There's still a load of places in the SYOT, once again I'll put the form at the bottom of the chapter, I need male tributes more than female once and if I don't get any I'll have to move on from sector 2 and come back at the end when I have a male tribute. Thank you to everyone who's submitted a tribute or reviewed so far.
Remember I will be doing a point system where you can earn points by reviewing and stuff to sponsor tributes. At the moment you get 5 points by: A) Leaving a review, B) Following this story or C) Favouriting story. After the reapings are over I will add a question at the end of the chapter and each time you answer a question in the reviews, you will get 10 points. I will tell you what stuff you can sponsor and for how much when the games are about to start.
This is the female tribute submitted by I believe in Nargles too. I hope I portrayed her how you imagined.
Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins and I do not own the hunger games, I am merely writing this for my own pleasure, and yours I guess.
Fading like the stars we wish to be: Little by little - Oasis
Chapter 2
Arabelle Blake
(Sector 2 reaping day)
I wake up with a sick feeling in my stomach. It takes me a couple of minutes to work out why. Then it comes to me. It's reaping day. I snuggle into the warmth of my blanket. I don't want to get up. Dad will be in the kitchen and he'll probably try to have some awkward conversation about how he will always love me no matter what happens in the reaping. He's really worried about the reaping. He thinks I'm going to be reaped. My name's only in 4 times so I won't be picked. I can't help feeling nervous though. I stay in my bed for another hour before dad comes up with a tray. I sniff the air. Fry up. I smile to myself. A fry up won't stop the reaping, but it will make me feel a lot better. Dad's fry ups are the best. I sit up and he lays the tray on my lap.
"I thought you'd need cheering up." He says. I pick up my knife and fork and rip a huge chunk of bacon off one of the rashers and stuff it in my mouth. It's warm and delicious and he's cooked it just how I like it. "Would you like a hot chocolate with that madam?" He asked, playing the fool and pretending to be a waiter.
"Why yes of course." I sign after putting my knife and fork down. "With lots of cream and mini marshmallows."
"Any chocolate?"
"Why of course." I sign while grinning. He laughs and goes out as I attack the rest of the bacon. When he comes back I'm surprised to see he actually did put chocolate, marshmallows and cream on it. He must be feeling really sorry for me having to go into the reaping. I'm not complaining though. He usually makes me eat pretty healthy. Says it's stupid stuffing myself stupid. He never let me take the drink that makes you throw up so you can try all the dishes at a party. Says it's wrong. He's right. I just love sweet things.
"Is this good enough for your majesty?" He asks, his tongue dripping with sarcasm."
"I suppose it will suffice." I sign quickly, eager to take a sip of the hot chocolate.
"Slow down." He says. "I'm still not amazing." He's been learning sign language ever since he took me away from my mum when I was 7. I say took me away, more liberated. She was the worst mum in all existence. My dad left her when she was pregnant with me, but he didn't know that, and she just went mental and took loads of drugs which meant I almost died in her womb. As it was I was born very prematurely and very small and skinny. No matter how much they tried, I just didn't gain much weight. The doctors thought that was the only way the drugs affected me, but when I was 18 months old and still hadn't spoken at all Mum took me to get me checked out. Turned out the drugs also affected my ability to speak.
I hate looking so skinny, the number of people that have come up to me on the streets and have said that the alteration on my weight makes me look awesome is actually so stupid. Apart from being short and skinny I have short purple hair. I dye it a different colour every month, stops it getting boring that way.
"I suppose it will suffice." I sign more slowly.
"Hahaha." He grinned. "The washing up's downstairs for you to do." He smirked.
"But dad." I signed, while picking my cutlery back up and start attacking the hash browns.
"I'm joking." He says. "It's my turn to wash up today anyway." He says and heads out my room. I lean over to my bedside table and pick up my TV remote and press the on button. My huge flat screen TV on the wall opposite my bed blares on. It goes onto a news channel. They're talking about the games. Of course they are. Who isn't?
Everyone in the Capitol is in outrage. I don't know one person who isn't. I don't think there'll be any volunteers this year. It'll be sick if there are. It's disgusting that they're forcing us to fight. They say they want to prevent bloodshed, but why would they kill 23 of us if they wanted to do that. They want revenge. It's obvious. They're angry that their ancestors signed the peace treaty in the first place and want to get their own back. They're just a bunch of hypocrites.
They held a load of meetings with a representative from each district to vote on it, but there was no Capitol representative. When someone confronted Paylor about it when it was announced this was her response:
"Did you see us protest like this at every reaping?" Well it wasn't us who signed the peace treaty. It was your people. Your ancestors who did it. Not ours. Ours only gave them a way out of complete oblivion for them. Our ancestors could have just nukes after them, but they were merciful, the games were a small price to pay.
"Did you see our vote on whether we would do the hunger games or not 76 years ago?" Your ancestors had a choice, don't blame us for that. What did we children of the Capitol ever do to you? I didn't even really like watching the hunger games. I only really watched it because once the reapings had started it was all anyone at school would talk about. I didn't particularly like it, but I didn't hate them. It was just something to watch. Why kill us? We're innocent.
"No! This is a necessary evil. You want revenge on us for this, don't you?" Of course, you're trying to kill innocents. Why are we being punished? Were we the ones who planned the games? Did we make you sign the peace treaty? No!
"Well we haven't had any revenge for 75 years' worth of games. If we do this, less people would die than the alternative option. The people who normally run the hunger games would have had to be executed. Anyone who personally worked for Snow would have been executed. These games are a message to the children of the Capitol. So they understand what we went through. And then it will all be over. We can live in peace. This is for the greater good." The greater good? Yeah right.
I finish my breakfast quickly and get changed before going downstairs to draw.
Dad starts to say something to me as I start to sketch the high skyscrapers that I can see from the windows. I don't really listen though. "Ara, are you listening?" I tune back in. I nod. I'm not really but it's easier to pretend I am. I carry on sketching, starting to add a little more detail to the picture. "You're not going to be picked." He says. I already know. The odds are so small that it's never going to be my name on the slip that's going to be pulled out of the glass ball on the stage. "These games, they're just sick." I try to carry on ignoring him. I just want to be alone. "You know that Ara?" I finally lose it and fling my pencil down.
"Just leave me alone." I sign, flinging my chair behind me as I stand up. "I'm going out for a bit." I storm upstairs and put a pair of shiny black ankle boots on and my butter soft leather jacket on. The jacket was a present from my mum when she was trying to win me back to live with her. I put it on to hurt dad. I know he was only trying to be supportive but I'm just angry about the games. What's the point in them? I can see he's hurt when I go out of the front door. I'll say sorry later. I just need to calm down now though.
I walk along the streets that I had been drawing just moments ago slowly, slouching slightly. I head towards the playground my mum always took me to when I was little and sit on one of the swings there, rocking back and forth slowly, watching the young children running and shouting happily. They don't have a care in the world. I click a button on my small earpiece and it scans my brain to decide which songs I want to listen to and starts playing music.
Wish you could turn back time.
A small boy with brown hair goes down a slide. A girl follows him, bumping into him laughing. Life is so simple for them.
To the good old days.
On the seesaw there is a mum and daughter playing together. I remember when it was like that with my mum.
When our momma sang us to sleep but now we're stressed out.
After dad started looking after me something changed. I hated my mum for what she did to me and I love my dad, I do, but I don't have that connection with him like I did my mum.
Wish we could turn back time, to the good old days
Yes. Before all this started. Before the rebellion I knew what was going to happen. I would go to school, chat with friends, do homework, and go to bed. Now, nothing in the Capitol is certain. We have no idea what's going to happen. These games were completely out of the blue, how many other things will they do like it?
When our momma sang us to sleep but now we're stressed out
As I watch all the kids running around playing I realise they're childhood is going to end soon. Their parents won't be able to stop them from watching the games.
We're stressed out
I switch the music off. The districts are controlling us.
"Mind if I sit here?" Someone gestures to the swing next to me. I shake my head, and gaze at the children playing. "Nervous about the reaping?" They ask. I look at them and nod. It's a boy about my age with sandy hair. "Good luck." He says. I nod. I probably seem rude for not wishing him good luck, but most people don't understand sign language so he'd probably end up thinking I was mad. "Not very talkative are you." I scrub at the dirt with my boot and start to form letters.
"Mute." I write as he looks around. I tap his shoulder and point to the words etched in the dirt.
"You can't speak?" I like how he says can't. I know one or two people who choose to be mutes and people always assume they just won't speak. I understand what they mean when they say they can't speak. It means they can't. They just can't. The same way some people can't do maths. I nod. "How come?" I scrub out the word mute with my heel and slowly start to form new letters.
"Drugs." I've used up all the space to write drugs, so I can't explain properly.
"Wait." The boy digs a notebook and pen out of his pocket and hands it to me.
"My mum took them while I was in the womb and I grew up addicted to them. They affected my ability to speak."
"Oh." He looks like he doesn't really know what to say. "What's your name?" He says, changing the subject. He looks pretty uncomfortable, most people are when they find out.
"Ara." I write. "You?"
"Scott." He says. "Nice to meet you, Ara. Good luck." And with that he walks off, his notebook and pen still in my hands. I can't call after him, so I leap off the swing and run towards him. I tap him on the back and hold them out to him. "Keep them. I don't really use them. I just write a diary occasionally, there's nothing personal in it." And with that he walks off. I head back to the swing and flick through the notebook.
I wonder who Scott is. I'd never seen him before, which is pretty strange because most people in this area my age all go to the same school. I find a poem towards the back.
Will this fire ever stop?
Will this bloodshed ever end?
Will this fighting ever cease?
Fire rages on the streets,
Blood splatters the pure white walls,
Soldiers ripping apart
The innocent.
And so the cycle starts again.
It's an odd poem. I've never really liked poems, but this one is different. I want to know more. Did he write it in the rebellion? After the games were announced? Or was it from years ago, and has nothing to do with stuff happening now? I'll probably never see him again.
I put the notebook away and head to the reaping. Sector 3's mentor/ escort is some high ranked rebel from 13. I think his name's Curtis or something like that. They get started straight away once everyone's standing in the right section.
"We'll start with the ladies." He says and strides over to the reaping bowl on the left. He digs his large hand in deep and plucks one from right at the bottom out. No one around me looks very nervous. The odds are so slim for everyone that no one's particularly worried. It has to be somebody though. "Arabelle Blake." He reads. I think I must have misheard, but no one moves to go up. It's me. Like I said it has to be somebody, I just hoped that somebody wouldn't be me. I walk up quickly, I want to avoid attention. Maybe if I just slip under the radar, no one will really notice me until it's the final few people. Maybe I can win.
The first person to come and visit me is dad. "I'll try and get some money together darling. I'll sponsor you as much as I can." I nod. "When that canon goes at the start, you grab a pack and you run. Don't look back, don't try to go for a fancy weapon or a massive pack. Just a small one quite nearby. You can sprint, use that to your advantage and then get out. Don't try to get caught up in the bloodbath." I nod.
"I love you." I sign. He hugs me tight and whispers through the folds of my her.
"I love you too. Come back Ara, please. When I found out about you all those years ago, my life changed. I loved you from the second I knew I had a daughter. Your mum loves you too. She may not show it, but she does. She's just got problems, it's not her fault. Don't blame her for anything, in case you don't make it out. I mean that's not going to happen. I just mean…" He breaks off. "She wouldn't be able to cope with the guilt." Then he's ripped from my arms as our time together is up. As they drag him out, I kiss my palm, clench my fist and thrust it towards his outstretched arms as he tries to run back to me. He flails his arms around wildly until one catches my clenched fists, I open it and he touches where I kissed it. "Good luck." Then he is finally pulled out and the doors slam shut.
My next visitor is mum. "I'm sorry. I've been such a terrible mum, I know." She tries to pull me into her arms, but I wriggle away. "Please Ara, please forgive me."
"I can't." I shake my head. Dad told me to, but I just can't. She ruined my whole life. "I love you though." I add. I may hate her, but I love her too, she couldn't help it. "Remember that mum. I love you for always."
"Please forgive me. I'll do anything." She whispers.
"You ruined my life. I'm not ready to forgive you yet, maybe if I come out alive. Maybe we can start over." I sign. "But I'm not ready yet." She nods, tears falling down her cheeks. She takes my hand and strokes it a couple of times.
"Goodbye." And then she's gone. She looked so sad, but I can't forgive her, no matter what dad says. I don't have any more visitors.
SYOT form:
Name:
Family (include age and jobs and any background to them):
Opinions on the games before the rebellion:
Opinions on these games:
Key moment in their childhood (doesn't have to be something really big like their brother died, it can just be their first fail grade):
Physical appearance (including any alterations e.g. dyed skin):
Reaped or volunteered (if reaped what was their reaction, if volunteered why):
Training score:
Would they ally or not:
Do they normally sponsor in the games:
Personality:
Age:
Additional information:
Please include as much detail as possible because it makes it so much easier for me to write them. PM me your completed form. Max of 2 tributes per person.