Jetta Mason, District 2
The dagger I threw hits the center of the target. Of course it did. I walk over to remove it and stare around the empty training center. I'm all alone. That happens sometimes. I'm always the first to come and the last to leave. I've got all the time in the world to train, considering I live in the community home. Today I'm alone because we have the day off because of the Reaping. Well, they're all idiots for not coming. I finger the dagger. It's my first choice of weapon. It's quick, practical, and gets the job done, just like me. No, it's not the most brutal of weapons that some of the boys use just because they're arrogant. We have plenty of boys like that in my group. I train with the seniors, meaning the 17 and 18 year olds who actually would have a chance of making it for a night in the Games. If their attitudes don't get the best of them. In short, District 2 is lacking on good victor material. That's why, even though I'm only 15, I'm going to volunteer.
My trainers don't know yet. Well, they should. Anyone could tell that I have more ambition than anyone else here. Clearly, I'm going to put it to use. It's not just that, though. I'm just sick of everything. I can't take another day here. I can't take another night of going to bed hungry. I can't take another beating from the headmaster at the home. And I can't stand to see my little sister's tear streaked face after another trainer screams at her. I'm going to get a better life for her if it kills me. Who knows? It just might. I twist the dagger into a dummy's stomach. This is for my "father" who forced my little sister to watch him beat me. I stab another dummy in the throat. This is for my "mother" who left me to face that man when I was only 8. Now I send the dagger straight through its heart and snap its neck. This is for the trainers who couldn't care less whether we live or die. I've brought down the last of dummies, when the sound of clapping echoes through the Center. I whip my head around. Brutus sits down on the bench next to me. He occasionally drops in on our training. I swear, the man is drawn to bloodshed like moths to a lamp. "Well, what are you doing here so early, sweetheart? Are you lost?" His words cause anger to boil in me. "Why don't you just go back to your perfect little house in your perfect little neighborhood? I think you're the one who's lost." My words have a sharp edge to them. Good. To my surprise, he laughs. His laugh is short and cold. "My dear, the only thing perfect around here would be your training score." He gives a dramatic pause. "That is, if you were to ever go to the Games." The man knows. I don't how he did it, but he knows. The words that come out of my mouth sound very immature. "How did you know?" I splutter. He laughs again. "Who else comes to train the morning of the Reaping?" Oh, I didn't know it was so obvious. "I've been watching you for a while now, you and your sister both." That's new. I can't exactly remember a creepy old man stalking either my sister or me. And why her? She's only 9, and really tiny besides. The only thing she shows promise in is throwing knives. And that's long range, which doesn't give you a whole lot of chance for survival. At least I'm adequate in hand-to-hand. She gets literally crushed every time. I can't contain my curiosity any longer. "Why would watch us? I know I can do hand-to-hand and long-range, but she can't." The creepy guy smiles again. "Let me tell you a secret."
I listen intently. It's not often you get a tip from a mentor. Even if he is insane. "It's all about the attitude." Huh? "Oh sure, you probably think the only thing that matters is how well you can handle a weapon. You see, there are some kids who think they can win easily, no effort required. Then there are those who put every ounce of their abilities into their training. You and your sister are some." I nod thoughtfully. The man is making some sense. "So you think I'm ready for the Games, then?" He stands up. I bristle with pride. He's just come in here to compliment me! I'm already on his good side. With his help, I'll be living in the Victor's Village in no time. I wait for the answer. "No, absolutely not." What? With that, he leaves the Center. What was that? He comes in here to tell me how great I am, and then proceeds to tell me I won't stand a chance. Well, he's wrong. Little does he know, but he's just added fuel to the flames. I pick up the dagger again. No use wasting any more time. I lose myself in the dagger's movement. I'm in control now.
I glance up at the clock on the wall. It's 1:55! I've almost missed the Reaping! I don't have time to change, so I inspect the outfit I'm wearing. I have on combat boots, green army pants, and a black tank top. So it's not the nicest outfit, but the gamblers aren't looking for nice. They're looking for strong. Besides, I look tough, like I'm ready for anything. I practically have to sprint to get to the square on time. Instantly, I become lost in the sea of heads, I'm just one of hundreds. Not for long. Our absolutely ridiculous escort, Flavia Ermine, gets on the stage. She rattles on about the Dark Days. I'm so nervous and tense I can hardly stand. Everyone around me looks presumably bored though. They know the routine. Some random kids name will get called and one of the 17 or 18 year olds will take their place. I guess they're in for a surprise. "Ladies first!" Flavia chirps. I don't even let her finish reading the name. "I volunteer!" My voice rings out, strong and clear. Flavia looks taken aback. The shocked 15 year olds around me part for me to get through. I can hear shouting from the 18 year olds as I make my way confidently onstage. "No, there must be some mistake!" A girl I train with named Jade shouts. I know for a fact Jade was supposed to volunteer. I guess she was just a little late. Too bad for her. Flavia straightens her elaborate hair pin. "Well, I'm sorry but this lovely young lady had already volunteered. I'm sorry." She makes a small pout at Jade with her lips, as if getting sent to fight to the death is really fun, and poor little Jade is missing out. I make my way next to the microphone. "What's your name, dear?" "Jetta Mason." Flavia nods and moves back to the boys' Reaping bowl. I make sure never to break eye contact with the camera in front of me as Lance Rhon volunteers. He volunteers like I did, not giving Flavia a chance to finish reading the name. Maybe after what happened he got paranoid. As Lance steps on stage, I realize how bad this could be for me. Lance is huge, and at 18, has three more years of training. But he doesn't have the attitude, unless you count his arrogance. We shake hands as Flavia introduces us as "your two District 2 tributes." We walk off the stage together. As we're making our way into the Justice building, Lance hisses in my ear through clenched teeth "What the hell do you think you're doing?" I stare back at him as innocently as possible. "Why winning of course," I answer. He huffs and heads into his own room. As the Peacekeepers direct me into my own room I realize that there is definitely going to be some tension in the Career pack this year.
I finger the velvet on the sofa. For some reason, it brings back a memory. I'm staring at my mother. She is wearing my favorite dress, the one with the velvet collar and singing a lullaby to my sister, who was only a baby. I reached out to finger the collar. "Your singing is so pretty mommy." She gives me a soft smile. "Would you like to sing together?" I nod enthusiastically. Our voices join together, singing that beautiful lullaby that's been in the family for so long that I still remember it now.
Fly high across the sky from here to kingdom come
Fall back down to where you're from
Don't you fret my dear; it'll all be over soon
I'll be waiting here for you.
My mother stared at me for a long time after we finished singing. I had begun to get uncomfortable when she said "Jetta, you have the most wonderful voice." For some reason, she began to cry. I tried to comfort her, but I didn't know why she was crying. She left the next night.
Now the door burst open. I jump, but it's only my little sister. She runs over to me and buries her head in my shoulder. She's sobbing uncrontrollably. Someone must have run back to the home to tell her. By now she's old enough to know that lots of kids don't come back. I gently rub her back and tell her everything's okay. "Hey, everything's fine. As soon as I get back, we'll be living in a huge mansion with all the food we can eat. And you'll get to see me on television in a Parade. That sounds okay, right? See, I'm fine." Before I know it, I'm singing the song until it's time for her to go. She climbs off my lap. "Goodbye Jetta," she whispers.
"Goodbye, Clove."