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Lichen Barley
44 Years Old – Victor of the 3rd Hunger Games
District Nine Mentor
Just one more time.
That's all I need.
One more glimpse of his toothy smile, one more childish laugh from him, one more warm embrace. That's all I need. Just one more time, all of it. Then maybe I can cope. Just maybe.
Maybe then, I can finally liberate myself. I can finally accept what has happened, and begin to learn how to get over it. To remember, to pay homage, to forget.
It's just not as easy as it seems. One thing after another, coming together at once to get dumped on me all at the same time. And I wasn't prepared for any of it. It all came as a shock, the feeling of perplexity still simmering in my stomach, the memories and feelings never leaving.
But, it'll never happen, and I know it. It's just the fact that I won't accept the truth.
I didn't deserve, my son didn't deserve, and neither did my husband. My ex-husband and my dead son.
It was just a series of unfortunate events. My son died, and then the next day I received a phone call from my husband. He blamed me for him dying, clearly under the influence, and told me that I wasn't good enough anymore. That I had failed him, let him down, and indirectly got our son killed.
What if he was right?
What if everything that happened is my entire fault?
I cried nonstop, managing to get no words, only noises, out into the phone, begging him to stop. He kept going and going, continuing to make me hate myself even more, and then it happened. He told he wanted a divorce, hung up, and that was the last time I ever spoke to him since.
I haven't been in District One since about the same time, too. The place where my son is buried.
Even if it was about ten years, it still hurts. Just knowing that my son is dead and won't return, that my husband left me and won't return, and that I as a person won't ever return to the way I was. The fact that nothing will ever be the same again, and from here on out, my life will be different.
It's been different, and even though I thought it would get better as the years went on, I was wrong. It's getting worse.
I can't sleep at night, I can barely eat without feeling guilty, and whenever I take a breath, I feel like I'm taking it for granted. I feel like my son could have used that breath, or used that piece of food, or that one hour of sleep. Whenever I do something, it all goes back to my son.
The son I lost to these Games.
And the worst part is, is that all I have left are memories. The memories of his birth, him growing up in One, the years he began training. That's all I have left, nothing physical. The last physical interaction I've had with him was at his grave back in District One.
It's a nice grave, or at least what I remember of it. That was ten years ago.
The work was beautiful, really; the arched-shape of the marble, with his name and details on it. 'Cove Barley' was carved into it in fine print, decorated with flowers and other designs here and there. It says how long he lived and how he died; the most depressing thing is the way it says he died. Not that he was stabbed or murdered, but that he was collateral damage of the Hunger Games.
That's all he is to the Capitol now, but to me, he is still my son and he will always be.
"What'd you say?" Riley looks up from her book, tipping her head forward.
"What?" I ask, snapping out my gaze out the window.
"You were just talking," she says, lowering her head again, going back to her book.
"Was I?"
Riley nods, her eyes shifting from left to right as she reads the lines. "Don't worry about it."
Watching Riley's eyes shift from left to right some more, I begin to doze off, letting my feelings take over my thoughts. The images of Cove flashes before me, with my husband in the distance, our family being reunited once again. The compassion and affection we felt for one another rekindling, and then all at once, it comes crashing down. Cove fades away, Glass fades away, and eventually, I fade away.
And there's not one thing I can do about it.
"You're talking to yourself again, Lichen. Are you okay today?" Riley peers up, closing the book in her hands.
Trying to hold back all of my emotions, I turn the other way, hiding my face from her. I can hear her standing up from her chair, beginning to walk over towards me, and once I can feel her right behind me, I swing around. Wrapping my arms around me, her body tenses up and she's hesitant to wrap her arms around me back, but eventually she does. I rest my head on her shoulder, the height difference making it a little awkward.
"Thank you," I coo into her ear, nuzzling my head into the crevice between her shoulder and neck
"For… for what?"
"For being there, Riley."
"But I haven't done anything…"
Taking my arms off of her, I begin to laugh, wiping away the tears that are forming in my ears. That's one thing that never fails to make me laugh about Riley; the way she can't accept compliments and doesn't understand them. She leaves her hands on my shoulders, using her finger to move some of the hair away from my face. The sense of her touch makes me feel the same feelings I felt whenever Cove touched me; warmth, compassion, and affection.
At times, despite our age difference, she's like a mother to me.
Riley was at a young age when she won the Twenty-Sixth Hunger Games, only at the age of fifteen. It's not a surprise when fifteen year olds die in the Bloodbath or early on in the Games. But, she didn't die; she made a kill in the Bloodbath. It wasn't really her kill, but everyone counted it that it was.
The boy from Six, whose name I can't remember, got stabbed in the thigh during the Bloodbath. He managed to crawl away, but once he got to a certain point, he gave up. Riley had been watching him, wanting the supplies that he got away with, and that was the perfect time to do anything. It was a quick and easy kill, and it seemed to not affect her much.
That was until her second kill. It was the finale, where there were only two tributes left. This time, it was a larger tribute from Eleven, and she really didn't want to kill him. She made the boy chase her through trees and open fields for at least two hours, and once she ran out of the energy, she turned around. She's bold, something that can come in use during the Games. The boy was out of breath too, which only made it easier for Riley. He came forward, his steps all over the place and his body swaying back and forth.
And what Riley did next surprised me; she sprinted forward, lunged at him, and stabbed him in the neck. After the announcement came that she won, she tried to stab herself in the neck. She was close too, until something shocked her. Her body slumped to the side, her body paralyzed, and that's when the video went black.
Riley made two kills; one more than I did.
But, she's never witnessed a death of a family member; only I have.
A knock on the door shatters the silence, the sight of a Peacekeeper opening it snapping me out of my daze. Riley grabs my hand, pulls me towards the door, and I follow. As much as I'd love to pull my hand away and lock myself back in the room, I can't.
"Good morning," Riley says as she passes the Peacekeepers, her grip on my hand getting tighter.
As we step out onto the stage platform, where the escort and the Mayor already are, she lets go of my hand. I resist the urge to go grab it, shaking the thoughts from before out of my mind. I sit down to the left of Riley, the comfortable chair underneath me making me feel a little better about the situation.
"Hello, District Nine! I am Agatha, and I will be your escort this year!" The lady says, a little too loudly in the microphone, the sound of it making my ears hurt.
Walking over towards the reaping bowls, I get a flashback of the site of Cove running to the stage, volunteering. When I feel Riley touch my hand, I get another flashback, the sight of her being Reaped in my mind. I lean back into the chair, trying to rid my head of these thoughts. Distractions are the last thing I could use right now.
"Who should we start with – males or females?" She waits for a response, and once she gets not even a cough, she answers her own questions. "Males it is!"
Dipping her hand into the bowl, she pulls the first card her fingers touch, and as she brings it up, she drops it. She puts her hand back in the bowl, not grabbing the one she just dropped, but another one. I could only imagine the name on that kid, the boy that won't have to go into the Games now. Agatha opens the next card quickly to make up the time for dropping the other one, reading the name out loud.
"Joseph Echemik!"
My eyes scan the boy's area, looking for whoever this Joseph boy could be. A somewhat tall boy steps forward, beginning to walk up towards the stage slowly. He rubs his eye only once, definitely trying to keep himself together. Joseph fixes his hair, putting it behind his ears, and walks up to the stage silently. Agatha is already at the female's bowl, and after she looks Joseph up-and-down, she picks a card.
"Augusta Daveigh!"
The seventeen-year-old section shuffles, all of the girls spacing themselves out, leaving one girl in the center of them. She looks familiar for some reason, the sight of her blonde hair and blue eyes reminding me of something. She pulls up her shirt, still standing in place, and crosses her hands over her heart.
"Come on up, Augusta!"
At the sound of her name being repeated, Augusta slowly walks to the stage, the smile on her face morphing into something else. She grits her teeth at one point, and then bites her lip, and then it goes back to a smile. I can relate to the mixture of emotions she is feeling right now.
Augusta gets to the stage, and as Agatha reaches out her hand, she pushes it out of the way. She walks right past the escort, her shoulder bumping into Agatha's shoulder, and stands right next to Joseph.
In my mind, I want to go with Augusta, for the reason that she seems similar and that I can relate to her.
But, in my heart, I want to go with Joseph.
Or maybe I just don't want to mentor at all.
Asher Hadamik
28 Years Old – Victor of the 20th Hunger Games
District Ten Mentor
Ten years.
Ten years later and I still remember everything. Every single detail.
Every breath I took, every step I took, every kill I made.
Every year when it's time for the Reapings, my life changes for the day. I fall back into the mindset I had ten years ago, the vulnerable, defiant, and cold teenager I was. Looking back at it, I shouldn't have won, I really shouldn't. I was too deep into some grand scheme to defy the Capitol, to show them what I think.
But, I was wrong.
Being defiant and rebellious is one thing, but being opinionated and staying true to yourself is another. I learned that quickly in the arena, with Amelie and all. Once I met her, I knew that I had to change, and I came to some big realization. No matter how many years are put between me and the Games, I will always remember it all.
Especially Amelie, my ally, my friend, and my first love from Nine.
It's saddening, though, that the last time I saw her parents was during the Victory Parade. When you go to each District, thanking them, telling them how well their tributes did, and a bunch of other bullshit. I couldn't keep myself together during hers, knowing that I could have saved her.
It doesn't affect me as much. Her death, that is. It had to happen, and it did.
Then there was Seer, from District Seven. My one and only kill.
From time to time, I watch back at the way I fought in the arena. The things I did, where I went, and how I did things. It makes me laugh now, but at the time, it saved my life. I did what I had to do, which in one case, was killing. I rewind and replay that scene every time I watch it, letting it sink in.
Murdering isn't as easy as you think, especially when you had to go back to their District and talk about the victim.
I had trouble of thinking something to say, knowing that whatever I say is being broadcasted all over the country. My escort gave me some card to read off of, but I didn't think that was right. It didn't respect the tribute, the District, and the Capitol as a whole enough.
Not that I want to necessarily respect the Capitol, but now that I am a victor, I can't act the same way I used to.
Everything I own and care for is now in their hands.
And I've gotten used to it.
I am more careful now, with what I say and do. Every once in a while, I have to make a public appearance, which means walking around the District and interacting with everyone and such. It's not too bad, since I love talking to people and listening to them, but whenever I go back home, I have a weird feeling in my stomach.
I feel that the people really don't like me, since I went along with the Capitol's game.
That by me winning, I am just giving satisfaction to the Capitol.
Wolfram tells me to not worry, since he's been doing this longer than I have, but it still doesn't help. He's helped me with a lot, like how to manage my money and what to do with it, or other simple things like that. The bigger things, such as how to deal with what people say about me, how to cope with the memories of the Games, and other things, he really can't do much about. That's all up to me, now.
If Wolfram weren't here, and I had to go at this alone, I don't know what I'd do. I respect Wolfram just because he had to go through all of this alone, without anyone else here. He was District Ten's first victor and then came me; and it's been that way ever since.
At first, mentoring was hard for me. I wasn't sure what to tell the tributes, whether I should form a bond or relationship with them, or how big of a part I should played in their time in the Capitol. It got better as the years went on, but just not for the first two or three. Whenever I asked Wolfram about it, he didn't give me a definite answer, saying that I should figure it out on my own since we're all different people.
It makes sense. Confusing, but it makes sense.
"Could you could pass me that?" I ask Wolfram, pointing to a plate full of colorful desserts.
Wolfram slides the plate to me, a cake already in his mouth, some crumbs falling onto the table. He brushes them onto the ground, chucking a little bit, and reaches for another one. I take the pink one, first licking off the icing and then eating the cake.
"Only if life was as sweet as these, eh?" I joke, laughing at myself.
Only if.
"True that, Asher!" He says, taking another swig of the colorful liquid in his glass. "Care for some?"
I shake my head, letting him have the bottle all to himself. As much as I don't want another cake, I take one, letting myself indulge in something that I actually enjoy. Wolfram passes me the glass, and I let myself indulge some more, taking a sip of the liquid.
I pucker my lips at the tanginess of it. "What is that?"
Wolfram throws his head back, a guffaw escaping his mouth. "Who knows?!"
"I think that's enough now," I say, taking the bottle away from him. "Go get ready, anyway. It's almost time."
"Get ready for what?" Wolfram asks, his voice shaking from holding back laughter.
I shake my head, trying not to laugh at him. "The Reapings."
"Oh, those are today!" He stands up, the crumbs on his pants dropping to the ground.
Whether or not he is joking, I just don't know. He isn't an active alcoholic or anything, but at times, he likes to have a drink – or ten. It doesn't matter to me, I'll let him do whatever he wants, but I just don't need anything to happen to him. Whenever he drinks, he says some… risqué things, and if the Capitol heard it, they wouldn't be happy.
That's why I always have to be near him, especially when he's drinking.
He's got my back, and I got his.
Wolfram comes out from the bathroom, in a new outfit completely, looking much more refined than his other one. I look down at mine, just shrugging it off; we'll only be outside for a little bit. He stumbles a little bit, knocking something over on the end table, and doesn't care to pick it up.
"Let's go," he says, adding extra emphasis on the 'o'. "I heard the trains are nicer this year."
Stepping out into the hallway, I notice a few Peacekeepers, knowing that they won't be too happy either if Wolfram's drunk. I wrap my arm around his waist, keeping him up-right and making sure he is walking properly. We pass the Peacekeepers, and I nod at them, not expecting a response back.
"Hey-" Wolfram starts, but I tighten my grip around his waist, shutting him up.
"Not now," I whisper, imagining what he would have said.
The doors to the stage are already open, and I lead us both through them, the bright sun making Wolfram groan. I place him down on his chair, and I sit to his right, still keeping my on him, keeping him upwards. I don't need him looking intoxicated, especially on television.
"Wolfram Swath and Asher Hadamik, everyone!"
The escort, a male this year, holds his hand out towards us, the silence following it making me smirk. He blinks a few times, taking in that no one is clapping or whistling for us, and goes to the female's bowl. He dips his hand in, picking up the first card his finger touches, reading the name out loud.
"Do we have an Astrid Pallon?" He says into the microphone, repeating himself a few more times. "Astrid, Astrid, Astrid!"
A young girl comes out from the girl's section, probably around fifteen, and stops in the aisle for a quick moment. She fixes her ponytail and pats down her outfit. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and I could only imagine what she is thinking about. She's probably thinking the same things that every tribute thinks at a time like this.
When Astrid makes it up to the stage, the escort hugs her, causing her to squirm a little. He lets go of her, guiding her right behind him. The escort walks over towards the male bowl now, grabbing a card out of it.
"Jaggary Fowl!" He says, repeating the name once again. "Jaggary, Jaggary, Jaggary!"
A boy steps out from the fourteen year old section, his face full of emotion. He looks angry, with a mix of shock and discontent. He walks forward, his hands in a fist, keeping them tight to his hand. He walks up, stands right in front of the escort, and says something to him.
"Pity you couldn't predict that!" He says, his voice a little shaky.
The escort steps backwards, letting Jaggary take his own place next to Astrid. They look at each other, not exchanging any words or gestures, and then look back at the escort. He stands in front of them, holds their hand up in the air, and struggles to speak into the microphone clipped onto his collar.
"There you go, District Ten! Astrid Pallon and Jaggary Fowl – the tributes who will represent District Ten in this years' Hunger Games!"
Wolfram mumbles something, but I pinch him softly, keeping him quiet again. He probably has no idea what's going on right now, but I do. It doesn't matter much to me who I individually mentor, since I think it matters more when the mentors come together, as well as the tributes.
To me, it's a team effort.
One that you cannot go at alone.
Seeder
22 Years Old – Victor of the 24th Hunger Games
District Eleven Mentor
I'm sorry.
It's the only thing that comes to mind anymore.
I'm sorry for the things I've made people watch, for the things I've done to others, and for the person I've become. I'm sorry for everything.
People say it doesn't matter, that it's fine, and that it had to happen. But, I don't agree with it. It does matter, it is not fine, and it did not have to happen. None of it did and I should not feel obligated to say sorry to everything.
What will a sorry do, anyways?
A word can't fix a wound, can it? It can't fill the void of the loss of something, can it? It doesn't mean anything in the long-run. Nothing can fix it anymore.
Especially not some apology.
Running my hand through her dark brown hair, I begin to braid it, trying to make it look the best I can. I pull it too hard at times, causing her to yelp and pull her head forward, giggling a little afterwards. I continue braiding, not letting myself think about what today is.
What today could possibly mean to me.
"Does it look good so far?" I ask, holding up a mirror to her.
"It looks perfect," Amaryllis replies, a wide smile on her face.
The sight of it just makes me even sadder, and I try to push those thoughts aside. "Anything else you want me to do?"
"Could you put the ribbon on me, please?" She asks, rummaging through her box of ribbons. "The yellow one!"
"Of course," I say, taking the ribbon from her.
I pat her dress down, fixing the strand of fabric on her waist. I open the pin on the back of the ribbon, place it on her, and close it up. Fixing it so it's straight on her waist, I try to avoid pricking her with the needle, not wanting to feel any pain. She spins around in a circle, giggling uncontrollably. She begins to hum a soft tune, the tune sticking in my mind and just making me feel worse.
As much as I want to push it aside, I can't.
No matter how much I try to ignore it, to push it to the side, and to hope it's not true or reality, it is. All of it is.
Amaryllis is finally twelve. The year she begins where she can be Reaped.
The thing I've not wanted to happen since she's born is finally here, and I can't do anything about it. Even if I'm a victor, it doesn't matter, since they are still eligible. The worst part is that if she gets Reaped, I won't even be able to volunteer. I'd be her mentor, and once she steps in that arena, that'd be it.
As much as I don't want to admit it, she wouldn't make it. She wouldn't even make it five minutes in there.
Amaryllis is too innocent, sweet, and young. She isn't ready for it, and I want to protect her from that. My mother and father tell me it all the time, that she won't be get Reaped, but they don't know. The Capitol would do something like that; they really would. As much as I love my sister, I just wish she wasn't twelve yet or maybe that she was older.
At times, I wish I wasn't as a victor, so I could volunteer for her just in case.
There's a knock at the door, and Amaryllis runs to it, but I catch her quickly. I don't need her approach by any Peacekeepers now; she's still quite frightened and intimidated by them. One even said something to her once, that they hope she gets Reaped because she's my sister, but luckily, she didn't understand what it meant. She came home, told me, and I was immediately infuriated.
There wasn't much I could do, so all I say was: 'I'm sorry.'
See? The word just keeps coming back to me.
Opening the door slowly, the sight of the dark hand on the doorknob making me smile. I open the door all the way, giving Grove a quick hug, and then let Amaryllis see him. She runs towards him, and Grove kneels down, picking her up in his arms. He lets her down, revealing a box in his back pocket.
"This is for you," he says, a smile on both of their faces.
Amaryllis grabs the box, rips the ribbon off of it, and tosses the lid to the side. She squeals at the sight of it, and I move to the side, trying to take a peak of what Grove got her. Inside, there's a dark orange ribbon, one with words inscribed on it. It seems to be her name sewed in with red string. She shakes with it in her hands, looking up at me. Grove always gets her gifts or something, and that's one reason why I appreciate him so much.
He really is like an uncle to her and a brother to me.
"Can you please put this one on me?" She squeals, holding the ribbon up to Grove. "Thank you so much!"
Kneeling down, I bring her towards me, taking off the ribbon already on her. I look up at Grove, a certain look in his eye, knowing he's thinking what I am. I finish up with her quickly, replacing the yellow ribbon with the new one, and stand back up. Amaryllis goes back to looking at herself in the mirror, pretending to be some princess.
"Are you doing alright?" Grove asks, soft enough for Amaryllis not to hear.
Shrugging, I try to hold back the tears. "No, I'm really not. What if she's Reaped? What if…"
Grove places his hand on top of mine, his smile making me feel better. "I don't know what the future holds, but she won't, I promise. The Capitol wouldn't do that, or at least I don't think."
He doesn't think.
"It would get publish backlash if she were to be Reaped. Everyone knows that she's your sister, and the Capitol can't risk it like that."
Grove's words make me feel somewhat better and more hopeful, but it doesn't do much. Anything can happen, even her being Reaped. There isn't much I can do about it.
A Peacekeeper stands in the doorway, waiting to escort Amaryllis to the twelve-year-old female section. She prances towards him, kissing Grove and I on the cheek, and then leaves the room. I stand up, figuring that we should get ready to go as well, and Grove grabs my hand.
"Don't worry, Seeder. Everything will be fine."
Grove and I walk side-by-side through the hallway, leading right to the stage. We step outside, the bright colored escort making me smile. Grove rolls his eyes, mumbling something to himself, and takes a seat. I sit down, grabbing his hand, and we sit there, awaiting the Reapings.
"Females first!" She exclaims, taking her time as she walks over towards the female's bowl.
My heart begins to race a little, knowing that this is where Amaryllis is in danger. This is where it all could change.
She picks a card out and opens it, the anticipation making me feel light-headed. "Averil Disoto!"
I sigh, letting my shoulder relax. Leaning back on the chair, I feel Grove grip my hand tighter and I can see him looking at me. As much as I want to smile, I can't, since I know that this girl is nearly the same age as Amaryllis is.
There's a loud gasp in the audience, followed by a soft crying sound. I find the girl in the fifteen-year-old section, her body frozen with shock. She begins to cry louder now, the girls near her stepping to the side, letting the Peacekeepers come in between them. The Peacekeepers pick Averil up, carrying her right to the stage. They let her down at the stairs of the stage, and Averil wipes her eyes, slowly walking up the stairs. She stands behind the escort, her crossed behind her back.
"Now, we shall pick the male for this year!"
The escort walks over towards the male bowl, picking up a card quickly, feeling it with her fingertips. "Mauer Allister!"
The sight of a white boy coming into the aisle surprises me, knowing that there aren't too many of them. All eyes are on him, and he looks a little confused, taking a slow first step towards the step. He blinks a few more times, and then walks towards the stage at a quicker pace, a little too quickly if you think about it. He probably just wants to get it over with.
Just like I do; another few weeks of mentoring is ahead me. At least I can find solace knowing that Amaryllis didn't get Reaped.
But, aren't these children's families worrying as well?
What makes me different than them?
I… I don't know.
The only words I can think of that I would say to their families are the words I hate the most.
I'm sorry.
Niobe Atilla
21 Years Old
Capitol-Assigned Mentor
"Here I am!" I exclaim, waving my hands in the air. "I have arrived!"
Stepping down from the train platform, I stumble a little bit, my heels falling into the cracks of the cobble road. I rebalance myself, now watching wherever I step, taking my time each time I go forward. Extending both of my hands, my two servants grab them, basically lifting me up. I walk with them, nearly floating, to the sidewalk that isn't cobble.
"Ah, that's much better!"
The excitement of being in a new District – one that I've never, ever been in before – overwhelms me, my feet walking even more without much thought. I walk through random alleyways, cross random roads, and go up random stairs. All of the buildings here are black with some gray, and everything else is just so… rustic.
That's the word – rustic. And antique.
Why has no one told me about this place yet? It's just so lovely!
"Where's the closest bakery? A jeweler? Or, or, a weaver!" I squeal, my head spinning around, trying to take everything in while I have the chance. "I'd just love some authentic goods from this District."
No one answers me, which upsets me. The reason I came here was to shop, see the sights, and to explore. The Capitol mentioned something about being a mentor, but they said once I get back I can have a shopping spree. Honestly, I'm not too sure with what 'mentoring' means, or who I'll even be mentoring, but I know one thing – I could use that shopping spree. All of the clothes I bought last season are so drab now, and I cannot become the girl known with the ugly clothes back there.
I have a reputation to uphold, and this 'mentoring' program will be one way to help myself.
As we – a few Peacekeepers, my two servants, and me – continue walking, I drift towards the bulkier Peacekeeper, his tanned skin behind his mask, his bulging muscles, and his toned body intriguing me. Well, if anyone told me District Twelve has some of the hunkiest men, then I would have mentored earlier.
Much, much earlier.
As I get closer to him, I throw my arm around his shoulders, bringing my hip next to his. I lean my head on his shoulder-pad, the cold metal giving me the chills. I try to look up the mask to see what's underneath it, but I can't see anything except for his tanned skin. A man of mystery, I like that.
"What's your name, cutie?" I flirt, speaking in my most seductive voice.
He ignores my question, which only interests me more. He's mysterious and cold, even better. I might just have to take this one home with me after all this mentoring. I lean in closer, trying to make my voice sound even more seductive.
"I might need someone to protect me back in the Capitol from all those criminals. Would you be willing?" I ask, winking at him. "I'd pay you very well."
"No can do, ma'am," he finally replies, his voice just as cold as he is.
Whatever his name is, he has me head-over-heels already. Now that I think of it, some heels would be lovely, but I just still have to find that store. We've been walking for a while now and all I've seen is some shacks, small alleyways, and garbage. Not one single shoe, necklace, or donut.
Where's the good stuff? Besides the Peacekeeper, that is.
Letting go of the Peacekeeper, simply because he's not playing along with my flirting or giving me what I want, I go to another one. This one is female I assume, from the chest and hair and all, but whatever. I'll take anything I get at this point.
"Hi, my name is Niobe! What's your name?"
This one actually gives me something, looking at me from the corner of her eye. I stand next to her, my arm touching her arm braces, and I interlock them. I begin to babble to her, not really wanting a verbal response, since the looks she gives me is satisfaction enough.
"District Twelve is lovely. Do you like it? I do!"
The Peacekeeper's head stays forward, except for the little glances she gives me occasionally. We turn down a corner, the road we go on a little nicer than the others one; this one is paved, has street lights, and a sidewalk.
"I'm still not sure what this mentoring thing is, but I'm excited for it. Have you ever mentored for it?"
I'm actually curious about this one, but all I get is another look. I shrug, thinking of what this mentoring thing really is. My father is a head Peacekeeper back in the Capitol, and when I was there, I overheard him talking about it to my mother. District Twelve had no victors to mentor, or something like that, and needed a Capitol replacement. Then, they said something about the Hunger Games, and I know everything about the Games.
I am the perfect choice for the mentor replacement.
When I went to my father, I asked him to let me be the replacement, and he didn't take me seriously. I kept asking him, and once he got the hint, he went to his boss or whatever and got me the job. I had a small interview about it, and they asked me questions about the Games and what I know about them. I told them I knew a lot about them.
I know the Capitol runs them, children are in it, and that it's some Game. That's basically all of it, I think.
Either way, I'm excited. Ecstatic, even.
I'll be on television, on the radio, and on video. People all over Panem will know who I am, so I must look my best. From the looks of it, District Twelve people aren't in the best shape; their clothes, hairstyles, accessories, and whatever else. They're lacking, but I bet it's because they want to reflect the District.
Rustic, antique, and traditional.
"Where are we going?" I ask, the excitement churning inside me.
I pick up the pace, walking down the street faster, leaving my people behind me. As I walk down a small hill, I see a large building in front of me, the color of it making my head hurt. It's all black, made from some dark stone, and the windows are all covered by red curtains. There are some silver accents to the building, but they're hard to notice. The District Twelve emblem is on the top part of the building made from a shiny gold, and that's the only thing I like about it.
It seems that District Twelve isn't as pretty as I was hoping it would be.
"Hurry up, everyone! Let's get this show on the road!"
There is a large group of people in front of the building already, with the kids it looks like in front of the stage, while the adults are behind them. There are several Peacekeepers in all white too, and when I look towards the doors, I notice something else. There is a female on the stage, dressed in all pink, with a pink wig to match it. Her skin is even a shade of pink, the sight of her making me feel mad.
I want to look like that. I dressed up in all simple colors – browns, oranges, yellows – to match the District. Or, at least, what I thought would have matched the District.
I pout, crossing my arms over my chest, not wanting to walk any further. The female Peacekeeper comes up behind me, pushing me forward a little bit, and I whine to her. She looks so much better than I do, and she isn't even the mentor. I don't even know what she is supposed to be.
"I don't like her," I utter, stomping my foot on the ground. "She is stealing the show."
Reluctantly walking through the gates, the Peacekeepers lead me towards the outside of the sections. I push their hands off of me, strutting towards the aisle. If she wants to steal the spotlight, I'll take it back. I put my hands on my hips, letting my hair flow in the breeze. I strut down the aisle, hoping that everyone is looking at me.
"And here she is – Niobe Atilla!"
I clap for myself, expecting others to clap with me, but I get nothing. It offends me a little, but I get over it, taking my spot on the stage. I'm supposed so sit on some chair, but it doesn't look clean, so I choose not to. I prefer standing, anyway; it gives me a chance to show off my body more.
"Ladies first!" She says, her words confusing me.
Do you think she's picking the winner for a prize?
The lady puts her hand in a bowl, taking out a card from it, and reads the name. "Fawn Brett!"
A girl begins to walk forward, her hands shaking and her eyes a little wet, and I wonder why she's so upset. She just won something, and she's acting like a child. As Fawn approaches the stage, a girl runs for her, but is caught by a Peacekeeper. The girl screams louder and louder, and Fawn wraps her arms around the girl's head as she's in the Peacekeepers arm.
"No, no, I'll be fine," Fawn screams, reaching for the girl as she gets pulled away.
Fawn turns around, walking towards the stage, only looking back once to see if the girl's still there. I bet the girl is trying to steal her spot as the winner of the prize. I'd be upset too if someone won and I didn't.
The lady is at the other bowl, a card in her hand. "Avis Lowery!"
A hunky boy steps into the aisle, his muscles and defined jawline making me gush. He freezes a little bit, and I just want to throw a rope at him, dragging him closer to me. Avis is such a nice name, too.
Screw the Peacekeeper, I want him. I don't like the girl, anyway.
But, I wonder what they won? Do you think it's a life-time subscription to a magazine? Or maybe a shopping spree?
Or… wait, wait! I got it!
They won a once-in-a-life-time chance: A meet-and-greet with me, Niobe Atilla, herself.
If that's the case, why do they look so ungrateful?
Author's Note:
Yeah, that's it! All of the 'Reapings'. There will be a poll up that you can vote for the tributes that stood out most to you from the Blog/Reapings [4 tributes].
Voting will be great since it'll show me how everyone feels.
Regarding the Capitol, I'll tell you how I do my POVs and whatnot. There are nine Capitol chapters, each with three POVs per chapter. Some tributes get double POV, but that doesn't really mean anything; it just depends on how people like them, react to them, what they do for the story, etc.
*Questions*
What tributes stood out to you? Mentors?
What was your favorite District in this chapter?
I'm going to ask another question, whether you like it or not.
If you were in the Hunger Games, what weapon would you use?