Chapter Three.
Reapings, Part One.
Soren Ansel, 15 years old;
District Three Male.
The biggest of the trio blocks the way forward. I stare up at him and meet his gaze; his two, beady eyes narrowing as his evil smirk – his famous smirk – only grows deeper into his acne riddled cheeks.
"Hey buddy," he slaps me on the shoulder and grins, digging his nails in. If there's one thing I've learnt through the years, it's to meet their look, show them no weakness, and for once in my life, stand up for who I am.
"Hey pal," I retort, mirroring the fake positivity glowing from his face. Without me breaking, his face immediately begins to contort. His cronies, strong on the outside, weak on the inside, stare up at their boss.
"What are you doing?"
I raise an eyebrow and hold my ground, even when pain begins to flare through my arm. His eyes bore into my own as his rather sharp nails grind around in my skin. Over his shoulder, the crowd is thickening as people flock and separate to their sections. You need to get there on time Soren, what would your parents think?
"It's been great talking to you," I pull away and duck under an arm that's sent straight for my face. "See you later!" I hope not.
The three of them stare at me, their big, round, ugly faces brightening red when they see that the Peacekeepers are starting to move towards them. I'm less of a target, but those three, they're massive standing there looking dumb in my direction. Well, not this time. I know I'll pay for not giving them the satisfaction of watching me beg for my loose change to be returned, or my... underwear to be relieved from my... It's not fair.
I try to keep the smile on my face, as hard as it is. The Peacekeeper jabs me in the finger with the needle and shuffles me along with a giant, white gloved hand. For someone not that short, I feel like an ant amongst an army of giants. People shove me aside without thinking to get to their own sections, whilst others stare right through me, like I'm an invisible entity of nothing.
Even when I try to be a good, decent person, a person with a set of morals you don't find often in a world like ours, it's shoved straight back in my face. Bullying, teasing. Maybe it isn't fair, but no one else seems to give a damn.
I'm at the bottom of the food chain, and as long as it's no one they care about, why spare a thought for some random kid?
Eventually, the reaping begins with me standing between two kids, thankfully my height and body shape. Some of the others are like the bullies from earlier, and some are even smaller, and yet they still exude a sense of confidence I struggle to match.
If only I could be like him, up on stage, a bit too feminine with random pink feathers sprouting from his body, but with a voice to control a crowd, and gestures to dazzle them. Even if he's a bad person, I stare transfixed as his fingers circle the rim of the bowl, and out comes the first slip.
Time to get this show on the road.
"For the females, the magnificent, the beautiful, Meva Ralline!"
The chosen girl takes a while to walk out, the norm for this District. When she's finally spotted by the Peacekeepers and urged forwards forcefully, I see the fear etched into her expression. She bites her bottom lip and stands up on the stage, her fists clenched tight.
We've had runners before so the Peacekeepers take no chances, standing attentively by each shoulder. If only it could be someone who didn't look so... so... kind.
I know the way decent people look, and Meva Ralline, well she seems like a good person. The Games always kill the best kinds of people.
"Soren Ansel!"
W-What...?
Someone guffaws behind me. I recognise the voice immediately and like Meva, my fists clench, but for entirely different reasons. Anger, then shock, then sadness, then complete and utter fear overwhelms me. I'm not... I'm not someone cut out for...
Killing.
Death.
All of those things, that's not me. I'm the kid who gets shoved around and still tries to be kind to people, because maybe karma will one day provide me with a decent life. But this, this is the card I'm finally dealt with?
Reaped.
The Hunger Games.
Meva stares at me when I reach her side and quickly averts eye contact. Maybe out of sympathy, maybe pity, or maybe because I look so damn pathetic quivering and staring wide-eyed out into the crowd.
My parents are out there. My bullies.
But the majority, they don't even know who I am. I'm a nobody, even when I try to be a somebody.
I'm useless.
Raegan Kalis, 18 years old;
District Five Female.
A crowd of kids assemble around me, gawping at my sister and I.
"Where'd you get that?!" the smallest and most astounded asks, jabbing a finger in the direction of my camera. I pull it back and grin, stroking the top and handing it to my sister's open hand.
"It's a secret," I reply, smirking.
"Can I get one?!"
"Me too!"
"And me, please, oh pretty please miss!"
Like a bomb going off, the group blow up into an orchestra of questions and demands. I stare at my sister and start to laugh, peeling her away from a rather overeager girl latching herself to her leg. Most of them, if not all, stare at our retreating forms with hollow, sunken eyes. A part of me yearns to help them, in some way, but this is the hand life has dealt them. It's the hand they must grow to accept.
"You never answered us, where'd you get it?" The same girl who sent the kids into a frenzy pouts and runs a hand through her scraggly, blonde hair. I stare once again at Ze and nod my head, wrapping my fingers round the camera.
Wagging a finger forwards, I gesture towards me and the little girl runs for my direction, rags streaming behind her as the breeze catches her lithe, frail form. She's rather scrubby for my liking, dirt clinging to her like a blanket. Disregarding that, I bend to her level and pinch her cheek. Anything to make someone so delicate smile.
"Stand still," I raise a finger and obediently, the little girl freezes on the spot with the widest, most sweetest grin I think I might have seen come from this District, on today of all days.
With a click, I take the picture. The flash momentarily stuns her, but once she snaps out of it the picture immediately develops itself, and out comes the small sheet, with quite a pretty little girl cast on the front. She stares, wide-eyed and bursts out into a fit of giggles, hugging me again with the picture clutched in her grip.
"Now, go off with your friends. You don't want to be late. A proper little lady shows up on time." I curl a bit of her hair behind her ear, pat her once on the head, and together in unison we turn away and head in the opposite direction.
"We should head there too," Ze adds, linking her arm with mine. The camera rests on its strap round my chest, a constant reminder of our parents, our wealth, and the fact that it's only me and my sister now. I know they'll be proud of me.
Proud of us.
Especially, considering what I'm doing today. The day I've been waiting for ever since they left those years ago, to be in the one city they love the most.
"You certainly look chipper," she says, elbowing me in the side with a laugh. I nod and let my hair fall back over my shoulders, soaking in the morning sun. It's a dusty District we live in, dirty, cloudy at times, but today it's like fortune is raining down upon me on the one day I've been longing for.
Better than my hookups with Byron, better than what I did just now. Truly, I'll finally feel like I've played the part of the perfect daughter, when they see me again, it'll feel complete. Whole.
The tables lined up out front are laid in a neat little row, but through the crowd surging to get this over and done with, the Peacekeepers seem to have been put in quite a dour mood. They lighten up a little when we arrive, smiling since we're associated with the wealthy side of the District.
"Miss Kalis," the registrar nods, taking my blood. "Miss Kalis." The same is done with my sister, and together, like always, we strut through arm in arm.
"You look so regal Raegan."
"A lady likes to look her best," I giggle, swaying the light dress sweeping down my legs. It's cut short just above my feet, not wanting to get it too frayed or dirty. It'll be good to change into something exported from the Capitol, but it's nice to appear there in something paid for from my parent's money. A little bit of them coming with me.
When the reaping progresses forwards, Ze starts to fidget. I know why. She doesn't want me to leave, but it's for that very reason I'm more determined to volunteer. It's no lie that me and her don't always see eye to eye, and her no's always make the yes's intensify that much more inside of me.
This is just something she won't ever understand.
"Mona Carlett-"
"I volunteer!"
With a proud hand thrown in the air, confidence layered upon more confidence, I walk elegantly to the central aisle. Soaking in the attention, I move up towards the stage and plant my feet firmly on the centre without a chip or scratch on the surface.
"Raegan Kalis, your Victor."
With the camera round my chest, with my sister in the sidelines, and with my parents waiting, this has never felt more right.
I'm going to the one place I truly belong.
The Capitol.
Septimius Cort, 14 years old;
District Eight Male.
Will this ever end? I think to myself.
Demetrios ruffles my hair some more, wrapping a tight arm round my neck and bringing me to his chest. Today in Eight, the sun is high and bright in the sky, birds chirp to one another and fly overheard, people genuinely seem to be attempting to brighten up their otherwise depressive states of mind, and I couldn't be any more displeased.
Because, when you have a brother like mine, one tends to never, for a second, find any reprieve from his blabber mouth.
You only have to bear it until the reaping begins, you're younger, he's older. You'll have your silence. I grit my teeth and wait it out, nodding in all the right moments, and even attempting to reflect some of the conversation back onto him with closed answers.
It keeps him satisfied. If there was ever a thing Demetrios cannot do is tune himself into another person's emotions when he's having a conversation. If you're as infectiously optimistic as he is, you're still the lesser person in the conversation. Or, if you'd rather cut his tongue out and throw it in the trash than have to listen to him drivel on, you're still the lesser.
So, rather than complain, why not suffer such a fool for a short while and satisfy his insatiable desire to be heard? I know I'd rather not have to listen to his whining later on if I hurt his feelings, so I buckle down, raise my head high and walk with a certain swish in my step as the Square approaches on the horizon.
Some people stare at my brother with bemusement, others walk off further away or to the sides. I look up at his jolly face and lopsided, stupid looking grin and smirk to myself. He has no clue does he? In someways I pity him, whilst I'm pretty much aware of the state of the place we live in, he seems to think we reside in the Capitol or have a mansion to ourselves, or whatever nonsense it is that keeps him so optimistic about our lives.
Not that I'm complaining about where it is we live, to be honest, I couldn't really care if we were poor, or if we were rich. Life is life, and you deal with what you've got. Unlike some of the more outspoken people in this District, I don't see the point of making a big deal out of something you cannot change. I swallow it down, clench my fists, and despise the world in silence.
I don't hate my brother, as hard as it is to maybe admit to myself, I love him.
But that doesn't stop my brain from cheering inwardly when the Square reveals itself in front of us.
"Demetrios, I think it's time we-"
"We what, Cort?" he waves a hand in front of my eyes. When I blink up at him, I look back down at the ground and mumble a curse.
"Nothing." I shake my head and smile. Dammit, I forgot to close up shop. I shrug and try to appease my mind by focusing on everything else. Still, the worry lingers at the back of my mind, ruining any chance of a bit of peace.
Little things get to me, even if I try not to let them. He grips onto my shoulder to bid me a goodbye, but even that can't snap me out of this. Mr Wrens is going to be furious, he'll either dock my weekly salary in half, or even worse, cut it completely.
I stuff my hands in my pockets and move to my own section, shaking my head over and over. No point thinking on something I can't change, instead, I try to stare up at the two bowls centered up there, with all those slips filling the glass to the brim.
I wonder who it's going to be this year?
The escort, as per usual, is a mess. Frill and butterflies and everything else seems to explode off from her with each step. She doesn't seem to even be tuned into this disaster taking place, but being from the textiles district, those more vocal in their distaste moan under their breath from a few sections away.
Whatever, hurry this up. Maybe I can get back in time!
"Chiffon Vander, our lovely lady!"
Like last year, the girl's a runner. A pointless feat, one that ends in nothing but a few fists sent here and there, and then a girl left breathing heavily as she accepts defeat. I stare at her angry face, contorting with emotion after emotion. I should feel bad for her, maybe I do, but right now I just want this to be over and done with. I want to go ho-
"Septimius Cort!"
Guess you aren't going home, buddy. For some reason, the voice inside my head is Demetrios'. I find him gawping at me, not knowing how to react when all I can do is walk stiffly up to the stage with Peacekeepers flanking me from behind.
Blood wells up when I bite into my lip, but right now, I can't feel anything but... but what?
Chiffon stares at me, the whole of Eight stares at me, and yet all I can think about is how they're looking at me. The Capitol, through their cameras, finding entertainment from this.
Usually I don't care about what they have to think, but right about now, in this catastrophe, I think I can spare some anger for them.
Don't show them what they want Cort, don't show them you're scared.
Don't worry, I cross my arms and glare out across the crowd. I won't.
Dilara Donovan, 15 years old;
District Eleven Female.
A girl dressed from head to toe in grey, tattered rags, launches herself in my direction from a nearby alleyway. Stumbling and nearly falling, she settles her feet in front and stares up into my eyes.
"Do you have any change?" she asks with a cough, wiping something a startling shade of red from her lips. I sigh sadly and rummage around in my pockets, knowing the answer already. When I show her my empty palm, I shake my head and watch her face fall.
A part of that, the look in her eyes, the fact such a fragile thing is so broken, fractures whatever detachment I intended to walk into the Square with.
I've never been one for interacting with those who try, for some reason, to latch onto anyone nearby for a sense of comfort. Nothing about it is done out of malice, or anger, or fear about what this distant community could do to some unknown girl only spotted out and about once a year. It's out of the loneliness I've felt for too long.
It's a part of me, and I just wanted this day to be over and done with so I could go back home quickly, without causing too much of a fuss. But this, doe-eyed, pale, emaciated girl shatters that. I grip onto her hand, pulling her along gently.
"Where are we going?"
I stare at her for a second, before looking back up. Peacekeepers at the tables stare at the pair of us, one without their helmet spending a little too long on the little girl. Her rags regrettably smell rotten. He wrinkles his noise in disgust and whispers in his comrade's ear, the two sharing a joke.
If it wasn't someone who could take away what I have left, my clenched fist would be in his face. But for her, and myself, I take a deep breath and level my eyes with hers.
"Do you have a family?"
She bites her bottom lip sadly, shaking her head. Neither do I. "I live alone, would you like to come back to mine? I do well enough, I can give you some food to take back with you. Maybe offer you a place to sleep for the night."
Her distant, unattached eyes intensify the moment I let the words leave my mouth. Childish happiness, maybe what once lied within me, lights her face up in a warm flush. The grime covering her face almost wears away when she pulls me in for a hug, and at that second, I forget the smell and the dirt clinging to her. She's just a little girl in a bad, bad world. Like me. Like so many others.
"Move along." A larger girl pushes her aside to reach the table. Staring over her shoulder, she glares at me, then shakes her head at the girl with the same expression of disgust.
"Hey!" I shout, moving forwards. A Peacekeeper steps up too quickly, the same one from a second ago. Anger pulses inside my chest and again, the same desire to knock someone out radiates from within. But, for the little girl grasping for my hand, I swallow it down and move forwards.
Once we're processed, I help her along to the sidelines where she'll have to wait for me.
"You're up for the reaping, aren't you?"
I frown, nodding my head. Poor thing, soon she'll be eligible, soon it could her up on that stage with no one who even knows who she is. "I'll be back, don't worry. Nobody will hurt you, I won't let them."
Before she can say anything else to tempt me back, I move for my section. Once I'm there, the reaping begins the same way it always has. It continues with our flowery escort bouncing onto the stage, raining confetti on the terrified kids at the front.
I shake my head with rage, this is barbaric, what she stands for, what she does. The first slip is pulled and almost like a reflex, my fingers close, then open, sweat pooling from my brow as the nerves eat at me from within.
"Dilara Donovan!"
Dilara-
The name takes a moment to process fully. Dilara. Donovan. When it hits me, it's like a punch to the gut. All the breath is taken from me, things begin to blur and what once was a crowd of people becomes nothing but a sea of shapes and colours that are detached from one another.
Cameras click away distantly in my face, and somehow, through the pain inside my chest, I manage a shy smile. I'm a tribute... but... the little girl...
I look to where I told her to wait, but she isn't there. Another little boy stands in her place, holding onto his mother's hand.
If only mine was still around.
The crowd stare at me, an unknown entity amongst a community that most likely knows each other. No one seems to care enough to say anything except to nod their condolences.
I manage to shakily make it to the stage and stand there, staring out at them all.
It may not be much of a home, may not be a much of a life. It's unfair. How we're all treated.
But I'll make it back. I'm coming home.
Thanks to ejbrown18, LokiThisIsMadness, conflicted battle scars and Remus98 for these four tributes.
Favourite POV?
Two days later, not one, but hey this is still great for someone who tends to prefer sleep, food and music to sitting down and doing something productive! Anyhow, hope you enjoyed this chapter. This marks the halfway point through the first batch of POVs for these tributes.
I should probably focus a bit on my other story, but the next chapter should be up in around four-five days, so that's not a long gap really. Thanks for reading, leave a review if you can :)
