever since then, Mason has been my legal guardian. I refuse to call him my father, even if the Peacekeepers have told me he is , he's 27 now, and I am 14,and he has been my guardian, my trainer, and my best friend all rolled up in one. And today, he might even be my death sentence.
If I don't get to training soon, I am going to die.
I close the door a little bit too hard and collapse against the door. Mason doesn't come up to investigate, so I scan my room. Right there on my bed I see a pair of forest green shorts and a black tank top. My new training clothes.
I pull off my pajamas and slip into my new clothes. The shorts fit fine, but the top is slightly tight. I walk downstairs to the kitchen, hands on my hips.
"You like them?" Mason asks.
"Their fine. But I think you got the wrong size top."
"Let me see the tag."
I spin around and flip my hair up so he can access the tag.
"No. This is it."
I groan. "Then I gained weight."
"That isn't possible. You trained for 4 hours yesterday,right?"
"Yes."
"And you ate the right portion size right, on all three meals?"
"Yes."
"Then I don't know what you did. Train harder today, and don't eat breakfast."
"OK. Thanks for sorting that out for me Mason. Your a lifesaver."
I head toward the door as Mason calls "Be home in 4 hours, or I am not letting you volunteer."
I grab my sneakers and leave without giving him an answer. It's better if I just not argue. There isn't enough time in my schedule for that. Especially not today.
There is a benefit to living right next to the gym. For one thing, I can go whenever I want and never need Mason to give me a ride. The second is that I can get to the gym without the risk of other wannabe tributes coming and interrupting me while I am training myself.
I swing the door open and nod to the man at the desk. Today it's Micheal.
"Hey Onyx. Here for training?" He asks with a smile.
"Yeah. What else would I be here for? Is there anybody else here?"
"Um...it's 4:15 in the morning. What do you think?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
"No. There isn't. Your the only one here. And I'll make sure nobody else comes in and interrupts you while your in there with your psycho crazy girl tribute workout training program."
"Well good morning to you too." I say.
Then I continue into room 1, my special spot that nobody else goes into. Well, they shouldn't. I pay 30 dollars a month to make sure nobody does. And there's a reason. All my supplies are in there. Everything Mason has declared or deemed too dangerous or unsafe to work with at home is here. And the beauty of it- he has no idea that I am even using this room. As far as he knows, I am using the public rooms where anyone can train to become better. And he also thinks I have an instructor when he isn't there. Nope. Like that would ever happen.
I glance quickly at the clock on the wall. 4:20. I have until 9 to get training. At 4:40 Mason will show up to make sure that I am working, as opposed to watching the boys martial arts class that also comes here at the same time I am in training. They sometimes come and watch me train, and in return, I watch them occasionally and spar so they can get a feel for battling real warriors. I'm better then most of them.
Anyway, back to training. I pick up the dummies I was working with yesterday and place them back on their hooks on the ceiling. Then I pick up my knives, sword, and bow and arrows, positioning them around so I can get to them. I have an elaborate routine you see. Very strenuous. Very hard. Only for the most skilled way of training. And I am most definitely at that level.
I look at the clock again. 4:39. Damn. Mason will be here soon.
I run out of the room with my supplies, then run next door, to the public room. Mason is waiting.
"Where were you?"
"Getting some of the more experienced weaponry." I answer smartly.
He furrows his brows, but then thinks otherwise and helps me put the weapons around the room.
"Let me see what you've got." He says.
"Half the routine?"
"Full."
"But you know I can't get that end part! Come on Mason, I'll break my wrist."
"Do it Onyx. I'll spot you."
"Fine." I mumble.
I start at the tape X on the floor near the door, and get ready to start. This routine combines weaponry work with gymnastics, for strength, agility, and...grace. I don't get how grace will ever help me, but I do it anyway.
I put my arms up, point my right foot back, and push off into my first front flip. I rotate my hands over into a cartwheel, then return upright at the knife station Mason and I have set up. I throw the first knife, landing it in the neck of the first dummy. Then I let the second slide off my fingertips and it embeds itself into the shoulder of the same one. I throw my last knife, and it lands smoothly in the heart of the dummy.
Then I turn around and flip backwards. Once,twice,three times. I've landed where the sword is. I pick it up, slash diagonally, lunge back, and do a no handed cartwheel, sword still in hand. When I return upward, I stab the sword into the second dummy, right in the heart.
I smirk, drop the sword, and jump up onto the uneven bars we have in here. I twist around once, let go, and roll forward and between Mason's legs. Just as planned. And then comes the end. I run forward.
"Mason, I can't do this."
"You can. GO FOR IT!"
I push off onto my fingertips, swing my legs over my head, and then replace my fingers in front of me on the balance beam. I jump up into a split jump, then shove my feet back over my head and land on the beam cleanly. This is the hard part. A triple back handspring with a round off into a cartwheel. Extremely tough. Even I haven't mastered it yet.
"Go for it Onyx!"
I swivel around on my toes, then push off backward. One, two, three handsprings. Then I push off into my round off. Just when my feet are about to hit the beam again, my fingers slip, and I go headfirst off the beam. I put my hands down before my head collides with the floor, then fall on my butt.
"Come on Onyx! You had it! You had it, and then you screwed it up."
"I slipped Mason."
"Ha! You slipped. And next time you slip, maybe you won't get another chance at it. Do it again."
"What?"
"I said,do ."
I go back over to the beam and repeat the process, with the same results.
"Again." Mason demands.
"I can't. I'm not that flexible."
"We'll work on it tomorrow."
"I'll be on a train tomorrow. On my way to the Capitol."
"Not if you can't get that round off into a cartwheel."
I'm fed up by that point, so I turn around on the floor and go into my round off. My feet hit the floor, and the second they do, I push off and go into my cartwheel. I look at Mason, who is laughing.
"You got it. Onyx, you just got it. Completely. Flawlessly."
"And now I can volunteer for the Games."
I walk out of the room, drenched in sweat, and walk down the hall toward the door. A group of boys from the martial arts class look over at me as I get some water from the machine. I lift the cup to my mouth and see one of them watching me very closely.
"May I help you?"
"Are you volunteering for the Games?"
"Yeah, I was thinking about it. Are you?"
"Mmhmm. Duh."
"It'll be my pleasure to kill you then."
Then I stride back into the training room, sneakers in hand, basking in the wonderful sound of the other boys laughter as they taunt their cocky friend.
I once again look at the clock. 6am. I still have 3 hours, and for once, I don't want to train. I've shown Mason that I know how to handle my weapons, and if I get into the Games, what else is there for me to learn? I can also learn things in the Capitol. I've heard that you train there too. So I'm set really.
"What should you be doing right now?"
"I don't know the answer you want Mason."
"Then I'll help you out. See that treadmill over there?"
I look over where he's pointing. A treadmill with one of those pairs of simulation goggles, where you can imagine yourself running through a place, right next to a whole bunch of other exercise equipment.
"Yeah. I see it."
"Get on it. Put on the glasses. Then I'll come and get you when it's time to come home."
I take a step toward the treadmill, but Mason pushes me back. I groan again, turn around, and handspring over, over and over and over again. I count 17 by the time I touch down next to the exercise equipment.
Mason sprints over as I step up. I look at the touch screen, trying to decide on the location of where I want to run.
"I know where you should run." Mason says with a smile.
He looks at the pad and chuckles. Then he pushes a button, and I place the glasses on my face. The location instantly makes me happy, and I smile at Mason. I can't see him with the glasses on, but I know he's smiling back.
I am running through the Hunger Games Arena from two years ago. Through a dense wood, around a river and through a huge grove of trees. Then I see the vague image of a boy up ahead. I keep running, and after I pass the boy, he follows. I increase my running rate and keep running.
"Time to go." Mason says.
"But I've only been running for 20 minutes."
"No...actually, you were running for 2 hours."
"So...it's 9am?"
"Um...9:25 actually."
"Uhhhh. You should have come 25 minutes ago."
I tear off the glasses and run out the door, and back home again. Once in my own room, I get into the shower and wash everything. Got to be clean when I volunteer.
When I emerge, I find nothing on my bed, like a certain gorgeous emerald green dress that Mason promised he would buy. Well, There are other ways to look fabulous.
I slip my training tank top and a pair of extremely skinny jeans on again and admire my reflection in the mirror. Long chocolate brown hair, deep almond set hazel eyes, and creamy pale skin. I take a brush and run it through my hair, trying to look as nice as possible. I quickly add some clear lip gloss and red lipstick, and then I rifle through my closet for shoes. I find a pair of black flats and put them on. They look good, but are also very functional. I can run in these. To volunteer. Oh yes. The thought makes me so happy.
I rush down the steps, ignoring Mason's attempts to scold me. He sucks at it. He starts laughing when he threatens to make me stay home.
I look at my watch. 9:50. And the square is barely three blocks away. I take my time walking, and end up in the crowd of 14 year old girls as soon as our mayor introduces our escort, Polly Clearwater, and our mentor, Malcolm Enclave.
"First, the girls." Polly says in a bright, peppy voice. She has aqua hair, aqua eyes, and a clearly altered appearance. People love to guess how old she is. Most guess in her 20's, but I know better. She's in her 40's at least.
She swirls her hand into the glass ball of names, and then...she calls out the name.
"Is there a Mary Sweeney in the square." She asks with a smile. She's been smiling for a really long time. Nobody can smile that long unless they can't feel it. She's gotten work done.
A scrawny little 12 year old ascends the stairs. We won't have a Victor. Oh duh! Yeah we will. It'll be me!
Polly calls out for volunteers, and I run as fast as I possibly can to the stage. A dozen or so other girls come as well, but only I am victorious in getting there first.
"What is your name?" She asks positively.
"Onyx Marsha-"
"Age?" She interrupts before I can finish.
"Fourt-"
"Fourteen? Splendid!"
Mary steps off the stage, and I go and sit next to my new mentor. Malcolm Enclave. Sexy. That's the first word to pop into my head. He has the softest blue eyes, and white blond hair that keeps falling in his eyes. He's 19 too, one of the youngest mentors ever, I'm sure. This is his first year. How wonderful. I'll win, and he can have a nice first time. I look at him, scanning his features for a moment. He shoots me a small smile. Then a glare. No...that couldn't be it.
"George Meum." Polly calls out.
In my stalker haze, Polly has called out my partner. A 15 year old boy comes into view.
Damn. He's older then me. But I can take him.
I watch as two identical boys,probably twins start elbowing their way through the of them is wearing a tux. Bigger boys then George. And Polly hasn't even called for volunteers yet!
Things just went from bad to near impossible. I can kill him. I will kill him. I'll come home a winner.
One of them gets up the stairs, gasping a little from his run, and Polly taps him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me...what are you doing up here?"
My point exactly! What is his problem? Ohhh...nothing I guess,since he's up here.
"I'm volunteering."
I watch as Polly's gaze falters. She's thinking...what is she thinking?
"We should really wait-"
"What's the point?He's just going to volunteer again." Malcolm interrupts, standing and going up there to the boy.
Why didn't I get that kind of attention?
Polly nods.
"So,what's your name?" She asks.
"Hyre Fletchi-"
"Age?"
"Eightee-"
"Got it, okay." She turns to the crowd.
"District 2, I give you your tributes. Onyx Marshal and Hyre Fletching!"
A bit of cheering follows. I don't think it's for me. I don't care. There should have been more for such a wondrous day. Oh well.
And then things get interesting.
The boys twin comes to the stage "Wait!"
Irritation crosses Polly's face. Something I had never seen before.
"What?" She asks.
"He can't go! I have to go!" the boy yells."He can't volunteer! I was going to-"
"Peacekeepers." Polly trills, and the Peacekeepers drag the boy away as he screams profanities. And for the first time today, I laugh. This makes me so happy.
I go to the Justice Building, ready to say my final goodbye to the one person who will care about me.
Time to find out what Mason is giving me for my token.
Every tribute can have one token, one memory to bring into the Arena. A parent is the ideal person to give someone their token, but in my case, it will be Mason.
He comes in and hugs me tightly.
"I made it! I MADE IT!" I squeal.
"Ok ok, calm down. You need to calm down. I know that your excited, but relax. This isn't just a dream anymore. It's reality. Treat it like it is."
"Advice please! Some words of wisdom from my trainer would be good."
"Stay in the game at all times. Focus. Don't let ANYTHING stop you from Victory."
"That boy is older then me."
"But you're a Career. Just looking at him you can see he isn't."
I thought he looked VERY menacing.
"OK. Thanks. I'll do that. I will come to you victorious."
Alright. Good girl. But I also want you to know if for some reason you are dying, and there's no hope of surviving, know that I love you, and that I am proud of you. For doing what I couldn't."
I hug him again, as tight as I possibly can.
"Mom and dad would be proud too."
He pulls out of the hug, tears sliding down his face.
"I have something for your eyes."
I close my eyes, and feel something cold around my neck. When it subsides, I open my eyes and look at it. A beautiful silver locket with a emerald center.
"It's beautiful." I say breathlessly.
"It...I was going to give it to mom. For her birthday. It would have been the day after she died. And I had bought this with my own money. But she died. And so I'm giving it to the next special girl in my life. You."
"It's perfect. I'll cherish it forever."
He kisses my forehead and walks out, possibly for the last time.
And when I think there's nobody else to come and visit, a boy walks in. Hyre's twin.
"Hey there Onyx." He says smoothly.
"Do I know you?" I ask.
"I'm Hyre's brother, Jaime, and I go to school with you."
"Oh yeah. You do look familiar."
"Let's cut to the chase. I know you want to win. So do me this one little favor. Kill him. As viciously as you can muster. As slowly as you want."
"Why?"
"What do you mean why? Your a Career aren't you? I would have thought you'd like to kill Hyre."
"Why should I kill him slowly and painfully?"
"He stole my glory. I wanted to volunteer. But he did, and so I want him dead."
"Ok...so you get something you want."
"I can give you something too. Well...take something really."
"Excuse me?"
"I think you know what I mean."
"I do. And I'm not even thinking about doing that."
"OK baby. When you come home all nice and victorious, come find me. We'll...talk."
"I'd rather slit your throat."
"And why don't you?"
"There are witnesses.I'll see when I get back. To kill your pathetic ass. And for another thing, how do you know someone won't kill me?"
"You know as well as I do. You've got training. I've seen you train."
"Creepy."
A Peacekeeper comes in and takes Jaime. He struggles and fights, but in the end, I am left alone in the room.
I maintain a straight face, take a deep breath, and get ready to board the train