Drius Bousky, District 3
I am escorted roughly to a room in the Justice Building, and the door is shut behind me. I am assuming it will be reopened when my family gets through the crowd to see me.
Until then, I will have to wait. Plenty of seats are available, but I would rather pace. The tiles clack underfoot as I slowly go back and forth, staring at the toes of my shoes as they move.
Everyone comes in at once. Mother, Father, Bastion. Mother and Father hold themselves back as the sobbing two-year-old stumbles forward and hugs my legs. He is a sharp kid. He cannot possibly understand what is going on, but he knows it is bad.
I pat him on the head with an exhale. Mother and Father will have to take care of him if I do not come back. His mother is dead already. It is starting to look like his father will not be far off.
Though I will not resign my life just yet. I will be fighting. I may not be as well-fed and such as the Career districts, but I am tall and barrel-chested, with a good amount of muscle for an eighteen-year-old. I have not trained, but I can throw a good enough punch to knock out. That, and people do not tend to mess with me. It seems I tend to be rather intimidating.
On the other hand, I should not overestimate my chances. I am still going to the Hunger Games, and it takes no genius to crunch the numbers. One chance in twenty-four I come home, and that is only if it is all even.
The most important thing I must do is play by the rules. The Games are, though they deny it, about the power of the Capitol and their desires. We tributes are to entertain. Just dogs in a circus. They say bark seven times, we bark seven times, and they give us sugar.
I intend to win, so I will do what they want. I will behave. I will kill. I will do what I have to to ensure that Bastion will not be an orphan. That I will be around as he grows, to teach him, to support him. I would do anything for that.
Bastion will not let go, so I pick him up and backpedal to one of the couches. Mother and Father sit on either side of us.
"Drius," Mother starts quietly. "We believe you can do this."
Father nods. "Just listen to your mentor, and be ready to perform for the sponsors."
I look them in the eye one by one, and they sense my acceptance without words.
"And," Mother continues, dropping her gaze, "if something does happen…" She has to take a deep breath before she can go on. "We will take good care of Bastion. I can say that with certainty."
I nod.
Bastion has started to settle in my lap. He is more comfortable now. No air of anxiety, no swarms of Peacekeepers, no sign of anything strange other than the environment. But he will panic again when he has to leave. I have never left him for more than a day, so I do not know how he will react to this. No contact with me, no sight of me other than on a television screen. And perhaps he will have to watch me be killed.
No, he would look away. He cannot stand screaming and tries to hide from it whenever it rings around the living room. I do not need to worry about that.
And I trust that Mother and Father would do a good job in raising him. Things will be taken care of if I die.
But that will not be my excuse. That will not be my solace until my last breath, if I breathe it in that arena. Bastion does need me.
And I will make sure I will be there for him.
Shaye Selles, District 3
I walk carefully to the couch as the Peacekeepers close the door behind me. Taking a seat right in its centre, I draw a deep breath and try not to dig my nails into the fabric. Although it looks like that's already been done. You'd think with all the freaking-out tributes they shove in here, the place would be ripped to shreds.
I suddenly lean on the couch's back, my neck thumping into the cushion. Just have to sit here for a minute. Just long enough to let my family come in and make me want to cry more. Lovely. I can't afford to lose my composure now, and all of that jazz. Because I may not be one of those typical D3 scrawny kids, but I'm no tank. I'm not getting any sponsors if I break down crying every time I'm on camera.
The door opens, and I hold my breath, smiling as my parents enter.
"Hey, guys," I start, not at all acting like this could easily be the last time I'll see them.
"Hey, Honey," Mom says, about to break into tears herself but able to bite them back.
Dad looks like he's already done his crying. "Hey, Shaye." He takes a seat next to me and puts an arm behind my shoulders. "You're going to fight your best out there?"
"Definitely." Why wouldn't I? I'm going to be scared, of course, but that doesn't mean I'm not planning on doing my share of tail-kicking.
Whether or not I'll actually be able to, well, we'll have to see about that. Like I said, I'm not one of those crazy-big people that do the heavy lifting in the factories—though from the look of it, my district partner's one—and I have zilch training in any weapon other than steak knives, and those I haven't used against people. But I think I can fare all right in the wilderness. I've read a lot of survival books and stuff, so I should be better off than at least some of the other guys. As for fighting, there are those couple of days in the Training Centre. They have to work, since there's no way some of those kids could use the weapons they had in the arena otherwise.
"We'll be cheering for you every step of the way, all right?" Mom says, squeezing my hand.
"I know," I reply quietly. "I'll remember that, okay? I'll be fighting for you guys as much as I'm fighting for me."
We get just a moment longer together, not knowing what else to say, before the Peacekeeper comes back in and tells them it's time to leave. I catch a tear snaking down my cheek as they go out the door with "goodbye"s and "we love you"s, and I echo them tightly.
Not crying right now. The cameras are going to be on me soon. Just breathe… That doesn't have to be the last time you see them… Just breathe…
I've made the tears stop when the door opens again. It's my latest ex-boyfriend. Wonderful.
"Ah… Hello," he starts awkwardly, sitting next to me but not too close.
"Hey," I respond, voice neutral. "What are you here for?"
"Well—to talk, what else?"
"Okay. Talk."
He exhales before starting, "You do have a good chance, all right? I think Wiress proved that you don't have to be a bodybuilder to pull it off. But…" He draws his heavy brows together. "The Careers are really going to be after you. I imagine they still want revenge for the last Games they lost, so they'll be focusing on District 3. So… I know you already know this, but be careful, don't get near them…" An awkward smile. "Even if you still hate me, I want to see you come out of there alive, all right?"
"Okay… Thanks…" Actual helpful advice from him. Who woulda thunk it? He's bossing me around as always, but it's not so much like I'm just some dog on his leash this time. Gosh, if he usually acted like this, maybe I wouldn't have broken it off.
He's pulled back out of the room by Peacekeepers, and I try to relax. So… Avoiding the Careers… I guess I shouldn't go towards the Cornucopia, then…
The door squeaks in motion again, and I reopen my eyes. And entering the room now is my first ex-boyfriend. Yeah, started dating him the day before my seventeenth birthday, and I'm not even eighteen yet. What horrible luck I have with guys, huh?
He sits next to me with his usual amount of reserve—meaning none—and our legs brush together before I pointedly scoot away.
"What do you want?" I grumble, patience already thin.
"It's your final goodbye, isn't it?" he says, leaning too close to me. "I just wanted to make it a good one…"
His head comes forwards for a kiss. I duck, grab his arm, wrench it around his back, and throw him to the ground.
"Get out."
He moans, pushing himself up, and I grab him by the back of his shirt to haul him to his feet and kindly direct him to the door. The Peacekeeper's actually on my side this time; she gets him out of the room before he can even look back.
That—stupid—son of a gun… Have no idea why I ever dated him.
But, on the bright side, it'll be a lot easier to bash the other tributes around if I just imagine his sorry face.