EXCITING NEWS! I now have a blog for this SYOT! You can find it at alltheworldsastage65. blogspot. c o m (take out the spaces). There are a few tributes who I have had to change the face claim you put down because either the name had been used before in my Mentor blog or in Wish Upon A Star, or the actor was too old/didn't have any teenage photos of them. The information that is on there will be updated throughout the Games and I hope you will keep an eye on it!
So we now move from the delightful woody district of 7, to the smoky and techno-whizz district of 3 and our wonderful Wiress, who I don't own, that's Suzanne Collins' property along with all the other parts of this story minus the Tributes and my own ideas, and Ramin Navarro and Kite Boggess, from Christine Mulheim.
Wiress Wood – Victor of the 31st Hunger Games
Why do they want me? Why do they want me to mentor again? I haven't managed to bring home anyone except Beetee. Beetee is a marvellous companion; I cannot deny that of course. He understands me; he can complete the sentences that I can't. So many people over the years have tried to understand me, they've tried to get through to me and help me. But no Capitol doctors, no District Three brains can help me. Not that they haven't tried, yes they have tried many a time.
But I can't be cured; everyone knows it and he or she should just give up on me. Pretty much everyone else has. Tracer has, whomever remains of my family has. Elysia has, well…she's vaguely okay with it. She doesn't really say anything about it, given that she seems to be out of the Victor's Village most of the time. Aeolian just isn't around; I wouldn't blame him after the Games he went through. Beetee is the only company you get around here.
The skies over District 3 are full of smoke and fog, as they usually are. It's early in the morning, too early for my liking. But that is what they insisted on this year, the Capitol. They wanted us to have one of the earliest Reapings. Perhaps even now the children will be quaking in their small shoes, fearing and anticipating what will come. What could come. And, for two of them, what will come. Whoever it is, I hope they die or win with less pain than I had to go through.
I can feel my toes curling around the strands of the carpet that is beneath my feet, soaking up and sending out the warmth that stops me from shivering in this weather. The doorbell has just rung, I wonder who could be calling. I believe our escort this year, no one ever knows his name, is staying at the mayor's house. I won't have to deal with him. There is a small relief at least.
Clasping my hand around the cold doorknob, I turn the handle and open the door, letting the blast of cold air that has been swirling around the whole district into the house. Ugh, I would certainly take the warmer weather over this ridiculous cold any time. The figure that is on the doorstep is shivering as much as I am feeling like I should be right now. But I can't help but smile, reaching out and pulling him inside.
"What are you doing here?" My teeth chatter involuntarily as I almost slam the door behind me.
As he takes off his hat, I usher Beetee into the kitchen, which is just off the hallway, and sit him down at the table, moving over to the kettle to start brewing some kind of hot drink. "I came to see you Wiress. You know that I'm mentoring with you this year."
His voice is so soothing, it sounds exactly like it did when I first met him as a shy and very nervous 14-year-old, 25 years ago. "Yes I heard." I mutter, the short sentences I can manage. I can do that. It's the longer sentences that are the problem. I smile slightly. "I'm glad about –"
Ugh, I hate the fact that I can't do that. Why? Why me? Beetee doesn't care, all he does is sit there and smile at me serenely. He doesn't have to go through the torture of not being able to have a proper conversation with people, every single day. No Wiress, concentrate on the Games. That is what I have to focus on, getting at least one of the poor unfortunate souls we are going to be in charge of, safely home.
"Me too." Beetee murmurs and the kettle pings as I grab a mug from the cupboard, pouring the hot water into the mug and handing it to him. It's a strange habit he has, ever since his own Games. Hot water. No tea leaves, no coffee which is a very new luxury but worth every single time you drink it. Just water. "Have you packed?" He looks up as he wraps his hands around the chipped mug.
I nod. "My suitcase is –" the word 'upstairs' catches in my throat and I simply roll my eyes upward and tilt my head back slightly so he knows.
Thank goodness he does, I guess that's what 25 years of working together ends up doing to you. I just hope that this year is more like the 59th Games than all the other years.
Ramin Navarro (18)
Reaping Day. I understand why it happens, we all do. Of course we all do, it's the only thing that properly gets drilled into us at school. The history of Panem, the reason that we are put through this misery for up to a month every year, it is the only thing that they insist on us learning about. And yet no one has thought about bringing it down, taking a stand? I have, of course I have. But I wouldn't ever try. I'm not that kind of person. Sure I'd help out if there was someone else who suggested it. But not on my own.
It's my last Reaping this year, thank goodness. I have survived six years worth of internalised fear, the one that is experienced and often externally shown by every teenager in District Three, in the whole of Panem. Many people have made it through the six sets of ten minutes of hell; they've gone past the stage and have made it into adulthood. But there are the few who haven't. They are immortalised in our hearts and minds. It's the piece of District 3 history that is also drilled into us and, unlike the history of the Hunger Games; it is the one piece of history that every single member of this district wants to learn. Two years ago the Games got real for our class at school, too real. Tyria Becker. She got so far; she came so close to coming home. And then she didn't. The empty seat that still stands there in the classroom is proof enough. It still stands there in her memory.
"Ramin." My name, a break in the solitude that's filled the space until now, comes floating my way and I cannot help but turn from my spot on the hill that overlooks whatever view the district can provide. It isn't much, that's for certain.
The girl who comes towards me is a familiar face, her wavy dark hair flies out behind her from the wind that is battering either side of our small bodes. "Hey Kite." I greet her with the hints of a smile but my voice is raised as I struggle to be heard over the wind.
Pulling the thin coat tighter around her body, Kite sits herself down beside me, her head leaning into my shoulder. Why does she do that? Is it a comfort thing? Is it something that many girls do? I don't really know, I don't really have any friends other than Kite. She tolerates me and I tolerate her.
"We haven't got long before the Reapings." She speaks after a pause, her eyes still fixed on the horizon.
I only nod in reply; of course I know that the Reapings are happening soon. That's why I'm up earlier than normal. That's why school has been cancelled. I don't understand why people need to state the obvious. Do they think that everyone seems to forget things so easily? Things that happen that are told and drilled into your mind so many times?
The peace, the wind makes sure it certainly isn't quiet, is gentle. It's soothing and I certainly wouldn't want to be anywhere else. But Kite likes conversation; I don't mind it I guess, as long as there isn't too much of it, so I guess that I'll have to engage in it. "Are you nervous?"
Kite lifts her head up from my shoulder, thank goodness it was starting to get a little awkward, and looks at me quizzically, an eyebrow lifted in query. "I don't think so. I don't really know. I don't really get nervous until we're at the town square and whatever the guy's name is, is dipping his hand into the female Reaping bowl."
I snort; she isn't the kind really to be nervous until then. "I know what you mean." I murmur, what else do you say?
"How many slips have you got in that bowl today?" She asks and I wince slightly, I hate this topic. She should be able to do the maths.
I can't look at her; I don't want her to know. It's an embarrassing amount, and she knows it. She's the one I saved, the mystery girl who forced me to know someone other than my parents, the one who forced me into society. "28 times." I mutter, fixing my gaze on a blade of grass. She can't see the shame.
Kite Boggess (17)
28 times? I thought it wasn't nearly that much? I guess he's 18 now, once you've taken out tesserae you can't ask to take it away again. No one in their right mind would refuse any kind of food, even if it was in price of raising the stakes of you getting Reaped. I've always known that Ramin wasn't exactly the most well off person. He doesn't have parents like I do, he refuses to come and live with us, he insists that he can survive in the tiny shack that he and his parents used to occupy and he fought to keep.
But twenty-eight slips of paper in that bowl with his name in it? I thought that my 12 was bad enough. I had no idea; it hasn't been a topic we haven't really broached before now. What would I do if he was Reaped? What if he didn't come home from the Games? I don't even want to begin to think of life without him. We've known each other six years, almost to the day; I can't even remember properly my life before we met. But yet sometimes I feel I barely know him. Not that I can talk. People say that they barely know me. We don't all have to now everything about everyone else. People can know as much or as little about me as they want.
The sun is rising in the sky and as we look over the districts, it's getting more and more obvious the bodies of people moving towards the centre of the district, to the Hall of Rectification. It's time, we have to go. It's not as if we have much options of what to wear. Ramin has the normal black jeans and light stringed vest that he wears no matter the weather, with the thick black jacket we gave him last time we got a day off school, a present. I have the white sundress that I've worn for the last few years to the Reapings, a thin pink belt around my waist.
I stand, we have to go. "Come on Ramin." I pull him up, the boy traipsing slightly more hesitantly behind me as we run down the hill. It isn't far to the town square from where we are; it's a vantage point that is both beautiful and close.
The town square is almost packed and I know we are cutting it thin as we get our fingers pricked by the Peacekeepers who almost shove us away as soon as we are finished. How rude. "See you soon." Ramin murmurs as he moves further to the front to the 18 year old section while I slip in beside some peers that I vaguely recognise from school in the 17-year-old section.
Just in time! Our escort, who knows his name any more, totters up to the stage. "Welcome to the 65th Hunger Games District 3! Let's watch the wonderful video from the Capitol first, shall we?" Ugh, there are groans from all around me, no one enjoys watching this. The sound blares around us, I close my eyes as the speech rolls over me and the time cannot go any slower before it is all over and the escort is moving over to the girl's Reaping bowl. Please, please can it not be me. I don't want to go into the Games. "Our female tribute is…Kite Boggess."
No, no, no it can't me. The crowd parts automatically and I can feel the tears welling up. What else am I supposed to do? Where is Ramin? My feet seem to walk on automatic pilot. The stage is there. I'm climbing the steps and still I feel as if this is all some kind of dream.
The sea of people in front of me is frightening; I can't even find my parents in the sea of parents and district members. I know they are there. "And now for the boys." The escort goes to the bowl and picks out the first name they find. "Osio Limpet."
There is a cry and the boy steps out of the 12-year-old section. Oh the poor thing! He's tiny; he'll last even less than I probably will. "I volunteer!" The call comes before he can take a few more steps. No! I know that voice, I know that voice too well.
Ramin Navarro (18)
Who's going to come and see me? What is even the point of this little exercise, letting people say goodbye? Sure it's going to be nice for Kite, she gets to see her parents, her family and cry over the fact that she could die. But she isn't going to die. I will not let her die. That is why I volunteered, I volunteered so that she wouldn't have to die, so that she could go home to the family who care about her. Kite is the only person who cares about me in this district; if I die then no one will bother to remember me. I'll be that kid who sat at the back of class, dressed in rags and never speaking. What a way to be remembered.
She has to live. There is no option. This is why I have been training in combat; this is why I killed that man, the night she was attacked 6 years ago. I doubt she even remembers that event. I killed him so she would live. And I will do it again; I won't hesitate if anyone tries to get in her way. She can't survive in the rough areas of District 3; I hope that she has learnt that lesson at the very least. If she can't survive here, how on earth is she going to be able to survive in the arena? She needs a protector, someone to look after her. She needs me. She must come home, to the place she loves, to the people she loves and who love her. I am a nobody, the son of thieves and con artists who no longer rule the district but lie in the ground, their corpses as rotten as their hearts were.
I look up as the door opens, now there was something I wasn't expecting. A visitor, any visitor. It's the kid I volunteered for. I don't even remember his name. He's a snivelling wreck, the kid. 12 years old and his eyes are wide behind the thick-rimmed glasses. He wouldn't last two minutes in the Games. As soon as he steps inside the room, he runs and almost knocks me backwards as he wraps his thin arms around my body, tears wracking his body.
His mother hesitates in the doorway, a small smile on her face. "I'm sorry about this, he gets emotional easily. He just wanted to say thank you and good luck, we both did."
Her tone is comforting and I mentally thank her for not coming and hugging me as the child is. It's all too awkward, just sobbing and it seems like an age before he pulls away, looking up at me in awe. "Thank you mister."
Mister, now that's a title I haven't been called. Many more and far more disagreeable words for certain. But never mister. "I didn't do it for you kid." I speak as shortly as I could; I hate this kind of conversation, the overemotional kind. "The girl, she's my friend. And I'm going to make sure that she stays safe in the Games. She's going to be coming home soon."
The kid's eyes widen. "You mean you volunteered just so you could protect her?" I nod; the kid has some kind of brains. "I want to be like you when I'm older, strong enough to take of my friends."
I smile at that; I would like to see that happen. "Well, keep an eye out for your friends and make sure you know how to stand up to those nasty bullies who will come your way. Not just physically, learn how to verbally win an argument. Just don't volunteer for the Games, it won't be worth dying for."
He nods furiously and goes back to his mother, about to leave, before he turns around and looks at me, almost a foot shorter than I am. I must look like a giant to him. "Good luck mister, I hope you or your friend win."
I nod, it will be Kite, it has to be. "You too kid, good luck."
His mother nods slightly and they both leave the room; leave me to my silence and my own thoughts. Peace once more, the winds have died down and it is just me. For perhaps the last time, I close my eyes and lean back against the plush seat I find myself sitting in. Peace, it's a joy you never realise you must cherish until it's about to be ripped from you.
Kite Boggess (17)
I'm going into the Games with Ramin. What was he thinking? What was he thinking by volunteering for me? Is he planning on dying? Is he trying to prove something to me? He has nothing to prove, I know who he is and how amazing he is. He will always make it further than me in this kind of competition. Perhaps he could win the whole thing. But that would mean…I wouldn't make it back. How would he feel? What was he thinking? Was he thinking at all?
I don't know what to do now. I can hear my parents outside the room, they've just left. I can't believe that I might never see them again. What…I can't even imagine it. I want to see them now! I don't want to go through with this. I can't go through with this. Even if Ramin is going to be there, I don't want to have to go through with this. Let someone else go to the Games.
The door opens and I stand up, can I make a run for it? I can make it past the Peacekeepers, can't I? But I know the man who stands in the doorway, everyone does. His circular glasses are perched at the end of the nose as he looks at me with a thin-lipped smile. "I am very sorry Kite."
I frown, what is he talking about? Can I still make a break for it? "For what?"
He smiles slightly and moves further into the room, closing the door slightly. Dang it, there's my escape route gone. "For being Reaped. The statistics for any tribute who goes into the Games are never good. Don't try to escape, by the way." He adds, he's noticed my looks towards the door.
I cross my arms. "Why not? Why shouldn't I try?"
He smiles slightly wider. "Because the Peacekeepers who are in the corridor outside will not hesitate to beat you up before you've got to the Capitol and then throw you back in here. And I don't want you to make a bad impression on those who could save you." He tilts his head and looks at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The boy who volunteered, Ramin, you know him, don't you?"
There, there is the pressure point. I sit back down on the sofa, letting the feathers that are cushioning my fall, letting me down quickly. "Yeah." I murmur after a moment, not wanting to look at him. "He's my best friend."
"Well I'm Beetee, I'm going to be mentoring you in your time in the Capitol and I'll be making sure that you get all the help you can in the Games." I look up, I'm not stupid. That's all that the mentors do anymore. "Shall we go to the train? If we don't go soon, you'll be taken by force by the Peacekeepers."
I take a deep breath, at least I'll get to see Ramin soon enough. "Sure, let's just go."
He opens the door and I walk behind him, I can feel the presence of the Peacekeepers right behind me. I'll never be able to escape out of this. The Hall of Rectification isn't anywhere near the train station, not that I know where the train station is really. Out of the back door, suddenly there are so many flashing lights. What is all this? Why are there flashing lights and lots of people shouting my name? I don't know them, what do they want with me?
Beetee grabs my hand and pulls me towards the car that is there. Wow, it is amazing. I've seen them from afar, but up close? Never. The door opens and Beetee motions for me to get inside. Wow, the place is just amazing. The seats are polished and smooth and as I sit down on them, they bounce slightly. I mean I lived in a fairly well off part of the district, but I never had a luxury like this. It is amazing. He slides in beside me but as the door closes and I can feel the engine underneath me roar to life, the cameras are still flashing, the people are still so eager to get a photo of me. Why can't they just leave me alone? Why can't they just let me go? I've just been torn away from everything I know and I'm about to die. Potentially. What would I do for a few minutes of peace right now, alone with my thoughts? But I can't have that. Not anymore. It's been torn away and I may never get it back.
What did you think? Another two tributes. As you read these chapters, do start thinking about who your tribute (if you have one in this story) might want to ally with. If you think you might have found someone they might ally with, do let me know in the review box. If you want to, answer the following questions:
What did you think of the chapter as a whole?
Who was your favourite tribute?
Would your tribute potentially want to ally with them?
And a little random question for you guys to answer if you want:
What are you hoping to get for Christmas? Do you celebrate it at all?
Have a wonderful Christmas to those of you who celebrate it, happy Hannukah to my Jewish readers/followers and happy holidays if you don't celebrate either of these holidays!
Happy writing,
PenMagic x