Leah Dagger (16), District Two Female-POV
Just like that night, lightning crackles through the air, yet the form on the floor lays motionless. The angle of her neck looked so awkward, and I remembered thinking that this couldn't be happening. Slowly shifting from my spot upon the floor, my hand reached out hesitantly, only to discover that the warmth had long since left her. He didn't seem to be coming near anytime soon, I realized, and I scrambled desperately towards her. Reaching my hands up to the inflicted area, bruises that were half way formed were present, and the bone sickly out of place. My heart ached immensely, a river of tears sliding down my cheeks, as I clutched my mother's body. Sneering, he came back in, whacking me with a stick and jolting me from my nightmare.
Sweat drenched my tan body, turning my auburn hair oily. No doubt, my green eyes would be peppered with fright, large just like some of my opponents have been. My pulse slowly lessened, returning to a normal resting heart rate in under a minute. Taking deep breaths, I forced myself to look around the room, and remember that what I had seen happened a long time ago. Right now, it couldn't hurt me as long as a stayed strong. Which I reminded myself meant not hiding under the covers when I should be getting ready for the Reaping!
Growling slightly, I shove myself out of bed and head to the bathroom. Matt and Thomas aren't up yet, which I smirk slightly to myself about, the latter being the one I actually wanted to avoid. I hated each moment of my existence spent in Thomas' company, and why wouldn't I? Without Thomas, my mother would still be alive, and I wouldn't have to continually lie to my little brother each waking hour. Matt may have just been the only person I felt close to, and that came with a price; a deep and active fear of losing him as well. And ever since my mother had been murdered, no one else received a spot in my heart.
Turning the shower knob, I spent the five minute wait for water to come out by punching the air. My punches were fast, almost too fast, I thought with a grin. Yet despite this, I knew they wouldn't do much good, merely fazing and annoying my opponent, since strength isn't a key asset of mine. Neither was swimming, I thought icily, stepping into the shower. Instantly, my entire body was briefly doused with hot water, which quickly grew cold. Cleansing myself, I shut off the water, in an attempt to save the heat whenever it would be possible. District Two is better off than the other Districts, yet we're still not nearly as nice as the Capitol. Though, I bet the houses in Victors Village aren't all too shabby; I'll be finding out soon enough.
Grabbing the faded and worn towel, I dried myself off as quickly as possible, dashing back into my bedroom. Scattered among my things rested an old hairbrush, matted with auburn hair from years upon years of use. Primarily, it was this day that it actually had importance, since on other days I found it simpler to sweep my hair up into a loose yet effective ponytail. Groaning slightly, I ran it through my hair, grumbling as it caught on each and every tangle possible. Despite my efforts to not wince, the pain became too much and I did so, mumbling a few choice words under my breath. Hopefully no one would be armed with a hairbrush in the arena, and if they did, I'd like to stay far, far away from them. Eventually, my wild and thick auburn hair became tamed, falling down nicely just below my shoulders.
From the depths of my closet, I procured a fitted green shirt. The shade matched my eye color, which I knew from lectures at Training School seemed more appealing to potential sponsors. Some of the students their found it odd at first that we'd be taught this, but it made sense after watching years of the Hunger Games. A large part of winning was the appeal, and the more appealing you looked, it would clearly gain you more support. After all, even the interviews didn't let them learn all too much about you. Pairing the shirt with a skirt, the reflection in the mirror boasted confidence and poise, just what I'd need. Even the bruises and scars seemed minimal, and I found myself wishing that Thomas, my father by blood, would be that way as well.
Someone knocked softly at my door, and opened it after a moment's pause. Towheaded, the young boy had an eye color identical to mine, yet his hair matched the color of our mother. Matt's eyes seemed to shine up at me, bringing out one of my rare smiles that were few and seldom in between. He broke into a grin as well, running over, dressed in dress clothes that were two big for him at eight years of age. By the time he was entering his first Reaping, they should fit fine, I thought, and if they didn't, I'd be able to afford to pay for new ones. Hugging his small body, I reluctantly scooped him up and walked out of the door.
The stench of alcohol was prominent, though that was usual from Thomas, most likely where his abusive behavior had sprouted from. Gritting my teeth slightly, I forced myself to keep walking towards the exit of our one story home. Thomas' bedroom door stood ajar, the sounds of wheezing and shifting quite audible, Matt and I each were being very quiet. There would be nothing better than the Peacekeepers coming to haul Thomas from our home before the Reaping, I thought initially. Glancing down at Matt, I decided I'd rather that didn't happen, in case he'd choose to add another kill to his list. A few seconds past, my feet began to walk once more, each of us only daring to breathe as the squeaky door closed behind us.
"Leah…," Matt ventured, looking up at me curiously, "Why are you going to volunteer?"
Gazing down at him, my fists clenched slightly, thinking of my mother's death. I couldn't let anything happen to Matt like that; he was my only true family that I had left. The only way I could protect him from Thomas would be to win. As a Victor, I'd get to live in my own house, and choose who'd get to come with. Not to mention that the Capitol would ensure your protection, taking high notice of you. All of these perks had been drilled into my head since I was younger than Matt, and now, at sixteen years of age, I knew I was ready.
Jackson Leo Ross (17), District One Male-POV
Each kick I threw was aimed to kill, right down to the very last detail. The equipment the training area of our mansion never lasts all too long, I being the main culprit. It never really would be likely for Mariah to compete in the Hunger Games, since she's planning to take over our mother's shop. Her shop was quite popular, if I may add, and ensured that I was quite fashionably dressed at each and every Reaping Day. In the entire country of Panem, my family is one of the more fortunate, and as wealthy as some of the Capitol citizens. We probably should have been living in the Capitol at this rate, yet my parents never even brought up the matter.
Throwing a round kick from an aerial, I hit the ground with a thud. I never really mastered that way, something which I reminded myself from each time I tried it. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the little white towel and wiped my face clean of all the sweat, leaving my skin a slightly irritated red. Taking in a deep breath, I guzzled down some water, jogging a bit to the bathroom. Earlier, about five or six hours before the Reaping, I stashed my outfit for the day in here. There was no way I wanted to chance Mariah taking with her to work, and then sell it to someone who's outfit ripped at the last minute. Or worse, my mother trying to practice sewing on it, scattering little pink hearts across the fabric, which only a girl could truly enjoy.
Slipping on the clothing, I strutted around in front of the mirror, smirking slightly at the reflection. My copper colored hair popped out above my pale skin, looking fluffy yet neat enough so it would be excusable. Tall and strong, many of the sponsors would no doubt look at me and smile, knowing they picked a winner. Yet my favorite thing about myself was my eyes; a brown color, they were tinted red, just enough to be different but not enough to cause alarm. No one else in my family had eyes like these, a tiny victory against the long list of things my father has accomplished. Black dress pants, a brand new white shirt, and shiny white shoes feel odd to wear, though confidence oozes off me in large waves.
Suddenly, someone began to pound on the door, the rhythm being precise and accurate. Shaking my head slightly, I exited the bathroom and went over to the oak door. Only one person could be so desperate to get in here right now, as this happened just about each and every year. In fact, that was the very reason I locked the door in the first place, as a way to get some more privacy. Eventually, a small growling noise could be heard, so I reluctantly opened the door. Stepping backwards, I flashed a trademarked smile, yet it didn't ever seem to work on Mariah; she was my sister, after all.
"What in the world are you doing?" Mariah seethed.
"Training. How about you?" I replied with a grin.
Mariah rolled her gray eyes, stalking closer to me. We each had the same hair color, though Mariah kept her hair extremely short, shorter than mine in fact. Her build was muscular, accentuated by the sea green dress she had selected from the Reaping Day. Thinking a bit, I remembered seeing it for sale in our mother's store just the other day. Another common trait between us was our height, towering over most of the people in District Two. Together, we'd be ideal Victors, and each of us knew it, especially from all the compliments the trainers would give us. Still, Mariah didn't even seem to want to participate in the Hunger Games, at least not yet. Maybe she'd do it when she was seventeen or eighteen, to ensure that she's had the most training possible.
"Breathing," Mariah commented, "you ought to try it sometime. And you know where would be the perfect place to do it…? The Reaping that we're going to be late for if you don't get your lazy butt out the door!"
My sister always loved to tease me this way. Her confidence, like mine, came from our successful father. Both of us came off of arrogant this way, but it didn't really bother me, or Mariah, in the slightest. Our father always thought that he was the best at everything, and to some point, he very well may have been. While he was always proud of us, James Ross always had already done it, so it didn't seem as fulfilling. That's the actual reason as to why I'm going to Volunteer for the Hunger Games this year, aside from all the fame and glory that would undoubtedly come from winning it. At fifty one years of age, Dad couldn't enter anymore, and he certainly wasn't a past Victor. Logically, if I trained and won the Games, then I'd have finally beat Dad at something. The very thought of it had me puffing out my chest slightly, smirking more with an erect back.
Rolling my eyes, I retorted, "You've said this just about each year, 'Riah. And have we ever been late…?"
Mariah huffed, her eyes looking stormy as she glared at me. Turning her high heeled wearing foot, she marched out the door. Upon exiting, my sister slammed it with all her might, cursing my name to high heaven as she left. A slight niggling sense of hurt lingered for a bit, but vanished as quickly as a soft summer breeze, only there for a mere second. I had no intention at all of admitting that Mariah was right, my hands clenching into fists at the very thought. Pride mattered a lot to me, along with honor and courage, though it was still the first. And besides, Mariah would always come back running to me, as she didn't have quite a lot of friends. Her best friend, a boy named Grell, died in last year's Hunger Games; he was weak anyways, not nearly as strong as me.
Pushing on the door, I smiled slightly as a little dent had appeared. Mariah must have been training, I decided, to have been able to impale the door so many times. She stood waiting for me in the hall, running her hands through her short spiky hair, no doubt trying to make herself look better. Mariah always looked fine to me, so I didn't quite understand why she was all worried about nothing.
"Come on," I smiled, "We better hurry, right?"
Nodding, she pulled on my hand, tugging me off to the Reaping. The walk didn't take very much time at all, mainly spent in silence except for the occasional odd comment. Dad and Mom would come join as later at the Reaping, since they preferred to be 'surprised' by who would be Volunteering for the Hunger Games this year. We weren't dumb; this was just a way to let us bicker without them being there. Oddly enough, Mariah and I parted on a pleasant note, each of us getting into the line for the DNA confirmation.
"This won't hurt at all, laddy," A Capitol woman droned, pricking my finger and pressing it down harshly on her piece of paper, "Next."
Eyes narrowing slightly, I wiped the blood off of my finger, slipping into place among the other seventeen year old boys. Just about each one of us stood strong and proud, only a couple potential Tributes quivering in their boots. Grasping the shoulder of a thin looking boy, I gave him a comforting squeeze, whispering into his ear my plans. Beaming up at me, he muttered thanks, abruptly snapping his head to attention as the escort came onto the stage. A beefy man, standing taller than everyone else, his skin almost as dark as coal, had a dominating presence. Instantly, the whole District fell into silence, waiting for the quite famous escort to begin.
"Welcome, citizens of District Two, to this fine Reaping Day," he began, soon launching into the well repeated speech.
They really didn't need to bother with this thing each year. Quite frankly, they didn't even need to do it in the very first place, since they recite it about each week in school. Looking towards the twelve year old section, I can see a couple of them mouthing the words, their knuckles white with fear. In other Districts, it would have been considered normal for them to be scared, as not many people tended to want to compete in the Hunger Games there. Our twelve year olds should have known better, I thought critically, only ceasing my ponderings when the escort pulled out the name of the female Tribute.
"Mariah Ross," he read clearly, letting the name hang in the air as he glanced around for the girl.
My expression hardened slightly, looking over towards my sister. Boldly, Mariah marched up to the stage, intent on making it there before anyone could Volunteer for her. Usually, if someone Volunteers in District Two, the Reaped person has to back down, unless they're already on the stage. It helps sort out the strong from the weak, ensuring that we'll bring home yet another Victor. Though, the odds weren't in Mariah's favor, as a girl steps from the sixteen year old section and Volunteers. Leah Dagger, I recognized from the auburn hair and the rather pretty features. Every now and then we'd train together, yet she always seemed to remain aloof, even as we were throwing knives at the same exact target. Though, I thought with a small grin, she always did spare a chuckle when mine inevitably missed.
Staring proudly off into the crowd, Leah informed the escort of her name. Her last name was typical and common of District Two, so not too many eyebrows were raised. In fact, no one but the escort seemed to be mildly amused, now walking over to the other glass Reaping bowl. Tensing my entire body, I knew that I couldn't miss my chance to enter the Hunger Games. I didn't even bother to look over at Mariah, who no doubt was muttering every foul word she knew under her breath. This year, I had to win the Hunger Games, as a way of finally besting my unbeatable father; a way of doing the impossible, therefore making it possible.
"Felix Steins," the escort called out, scanning the crowd once more for the Tribute.
Someone near me muttered under their breath, taking shaky steps towards the stage. I recognized it as the boy from before, the one whom I had told my plans to Volunteer for. Felix Steins should be thanking his lucky stars that he's a proud citizen hailing from District Two, yet he didn't seem to be doing that. Glancing at him again, Felix had almost reached the stairs and I knew it was time; no one else seemed to be Volunteering this year.
"I Volunteer as Tribute!" I cried out, my voice echoing slightly.
Felix almost cheered, scrambling back to the protection of our section as fast as he could. Coward, I thought, he couldn't even give himself more dignity by walking. Whatever, it wouldn't matter that much when I came back as Victor. Dad certainly would never be able to do that, and I felt his eyes upon me as I walked up to the stage, standing proudly besides Leah. The escort walked over to the two of us, the small white slips of paper fallen out of his hand already. Sizing me up, he seemed to give a nod of approval, gaining a smirk from myself.
"And what might your name be?" he asked in his deep and powerful voice.
"Jackson Leo Ross," I replied, smirking, "I'll be your Victor this year."
Leah Dagger (16), District Two Female-POV
The intro to the Reaping bores me to death, as always. Every now and then, I'd look over to where the rest of the District waited, scanning the rows for Matt's tiny form. The older he got, this became a bit easier to do, and in moments I had found him a couple rows back. Matt sneezed, no doubt from his allergies, and I returned my attention back to our escort. His name was Thunder, something which suited him no matter how corny it was. Everyone knew that if Thunder had came from a District, he would have won the Hunger Games with ease, so it was no wonder that he had been assigned to work with District Two just about every year.
Thankfully, my impatient nature wasn't all too bothered. Thunder finished up his little spiel quicker than any other year, soon walking gracefully over to the glass Reaping bowls. As customary, he drew the name for the girl Tribute first, looking at the little white piece of paper. Really, it didn't matter at all whose name was on their, as I'd be the one going into the Hunger Games this year. There was no way I'd let Matt live another year with Thomas, who'd no doubt start to abuse him as well. Tapping my hand against my leg, I soon became a bit irritated with Thunder again, watching him walk over to the microphone slowly.
"Mariah Ross," Thunder called out, prompting a girl with short spiky hair to come out from the fifteen year old section, clearly looking like a punk.
Smirking slightly, I watched her hurry to make it into the stage, though I knew she wouldn't make it. Strategically, I had placed myself on the outer edge of my section, that way I could Volunteer before it would be all too late. Doing so, it felt like an out of body experience, listening to myself bellow out the words I had only dreamed of saying. Mariah looked angry, snarling a bit as I swaggered up onto the stage, flicking my long hair over my shoulder. Searching the crowd, my eyes soon locked onto Matt's, whose were beaming with joy. Smirking out, I gazed proudly out at District Two, only bothering to listen to Thunder's question of my name.
"Leah Dagger," I told him, directing my attention to the cameras, my eyes glinting as if I knew something that no one else did.
"Good luck then, Miss Dagger," Thunder replied, winking a bit as he walked back over to the Reaping bowls.
Grinning slightly, I watched as a weak looking boy began to make his way to the stage. He'd never make it into the Careers, especially when he looked as if he would burst into tears at any moment. Mentally, I had already written him off, leaving myself with only twenty four opponents in the arena. Yet then, to my dismay, a tough looking boy just had to Volunteer for him! Hatred grew in me, and part of me wanted to kill him myself, despite that action being frowned upon in the Districts. Sponsors were all I really cared about right now, so I masked my disgust, making myself look bold and undaunted at each angle possible.
He seemed familiar to me, though I wasn't all too sure why he did. Copper colored hair dominated his pale complexion, glinting softly in the sunlight, and no doubt making the Capitol women weak at the knees. I suppose he looked nice, given the fact that his eyes were an odd and unusual color. Curiously as well, he bore a slight resemblance to Mariah Ross, the angered girl whom I Volunteered for. Well, I didn't actually Volunteer for her, and looking out at her in the crowd, I couldn't help but snicker. She looked as if someone had just crushed all her dreams and danced on the ashes; laughing again, I realized that only later would I be dancing.
Thunder looked at the boy upon reaching the stage, "And what might your name be?"
Gazing arrogantly at our escort, it was only then that I was able to place the name behind the face. That boy was none other than Jackson Leo Ross, a total jerk and prick if I do say so. It was unfathomable how some people actually enjoyed his company, and even found him likable at times. Jackson was simply terrible at any weapon that required aiming, or more likely, required preciseness. His father and mother were both well off, no doubt leading him to think that he was just as superb at them. Ha! I'd trained with him several times, and each time, I had been the winner. Of course, we only really were paired up with throwing weapons, yet those always gave an advantage in the Hunger Games. While I'd be able to kill the strongest Tributes from a distance, he'd have to further the risk on his own life by going up close.
"Jackson Leo Ross," Jackson stated, confirming my thoughts, "I'll be your Victor this year."
Growling a bit, I knew that I could not wait for him to die. At least, I smirked, I had been able to piss off his little sister, Mariah by Volunteering. Not even meaning to do it, I had already gotten a leg up on my opponent, keeping this in mind as we grasped hands. Even though it was customary, I couldn't even wait to be led off to our rooms. The Peacekeepers felt no need to push and prod us, merely forming a protective barrier from any possible angry citizens. Once again, it simply wasn't necessary, as the people of District Two recognized a winning pair when they saw it.
Plucking at the strands on the pillow, I sat throughout the hour alone. Matt would come here eventually, I thought, as long as Thomas didn't have anything to say about it. My little brother knew all about what really happened, with the exception of the night that our mother had died. Thomas had forced me to lie to the authorities and support his claim that our mother had simply slipped. His excuse never really seemed to ring true to me, as there wasn't actually anything in sight that could have broken her neck like that. Another reason I hated my father, another reason I Volunteered, and another reason that I simply couldn't let anyone else in, or out, of my aching heart.
Matt didn't come to see me off, I thought sadly. Thomas musn't have let him, always saying that I've been a disappointment to him. Digging my fingernails into my skin, biting my lip, I felt savage and wild. Thomas shouldn't have any right in what my brother may or may not do. Thomas never really was a father towards either of us, a lesson that I'd be right to teach him as soon as I could. But right now, I'd have to just take a deep breath, and prepare for the murders I'd been soon to commit. Closing my eyes, I smirked slightly to the empty room, and waited for the Peacekeepers to bring me to the doom of twenty five others.
Jackson Leo Ross (17), District One Male-POV
My entire family sat with me in the tastefully decorated room. My mother looked like an older version of Mariah, with the same exact hair cut, only hers was the color of the purest snow. With the same exact eye colors, each of them was quite fearsome when angered. Dad, however, looked plain and ordinary in each way, something that worked deceptively in his favor. I couldn't help but wonder how much more proud of me he'd been when I returned in a couple weeks.
"I can't believe that….that…," Mariah added a particularly bad curse, "Volunteered for me! Do I look like I need to be Volunteered for…?"
She crossed her arms, huffing as she glared at just about anyone in her path. Chuckling at her, I felt a slight need to remind her that she'd be facing me in the arena. A warning look from our mother silenced the thought instantly, not wanting to bare her wrath at this moment. Next, my mother nudged Dad towards Mariah, letting him be the one to try and calm her. Biting back a smirk, I might have been the only one to notice the slightly wary look in his eyes, though it soon vanished.
"Mariah Ross…You will always make me proud," Dad spoke, "But right now, you should be glad you would not have to face your brother in the arena. It would simply not do for someone as pretty and innocent as you."
Cocking an eyebrow, I wondered exactly what Dad was thinking. Mariah seemed taken aback for a second, then let out another long string of curses and stormed out from the room. Mom seemed crestfallen, looking at each of us, whispering a quick goodbye, and ran out after her moody daughter. This meant it was just the two of us left in the room, and each of us knew that our time was running out. Looking over at Dad, my impatience rose as I began to feel expectant of him to say something. Five minutes, or ten minutes, or even twenty minutes might have passed before Dad cleared his throat, ready to speak.
"You can do better, Jackson," Dad scolded, sweeping out of the room with all the grace he possessed.
Typical.
