Tydarius "Ty" Petrit, 12, District 6:
"Peren! S-S-Stop!"
I can hardly keep my laughter through my words as Peren scrambles around on the floor tickling every bit of skin on my body. "Don't eat my peas!" she says playfully, trying not to attract the attention of every other kid in the home as she manically moves her fingers around my ribs. Any laughter whatsoever has been pretty lackluster lately, considering it was April twenty-third only a few days ago.
A day I've come to hate, considering it was the day our parents were murdered.
We were there, but I don't remember much. I was only seven and the recurring scene I see most nights is dad, on the floor, clutching his chest. My dad, my loving dad who took me to the library on his days off, where I got my love of superheroes. I read as much as I can now, alone, because Peren can't ever read again after what she saw.
Peren, still tickling me somewhat painfully.
"P-Peren! Stop! We have to empty our plates!"
"Right, dinner... where you ate my peas while I wasn't looking you thief!" Peren chuckles as she helps me up.
I'm a little dazed from all the tickling as we walk over to the table and scrape the meagre scraps into the bin. As we turn, however, I spy Jimmy Belfour hassling little Cain for his mince. Jimmy Belfour, the bully of the home against a 10-year-old orphan.
"Ultraboy." I whisper, feeling the corner of my mouth raise as I plonk my plate down and race over to Cain's seat, colliding with Jimmy intentionally and sending him over on his knees.
"Ty!" I hear Peren call as Jimmy's huge eyes lock on to me like a lion, one of the animals I read about existing a long time ago, on its prey. I look at Cain and mouth "go", to which he obliges, heading off quickly.
"Little Petrit being a hero again? I was only going for a feed."
"You know that's the wrong thing to do."
"Get over yourself. I saw you eat your sister's peas."
Crap. I did do that.
"Y-You don't... That doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it?" Jimmy snaps, taking a step towards me.
"Come on." A hand on my shoulder snaps me out of my fear of this huge boy, snarling at me as Peren turns me around and drags me away.
"Peren," I whine, tugging on her arm, "Ultraboy was gonna serve him a hot, steaming plate of justice!"
"No, he wasn't. Look!" The community home's TV is lit up with the seal of Panem, continuously spinning, around and around and around. "It must be nine in the Capitol. Come on, slowpoke!" Peren runs over to the other kids to try and get a seat before they do. She's fast, but not fast enough and we have to stand and watch as President Saint-Blaise meets our eyes from the screen.
"Panem, good evening. As you know, this year's Hunger Games is a Quarter Quell."
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Shut up Jimmy!"
"But first," the President continues, "Let us remind ourselves on how we came to this moment."
Groans that always come with any sort of speech fill the room as the full reading of the Treaty of Treason begins and ends after what seems like an eternity.
"Now, the moment you've all been waiting for, I'm sure." The President steps closer to the microphone, not even attempting to hide her smirk.
Ultraboy would not like this.
"Sick bitc-argh!"
A Peackeeper holding a taser comes out of nowhere as Jimmy writhes around on the floor in pain. Through the screams of agony, everyone keeps their eyes directed to the screen as the President continues, in fear of their own shock therapy.
This isn't out of the ordinary here. The Peacekeepers have developed a quietness about them, an ability to blend into the shadows and control the crowds when needed. All across places like Six there are more and more people acting up against the Capitol, more people dying for their actions. If Jimmy wasn't fifteen he may be publicly whipped for his tirades against the President.
"Aimed to keep fresh in the minds of each generation the memory of all who died in all uprisings to date. Each Quarter Quell is a special Games: one of significance and specialty, Thus, tonight we shall read the card for this, the seventh Quarter Quell. In penance for their uprising and as a reminder to the Districts that the Hunger Games season will never escape them or their offspring, the reaping pool will be comprised of children with birthdays spanning from the seventh to the thirty-first of May, the exact timeline of this years' Games. More details will be released later. Panem forever."
May... m-my...
My birthday is May thirteen.
What did she say? As a reminder to the Districts that Hunger Games season will never escape them or their offspring, the reaping pool will be comprised of children with birthdays spanning from the seventh to the thirty-first of May, the exact timeline of this years' Games.
Oh my God... how many other children are born in May? It can't be many... we're conceived in August... that's harvest season for, like, District... uh...
I don't want to die.
"Ty."
Peren. Peren, Oh my God... Peren was born in May too.
"Ty, it's okay."
I throw myself into Peren's arms. My big sister and I, both at danger of death in a reaping we could've avoided by just being born in another month. Peren strokes my messy red hair and walks me to our room.
Everything happens so quickly; the room, it's messy, as usual. What little amount of my belongings I was able to keep before the Peacekeepers kicked us out of our home reside all over the floor near my bed, which is really just a mattress on some ironed-out metal. Peren's side of the dorm completely contrasts mine, being almost completely bare. She didn't keep anything after the Peacekeepers came, I couldn't guess where it is now.
Peren's long, blonde hair that hasn't been cut in months flops over my face as she lays me on my mattress, which suddenly feels like brick and not soft, springy foam.
"P-P-P-Peren! Your hair's in my mouth!"
"Shh," she says, kissing me lightly on the forehead, brushing my hair back, over my ear and into the crevice that lay behind. I can feel my eyelids growing heavy, my mind, alive with questions and fright, slowly falling into a halt, too tired to worry anymore.
I'm scared.
I'm awoken by the morning rays of sunshine fluttering through our window, bouncing off the old train cars blocking their path. They eventually reflect off the wall and snake around the entire area of our room, lighting up my eyelids.
I rise and am greeted by an empty bed, creased sheets hastily made. I don't wonder where Peren is and walk forth to our nonchalant little closet, where I find my usual raggedy brown trousers. I dress, accompanying the pants with an old blue shirt and black sneakers, both of which barely fit my torso and feet respectively.
I sit on the edge of my bed, dwelling on the night's events. I rub my temple, finding I don't remember much. Yesterday, April twenty-fifth... the Quell reading.
As a reminder to the Districts that Hunger Games season will never escape them or their offspring, the reaping pool will be comprised of children with birthdays spanning from the seventh to the thirty-first of May, the exact timeline of this years' Games.
May, my month of birth. May thirteenth, the day I was born. In the... timeline. Today, reaping day. My first reaping.
My Ultraboy instinct flares as I comprehend the evil of this day, this moment in time. When not only my life but my sisters' life is in danger.
My sister, the only person who truly loves me more than anything in this world, who would trade her life for mine if I could live safe, at risk of death.
The hellish part of my brain that houses fear itself produces a gruesome image of Peren, decked in games attire, bludgeoned against a tree. I shake my head, close my eyes, but it won't go away. My hands rise and claw at my skull, digging into the skin. I scream and I don't stop myself after the image disappears and shifts Peren's body with mine, hollowed out, lifeless, bloody, mashed against an old oak.
I scream and make nonsensical begs as my fingers scrape past several layers of skin.
I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!
Everything in this world turns evil as I fall to my knees, not feeling the pain or the blood trickle down my fingers. I see it, however, the blood enhancing the image in my mind. It's still there, my dead body, my screams echoing and duplicating as I frantically shake my head to dispel anything and everything horrible from my thoughts.
I open my eyes, dazed, as Peren open the door. My eyes meet hers from the floor and for a second I feel in a realm of my own, away from this terrible place. The momentary bliss is snatched as my ears make no sense of her words, yet my eyes follow her movements as she takes me into her arms on the carpeted floor.
My eyes flutter to her mouth as her hands tighten around the sides of my head and come away bloody. I can't think yet I watch her movements blankly, her disbelief at my blood on her hands, the horror in her eyes, the helplessness plastered over her features.
I release any hold I have on the ground and collapse forward, into her chest, hoping for a better life, another chance.
The words start coming to me as my mind clears, unplugging my ears.
"What did you do to yourself? Oh my God, Ty!"
I can't tell her. What would she think? She's got enough on her plate already. I've got to keep up my demeanour, my strong persona. I will face injustices in life and I have to keep going. For myself and Peren.
"I-I don't know," I play up my condition, eyes fluttering, lightly swaying my body just enough so Peren can feel the movement, as if I'm dazed. "I blacked out and it... happened."
Peren has cloth in her hand that I never noticed before and wipes the blood off of my head, which is keeled slightly away from her neck. "Right on reaping day, huh? We better not be late." she says playfully, trying to make me feel better, which helps.
I let a light smile as she turns my head to face hers and plants a kiss on my forehead. "You're okay?"
"Yes," I answer, trying my best to return a sort-of smile. I can feel my face red and sore from screaming and crying and bleeding and I doubt it looks good. "I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Let's go then, come on."
Peren rises effortlessly from her cross-legged sitting position and pulls me up gingerly, making sure I'm not hurt again. She takes me into one more hug before we open our door again, because while the reaping is a somewhat new experience for me, we both know the journey to the square isn't pleasant.
I exhale, looking at my sister as she turns and opens the door. I try and read her face but all I get is a confused bunch of emotions; terror, bravery, calmness, pride. They don't mix and I can see it in a flurry of detail on Peren's face.
We step through the door and see what we expected; lines of Peacekeepers in and out the door, herding the kids together in a single line while our guardian Mrs. Rausch looks on, doing well to hide her fear.
Mrs. Rausch is a lovely old lady who devoted her life to caring for orphans and children struck by tragedy many years ago. Her hair has turned from a fruitful oak brown to a dark grey quickly, the older kids say. Jimmy likes to joke that it was his doing, but we all dispel the notion quickly.
We shuffle forward, taking in our surroundings. Peacekeepers on either side of me, all brandishing batons and guns, seemingly staring me down every step I take; I can't help but feel intimidated. There's no use going to hold Peren's hand however, she's gone behind me, keeping both eyes on me at all times, I presume.
In all of Ultraboy's courageousness, Peacekeepers are a formidable opponent. They show no emotions whatsoever and will kill our people on the spot for such petty things; stopping to smell flowers during a reaping walk, helping an old man get up and taking too long, even whispering during the Treaty of Treason, which is ironic considering they make no attempt to mask the noise of their gunshot and it ends up being a hundred times louder than a whisper.
I stare blankly at the shirt of the boy in front of me, watching the creases shift as he shuffles along, hands in pockets. I regret wearing a blue shirt, compared to everyone else in white, brown and black, I stand out.
We're eventually out of the unkempt garden of the children's home and join the parade of bodies marching down the dirt road toward the village. Here, only important towns get to be named. Our general area is known as the Graveyard, referencing the many decaying freight trains that reach the end of the tracks and are left to die here. Rust takes them over and in a couple of years so does the foliage. Sooner or later they become a playground for the kids that live around this place.
We don't grow much around here, only enough to feed the kids in the homes and even then not all of us are fed. I'm quite accustomed to hunger from the few months that Peren and I scavenged around at night, still living in our home in the village, trying to make ends meet without alerting the authorities.
We'd normally be able to pick up some stuff out of the bins of the few food stores and I'd occasionally go to the markets, the weekly gathering of the few farmers of the area. They'd set up huge stalls to sell their stock, which were usually crowded. I'd nip in under the crowds and nab some fresh produce to stuff in my pockets. Most kids don't notice me because of my stature, let alone adults. I didn't like it, but we had to do it to survive.
We're out in the open fields now, the dirt road narrowing between the overgrown weeds. It's become overcast since I woke and I fear it's going to rain by the time we arrive at our fully-exposed square.
When we do, around half an hour later, the mood is gloomy. Peacekeepers continuously prod people in the back as they go past them, reacting to any murmur of dissent with a hit of the baton. Far ahead they yell threats mixed with orders as we dissipate into eight lines; one for every age and one for the young kids, adults and elderly.
Peren and I don't have enough time to console here and if we tried we run the risk of death or serious injury, so I reach back for her hand as we shuffle past the last prodding Peacekeeper. She takes my hand, squeezes and kisses the top of my head. Any words are dangerous, let alone in front of armed Peacekeepers.
Peren slides her hand on my shoulder as a sign that she's leaving me and joins the fifteens line at the eight-way split. I keep going in the line I'm already in, considering I'm twelve and the twelves are to the very far left of the square.
The fingerprint station backs onto stone buildings that highly contrast the blinding white of everything Capitol, including the Peacekeeper manning the table.
Peren briefed me days ago about this procedure, strongly indicating that it wouldn't hurt. Judging by the ash-haired boy ahead of me and his jerky reaction, I beg to differ. Of course, I'm not scared of a little prick to my skin, just wary.
We're all about the same size, I find, as the twelves all waddle forward one-by-one, heads poking out to a side, watching the blood being drawn. We're all in the same boat here, I remember, so of course we're interested, no, careful.
Then I remember we're not all in the same boat. The Quell twist- my God how could I forget?
As a reminder to the Districts that Hunger Games season will never escape them or their offspring, the reaping pool will be comprised of children with birthdays spanning from the seventh to the thirty-first of May, the exact timeline of this years' Games.
As the line in front of me shortens, I notice a trend. All of the kids that I've watched so far have received a green flash on the screen situated in front of the Peacekeeper. Then, they all manoeuvre a sharp right and are herded into a roped off section, away from a select few other twelves.
The word 'May' circles around in my mind and my stupid brain finally realises the kids who get green aren't May-born...
They're safe.
The line in front of me is dissipating. I strain my eyes and quickly count the number of twelves who aren't roped off;
One, two, three, four...
There's only five.
I'm doomed.
No you're not, there's other cities around Six, you'll be fine!
My brain tries to compensate it's fear for logic, but how many May-born twelves are in those cities? There can't be many!
My mind falters and thinks of something happy, trying to distance itself from the impending danger of both the desk ahead and the reaping itself. The thought it comes up with is of Peren, but of course that doesn't work.
She's in a similar situation!
I search for the third line along from us and strain my eyes until it's painful to see what lies behind the blood station.
I can't correctly say if it's eighteen or nineteen, but it's more than what lies ahead for me.
Peren's safe, don't worry!
Yeah, Peren's safe but I'm not!
I'm hyperventilating now, my chest shifting up and down with my swift breaths. There's only four in front of me now and not a single one has flashed anything other than green. May-borns can't be this rare!
"Hey, kid!" My eyes flicker to the right and my fists tighten, an impulse of my body sensing danger. A masked Peacekeeper struts through the gap next to our line and points his shiny white glove at me.
My heart stops beating.
He stares at me for a moment, and I watch his green eyes flutter to my fists. I can only wonder what he assumes. Am I dangerous? Am I scared? Am I special needs?
Sure looks like I am, my chest is still up-heaved, ribs reaching up to my chin. I dare not breathe until he does something. I've never had a bad experience with a Peacekeeper, but God forbid I've seen them happen.
"What's your problem?" His accent reeks of District Two, I can tell from the nights we've been forced to watch Hunger Games interviews. Strong, tasteful, fleshy. The epitome of a stonemason.
"I-I-uh..." I don't want to answer him, and I don't even know if I can answer him. I still haven't breathed for the last fifteen seconds, so I let my chest drop and sneak a few short huffs through my open mouth as I stare at him bluntly, indicating confusion.
"Stop overreacting or you'll come with me! Got it?"
I nod with the speed of lightning and my fists release.
He points forward and I divert my head away from him, listening to his boots clop against the cobblestone as he walks away. Suddenly the line seems to move quicker, two more kids moving forward and to the right, leaving me next after a kid wearing a grey jacket. I flash my eyes around, trying to focus on something so I don't look so guilty when the Peacekeeper lays his judgmental eyes on me.
No doubt he's already taken note of me s a possible criminal considering my behaviour and interaction with the Peacekeeper from Two. Probably going to use some nifty device to increase to pain of the incision into my finger.
That's the Capitol I know.
Grey jacket kid gets green, oh God, and I'm next. I step up to a metal plate in the ground- maybe to weigh me or something -and look awkwardly at the Peacekeeper, waiting for instructions.
"Dominant hand?"
"L-Left."
"Left index finger."
I stretch my left index out to his beckoning hand, which he grabs with the force of a freight train. I'm yanked toward the table, pulling my feet forward, nearer to the Peacekeeper; where I'd rather not be.
He takes a slender, metal tool from the table and I brace a little, expecting the worst. I feel the sharp tip dig under my skin and pull back up, leaving a fast-growing circle of blood on my pointer.
Again my finger is yanked toward this Peacekeeper, turned over and placed on a small pane of glass. The "glass" lights up instantly with my full name, place of birth, residence and, most importantly, date of birth.
The Peacekeeper drops my finger and taps the panel with his own. My birthday, May thirteen, enlarges in all its glory.
Then the screen goes red.
The Peacekeeper seems alarmed and he's not the only one. My breath jumps yet again and my heart catches in my throat as he turns to me, grey eyebrows shifting diagonally, lips pursed. He almost looks grim.
"Please, go straight ahead. Follow the wall."
I receive his words and take a split second to look into his eyes and I see not a Peacekeeper, but a man. A man in his fifties, slicked black hair greying. I imagine his life, most likely with a wife and children back in District Two or even the Capitol, the grave expression he wears now rare to ever see at home.
I nod, breathe in and we keep our gazes as I turn to meet my fate.
I'm truly doomed.
There we have it ladies and gentlemen, Tydarius Petrit of District Six who does indeed end up reaped. Our first POV by the way! I will try my hardest to get as many of these out as I can while I can. Other than that, we've filled all the slots! We're officially underway now! To all who've submitted I thank you, along with all those who read, follow, favourite and review, it means a lot to me. I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this chapter, because there's more to come! Stay tuned and once again, thank you for reading!