"All the world's indeed a stage and we are merely players."

-Rush, Limelight

District Five Reaping

District Five Peacekeeper, 'Vee' Bond

"Mrs. Tansy Barfield, Mr. Newton Flash and Miss Gilli Curian, the Reaping is ready to begin in five minutes." I bow my head deferentially and stand at the doorway. "Would you care to follow me?"

The escort and two mentors look up from their holo checkers. "Oh, already? We were just having fun," Mrs. Barfield whines. She sighs and straightens her vivid magenta wig with a stick-thin hand. "Come along, Newt, and you too Gill. I hope we'll get exciting tributes!"

"Let's hope we don't get brats again like last year," says Miss Curian.

"Right! Ike and Marie were so weepy! I tell you, Gill, I was practically glad when they died! And anyway the Victor killed them, so it's not like they died randomly in an avalanche or something," says Mr. Flash.

Isaac Fleming and Marie Adio were thirteen year olds from the Boil, District Five's slums. You couldn't possibly blame them for crying. I feel a remarkable urge to throttle the three people I'm supposed to guard, but I'm a loyal Peacekeeper. A faithful soldier. I do my duty. I'm not allowed to show pity for dead tributes or contempt for high ranking citizens.

I follow my charges out of the room to the stage. Mr. Flash is far taller than I am, so when he brushes by me, his arm scrapes across my spiked helmet.

"Ouch! Cut off those spikes, fiend," he says, only half joking.

"Right. Such a fiend that peacekeeper is. What's a fiend?" Miss Curian asks.

"An evil thing, dear," Mrs. Barfield says.

"Yes, poor Newt, did the evil thing Peacekeeper scratch you?" says Miss Curian, wrapping her arms around her companion.

"Sorry, Mr. Flash," I say, not feeling sorry at all. "It won't happen again."

"Prig," I add under my breath, but I don't let anyone hear. I'm a dutiful soldier, and I must not have opinions.

I follow Mr. Flash and Miss Curian into the fenced area onstage, then step out, close the gate, and stand at attention by the wall of the Justice Building.

"Everyone ready? You sure you can stand the gore, Gill? Want to go inside?" Mrs. Barfield asks.

"N-no, I think I'll be okay," says Miss Curian, taking deep breaths. "Newt, hold me tight."

"Of course, sweetie," says Mr. Flash. He takes her in an embrace that would fit better in a red light area than in the eyes of Panem's viewers.

Miss Curian sure didn't have a problem with gore in her Games when she brutally beat to death a tough District Two kid. Afterward, she licked the blood from her fingers and his wounds and then smiled chillingly. I've had nightmares about it, but I'm not supposed to be scared or have feelings or emotions. I do my duty and nothing else is required.

"Anyways," Mrs. Barfield says, "Gentlemen first this year!" You never say anyways, you airhead, you're supposed to say anyway. "Let's hope they'll be exciting! I think I'll draw both at once. The lucky Reaping winners are…" She digs around in the Reaping bowl. Oh no...I have a little brother, he's only thirteen. Please don't choose my baby brother Nicolaus. Not Nico.

"Hyde Dro'Gen- gracious, that's the funniest name I've ever heard- and Tyler Bolks!"

"Newt, why's the first boy's name funny?" whines Miss Curian. "I hate not being in on the joke!"

"It's like hydrogen, pet," says Mr. Flash. "It's an element."

Two boys in the crowd look up at the stage. One is from the fourteen year old section and one's from the sixteen year olds. The older one walks up to the stage with not a trace of fear or reluctance. He's wearing a black jacket and plain brown trousers, and has a faint smile on his dark face.

"And you are?" Mrs. Barfield asks.

"Hyde. Sixteen, by the way. Going to win."

"Hm, well, you seem pretty cool. You're a little cutie. Rawr. Anyways, Tyler Bolks! Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

The fourteen year old walks out of the crowd with small, contained steps. Everyone offers him a path through. I hear a disturbance in the audience, I hear them saying 'That's not right', 'That's not fair', 'He was a good boy'.

He has glasses, and his hair is curly like Hyde's except blonde instead of black. I see fear but acceptance on his face. To me, being Reaped seems like it would be the worst moment possible for a child. Worse than death, which offers painless oblivion, the moment when your name is called must be the beginning of the end. The end of hope. The realization that there's no escape.

"Aw, you look so cute!" Mrs. Barfield says, wringing her hands. "Darn it, now I feel guilty that I want Hyde to win!"

"Newt, if that little boy wins, can I kiss him?" Miss Curian says, running her lips across Mr. Flash's arm. "He looks sweet. I want to eat him up."

"No, pet, he's not going to win. He's too little."

"But I want him to win! Nnnnn!" She shakes her hands frustratedly. "Make him win!"

"Sorry, Gill."

"Well, eating up of little tributes aside, they must be scanned now. No smuggling pointy things, boys!" Mrs. Barfield says. "Scan them, Head Peacekeeper."

Head Peacekeeper Coval Farley steps forward and runs his scanner over Hyde and Tyler.

"Bolks is clear," he reports. "Wait, a pencil." Farley reaches into Tyler's front pocket and pulls out the pencil. "Sorry, Bolks. You could do some serious stabbing with that." He tosses me the pencil.

Tyler only sighs and sticks his hands into his now-empty pockets. "Sorry for liking to draw."

"Dro'Gen is- brimstone! Stay still, boy!" Farley takes an involuntary step back. "Are you lacking in sense? Does it not occur to you that keeping a matchbox and a vial of gasoline on the same chain could be a bad idea?"

"They were for my opponent in the case I was Reaped," Hyde pouts. "They're technically not weapons."

"Then should I give Bolks's pencil back? That isn't technically a weapon."

"Go ahead. I wouldn't mind a little pencil ash along with his own ashes."

"Whee, a fire," Miss Curian cooes.

"Just hand them over, Dro'Gen. Carefully."

Hyde scowls and pulls a delicate jewelry chain out of his shirt. It has the vial and matchbox strung onto it. Farley takes it from Hyde's hands gingerly, then throws it over to me.

Brimstone! Is he trying to kill me?

"Now it's time for you to fight, children. May the odds be ever in your favor. I can't wait to escort whichever one of you is the lucky victor here!" Mrs. Barfield beams and steps into the fenced area and nods to the boys.

"Hey, Bolks. Think it'll be fun seeing your intestines spill out when I rip you apart like a vortex?" Hyde says, sneering at his small opponent. He starts to back Tyler against the edge of the stage, cutting off escape.

"Since when have you been a hole in space sucking in all matter and light?" Tyler replies, retreating from Hyde's menacing approach. "That really isn't scary."

"You aren't scared? I can do scary. I can scare you until you cry like a little girl."

"You don't understand," Tyler says wearily. "I'm so scared I'm going into shock right now. I fully understand that my painful death is a probable conclusion and that my blood, possibly entrails as well, will be spread across the stage in a rorschach pattern. But I will not curl up and sob."

"That's what you think."

Hyde makes a sudden leap, covering the distance between him and Tyler in a single bound. He knocks the smaller boy down, his balled fist immediately going for Tyler's mouth, and I instinctively cover my face when blood specks spray up.

I hear a strangled gasp from the boy pinned to the stage, and catch a glimpse of his lip split wide open before Hyde is striking him again.

"Cry, Bolks! Sob! Tell me I win!" Hyde yells. His face is twisted in rage, and his fists are slamming into Tyler over and over again. "Tell me I beat you! Tell me to kill you! Scream!"

He pauses for one moment, and the silence is so complete I hear blood dripping from the little boy's face.

"N-n-no."

"Tell me to kill you!"

"No."

"I'll make it quicker for you. If you know your death is a foregone conclusion, make it less painful."

"No. I w-won't."

There is pain in his voice, so much pain, and unshed tears, and fear, but he will not give in. What a remarkable child. But I can't feel pity for him. I don't have emotions. I must not.

"NOW!"

"N-no!"

There is more crunching and horrible gasping, and I hear the audience whispering again. 'This isn't right', 'Somebody stop this', 'He's a child, you can't do this to him'. I agree. I whole-heartedly agree. But I'm not allowed to stop this madness.

"TELL ME I WIN!"

"N-n-no. No. N-never."

"How will it feel, having your stomach pulled up through your throat, and seeing your own brain in my hands as I crush it?"

"Th-that's a logical impossib-bility and it c-can't happen."

"Why!?"

"M-m-my Mum and Dad are wa-watching and I c-can't let them s-see me scream." The sight of that small boy, fair hair matted with gore, eyes of the very young and wronged, it makes me want to tear over there and push Hyde off the stage to save Tyler. But I can't. I can't.

"Yeah? Well watch this, Mum and Dad. By the way, Bolks, you asked for it."

Hyde pushes his fingernails down into Tyler's belly, and there's an unspeakably horrible ripping noise. The skin parts, revealing…

So much blood.

No. No, he can't.

SO MUCH BLOOD.

Organs and so much blood and torn flesh and I just can't handle it and there's a piercing cry rattling around my brain. For a moment I think it's me, because Tyler just can't give in, he can't scream, but he is.

"We got a scream there, didn't we?" Hyde says smugly.

The crowd is disturbed- a man and a woman are running out-

A choked sob spills out of Tyler's mouth, and blood runs messily down his chin.

"There is actually a reason why I'm doing this," Hyde muses. "I bet you'd like to hear why. Or maybe not. I mean, you're probably in a bit of pain right now, huh?"

The man and woman are closing in, though the onlookers are trying to hold them back.

"Now say it. Say please."

"I-I-I can't...no, no, NO! DON'T! STOP!"

Hyde is bracing himself on the blood-slicked stage and pulling Tyler's foot. With a simple pop, it dislocates. Then the other.

"AAAH- no, don't! AAAAAAHH!"

There's a loud crack as Hyde's booted foot comes down on Tyler's face. The glasses shatter and shards dig into Tyler's eyes and I don't want to watch but there's an awfully sick fascination that draws everyone to it.

Somebody let those people through the crowd. Somebody stop this. Somebody save Tyler. Every scream of his pain, every sob drives a fist into my gut. It feels like Nico is dying. I don't know this child. But his struggle must surely make every person in Panem feel this way, surely every man, woman and child watching must feel Tyler's pain.

"Say it. Now."

"PLEASE!"

"I can't hear you!"

"PLEASE STOP!"

"I'm going to have to hear you."

"PLEEEAAASE!"

"You want this to keep going on?"

"NO! NO, PLEASE DON'T PLEASE DON'T PLEASE DON'T!"

"Bored now."

Hyde digs his fingers into Tyler's eyes, ignoring the glass shards, and scoops them out. Just like that.

Tyler's back arches in agony, and surely Hyde must be done, there's nothing else possible for him to do to that little boy.

"TYLER!"

"Looks like the gang's all here," Hyde says lightly. "I bet those are your parents, right?"

The only answer is the breath hissing between Tyler's teeth as he shakes uncontrollably.

"Well, we should give them a show, right?" Hyde picks up a handful of the glass shards and pries open Tyler's mouth. "You ate your words, now why not eat something corporeal?"

"Please."

The simple utterance pauses Hyde. "What?"

"Please. No more. I g-g-give in, I lose, you w-win, please stop, it hurts too much, you b-beat me, make it stop, p-p-please kill me quickly." The sightless, maimed, crippled boy reaches out one bloodied hand. Just a hand. And it breaks my heart. "I c-can't see my Mum and D-Dad. Are they th-there?"

"Yeah. Trying to storm the stage."

"P-please make them st-stop. N-nobody else needs to f-feel what I feel."

His Mum and Dad, on the verge of reaching Hyde despite the Peacekeepers, stop. They hear their dying child. Their grief is palpable, and I can never imagine what they feel if I feel like my world is collapsing.

"They stopped. Hey Bolks, they stopped, are you happy? Hey. Bolks?"

Pain is etched on Tyler's face, and the empty holes where his eyes should be are staring out blankly.
He's dead.

Hyde staggers back, as if realizing what he just did, but he quickly regains himself and enters the fenced area silently.

"Aw, I wanted more blood," Miss Curian pouts.

"You'll see a lot in the arena," Hyde tells her.

"Well, that was, uh, exciting!" Mrs. Barfield warbles. "How fun! Now, um, it's time to choose the girls." She takes a slip from the girls' bowl, too shell-shocked to remember that she had been going to take two at once, and reads out the name.

"Veena Bond!"

What?

What? No. That is impossible. They told me my name would be taken out if I became a Peacekeeper. What? How…?

"That sounds like your name, Vee Bond," says Mr. Flash, looking down at me. "Funny."

"That's because it is." I whip off my helmet, and feel relieved as brown curls tumble down my back. "At last. I am so, so sick of being a grown man, neither of which I am, although nearly grown."

"You're a girl? That's uncommon for Peacekeepers," says Mr. Flash. No, Newton. I'm not a formal Peacekeeper anymore.

"You're eighteen? You must be highly skilled to have been accepted," says Mrs. Barfield. I mean, Tansy.

"You should cause a lot of blood!" squeals Gilli. "What fun!"

"I accept my position as tribute, and I know that much of District Five will be happy with that." It's the least I can do to honor Tyler Bolks. I will let the child against me win.

"I v-volunteer."

A small redheaded girl steps out of the seventeen year olds. "I volunteer," she repeats.

"Well! That's quite a twist!" Tansy says. "Vee- I mean, Veena- go back to your place. No Peacekeepers in the Games."

"You can't!" I shout.
"I c-can."

"Oh, I forgot! Our other female tribute is...Blaise Brites!"

"NO!"

The girl who volunteered is completely devastated as a perfect match of her, identical in appearance and clothes, bursts into tears. Twins? They have to be twins. One volunteers, and the other is Reaped. What an awful fate.

"No! Blaise!"

"WHY DID YOU VOLUNTEER, SPARK?"

"They made me."

"Who?"

"This is a lovely sisterly conversation, but we need to get the show on the road," Tansy- I mean, Mrs. Barfield, ugh, back to normal- says impatiently.

"What does get the show on the road mean, Newt?"

"It means hurry up. Now hush, pet."

"Veena Bond! Get those girls onstage! I want to see a sister-on-sister fight!"

"You'll see no fight from me, cotton candy," Blaise spits. I take her hand and pull her up to the stage before she can insult the escort further.

"Blaise, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I didn't know- I couldn't know this would happen."

"Come up to the stage, please." I touch Spark's shoulder and she shrugs me away, forcing me to drag her. She's only a year younger than I am, and I'm quite small, but I've had Peacekeeper strength training.

"I'm s-so, so sorry, Blaise," Spark sobs. "I didn't know. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"This will be excellent for publicity, a sob story with evident trauma for a volunteering reason, but for that to happen you two need to fight!" Mrs. Barfield says. She taps her purple armband twice and a watch holo comes up. "Oh dear! Hurry, please, girls!"

"I won't kill you, Blaise."

"I won't kill you either. Maybe cotton candy people murder their sisters, but not the Brites." Blaise takes Spark into her arms and presses her head to her sister's as Spark starts to cry. "We aren't giving you a show. Don't even b-bother to scan for weapons, because we will never, ever fight. Never."

Their obvious love for each other touches me deeply. It clearly doesn't touch Mrs. Barfield. She huffs irritably. "Do we have to execute you both?"

"No! I can't let them." Spark- it's so hard to tell them apart, but I think she's Spark- rises to her full height and lifts her chin, as if acting out a role in a play. "Blaise, do you remember our game? Name a Shakespeare quote and the other says where it's from?"

"Shakespeare?" asks Miss Curian.

"Hush, pet."

"Yes." Blaise sniffs and wipes her nose. "You were the one who really enjoyed that. You stopped playing when we got into high school, because- I didn't hang around you. I'm sorry I ignored you. That isn't why you volunteered, is it?"

"It's okay. That isn't why. Or rather, worry not, fair maid, thy compassion does you well."

"That's not a quote."

"It could be. Blaise, I'm sorry. I can't kill you." Spark pulls a tube from her white blouse's pocket, a tube filled with a dark purple liquid, and I see fear flash across Blaise's face. Is that really nightlock? The poor girl must have spent all her available funds on that small container.

"No- don't!" shouts Blaise.
Spark stands tall, with a look of disdain for the Capitol. "To thine own self be true, and twin, I have forsaken myself grievously. So, venom-" She pulls off the cap and raises the tube in a mocking salute to the cameras. "To thy work."

Before she can swallow the poison, Blaise is there, knocking her over. They are fighting despite their assuredness to the contrary, but Blaise is fighting to save Spark, who is fighting to save Blaise.

I can't even tell them apart now as they grapple for the nightlock. The cap was pushed back on, but the tube looks close to breaking as they grab at it.

"No! Just stop!"

"I'm doing this for you, numbskull! I don't want you to die!"

Somebody bites a flailing hand, and the tube is repossessed by the biter, whoever she may be.

"NO!"

"Let me explain!" The other pauses for a second, just one second, and the cap is already off. "Works every time," the biter says, and tips the whole tube into her mouth.

"NO! NO! NOOO!" Desperately pawing at her twin's mouth does no good, but the other girl tries anyway. "I-I failed…I couldn't…I'm so sorry...you're going to die?"

"Yes." A painful wheeze.

Clutching her dying twin's hand, the girl manages to compose herself for a final quote. "Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

"That was nice." A bloody cough, and the eyes dim.

"How does it feel?" whispers the devastated twin.

"Not as bad as I thought. It's okay. It d-doesn't hurt very much."

Her eyes slide shut, leaving her twin to sob her heart out, and leaving my own heart broken again.

"I'm B-Blaise," she says, while her body is racked with shudders. "Spark is dead and it's m-my fault. I'm not gonna let that be for n-nothing."

To thine own self be true, though you may have now forsaken yourself grievously. Are you truly Blaise, or are you Spark, facing the grief of causing your sister's death? Either way, I know what lines befit you, poor child, and keep them dear to your broken heart.

If I must die

I will encounter darkness as a bride,

And hug it in mine arms.

*Looks around shiftily* Okay, I admit, that got more disturbing/dramatic than I intended it to be. On the plus side, isn't it a nice and long chapter? I have a few spots left open for submissions (Kitty get your rear in gear!). I kind of based Gilli Curian and Newton Flash off Drusilla and Spike from BtVS (except Gilli is less smart). Haters gonna hate, but I like those characters, so mleh. Hope you like Vee, Hyde, and Blaise/Spark! I'm such a devilish thing. Don't worry, all is revealed in the blog!

Anyway, Rose Tyler Valiant Child is signing off now.

EDIT

I admit it: this chapter was a wreck. Completely. It was way overdramatic, OOC, and largely unexplained. I deeply apologize to the readers of this mistake. So I've gone through and edited it, making it at least a bit better. Possibly. Hopefully. If you spot more terrible parts (like

"I'm s-so, so sorry, Blaise," Spark sobs. "I didn't know. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"Why? Who made you?"

"The b- the b- the bullies." ), please tell me. Like, seriously, what the heck was that? I should make that an official abbreviation for awful parts of my story: WTHWT. What The Heck Was That.

I'm bringing Veena in again, so I can explain her more. She'll meet some tributes. So that won't be terrible anymore.

Again, very sorry if your character was in this atrocity of a mess. I hope I've improved it.