District Three Female
April Stout, 14
April wakes to a sudden shift of weight on the bed and a soft hand stroking her cheek.
"Good morning, my little sunshine," Her mother, Ursa, croons. April blinks groggily, the glow of her mom's pale skin barely visible in the near-darkness of the bedroom.
"Good morning!" April answers. She attempts to sit up and hug her, but her younger brother, Arthur, is still asleep and clinging to her torso like glue. It feels like his little body is a million degrees. Sharing a bed with a mini-heater is nice during the winter months, but seeing as it is July, April feels like she could overheat any second.
"Hey, booger, get off," She says, moving to rub his head but hesitating as she thinks of how sweaty it will be. Gross. "You're so hot, I'm going to explode."
Arthur wriggles a bit and holds even tighter, giggling.
"Let go of her, Arthur," Ursa chides. "We know you're awake!"
Ursa reaches toward him, and begins to tickle his bare stomach. He howls in laughter, releasing April and scrambling to escape their mother's clutches. As soon as she is free, April pulls back the sheets, letting out a dramatic sigh as the cool air hits her legs. Before she can thank her mom for rescuing her, she is startled by a thud, as her brother rolls off the side of the bed and onto the floor. Ursa scoops him up as he begins to cry, silencing him with a squeeze.
"No crying!" April exclaims. "Pain makes you stronger, but crying only makes you sad."
"You sound just like your father." Ursa laughs. "Do you remember any of the other silly things he used to say?"
"I don't think so. Only stuff like 'Go on bed, April' and 'Don't touch your brother, April' and 'For Snow's sake, do ever stop talking, April?'"
Her smile falters. It's been three years since her father, Roth, died. She doesn't think about him much; she likes to think of happy things, and a lot of what she remembers of him is sad. On days like the Reaping she always feels his loss more profoundly than usual. He was there to see her first Reaping, but died only weeks later. As hard as it was for him to speak, he still tried to comfort her, telling the story of his own first Reaping. His name was in the bowl not three times, like April's, but seven. Knowing the odds were against him, but he still lived to meet mom and have her and Salus, made April feel a little less scared.
"I miss him, too." Ursa whispers, pulling April into a hug. Her mother smells like factory smoke and cheap soap, which doesn't sound like it would be pleasant but it's familiar and makes her feel safe. April holds her mom tight, wondering how, with hundreds of thousands of moms in the world, somehow she was lucky enough to end up with the best one.
Arthur, still in Ursa's arms and now squeezed between mother and daughter, ruins the moment by squawking: "I gotta pee!"
April breaks away from the hug, and Ursa puts Arthur on the floor, giving him a pat on the behind as he runs out of the room, presumably to the toilet. Ursa leaves to make breakfast, telling April to start getting ready. April pulls open her bottom drawer, carefully removing her Reaping dress, still folded neatly from last year.
The yellowed lace pinches under her armpits and is too tight across her chest, but save for the small discomfort, it's as lovely as it was the year previous. The pale blue fabric matches her eyes, and makes her ginger hair stand out. She twirls in front of the cracked mirror, and smiles. It might not fit next year, so she should enjoy it while she can.
April takes a scrap of faded plaid fabric off her dresser. She doesn't have any pockets, so she pushes it down the front of her dress, right above her heart. It's a piece of the shirt her father wore when he died. Her mother and brother them one, too. It's morbid, sure, but in a family that's too poor to own a camera or pictures, it's all they have to remember him by.
Now that she is alone, April realizes how eerily quiet it is. The familiar hum of machinery and the roaring of passing trains outside the apartment has all but ceased. She knows some of the factories shut down the morning of the Reaping so the workers can be with their families, but the silence still makes her uneasy.
Thankfully, it doesn't last long. "Toast is done!" Her mother calls.
April sprints into the kitchen to claim her slice before Arthur uses up all the butter. It's not real butter, to be exact, but she likes to pretend. It almost works, if she ignores the plasticky aftertaste.
"Remember when Wiress won and we got to have real jam?" April asks as she munches her breakfast.
"You don't remember that!" Arthur says. "You were only a baby!"
"I do too remember! It was blueberry!"
"You don't even know what a blueberry is! You've never had one!"
"Let's not fight today, alright?" Ursa says, wiping pretend-butter off Arthur's cheek. He's five, but still eats like a toddler most of the time. "It's the Reaping day. Be nice to your sister."
April wants to talk more about the blueberry jam, but she listens to her mother. Ursa works afternoons, evenings, and long nights to take care of them. April knows to be grateful that she wakes up to see them every morning, even though she is tired and could be sleeping. It's the only time they get to see her, so April is on her best behavior.
She decides to change the subject. "I hope we have another victor this year. And I hope there will be lots of fruit in the parcels! Things like blueberries, and..." She pauses, struggling to recall the name of the fruit. She's only ever read about them in books, anyway. Everything in Three is artificial, unless you're rich enough. "Mum, what are the little purple things?"
"Grapes, sunshine. In the District One, they make them into wine."
"I wish we lived in District Eleven, so we could have all the blueberries and grapes and other things we wanted!" April says. She thinks about what it would be like to climb trees and eat real fruits all day. It sounds like more fun than sitting in a desk and taking tests.
Ursa frowns. "No, you don't. Remember what you read in school? The outer districts are very poor because they are disloyal to the Capitol."
"Poorer than us?" Arthur pipes up, mumbling around a mouthful of toast.
"Probably." Ursa says. "Chew and swallow before speaking."
"Oh." April says. Her mood is dampened only momentarily before she brightens up again. Like water off a duck's back, her father used to say, though neither them have ever seen or will ever see a duck in their whole lives. What it means, he told her, is that the bad things in life don't weigh down on April like they do on other people. He says it's because she's special, but some of the teachers say she's just "simple," which is a nicer word than dumb, even though they mean pretty much the same thing. They also call her "high-strung" and "hard-working" and "enthusiastic," so even if she is dumb and doesn't get very good grades, it's okay, because she's a dozen other good things.
Three sharp raps on the door to the apartment draw April's attention. She stands up, swinging it open to welcome her friend, Lennox.
"Good morning, April," He says formally. "Good morning, Mrs. Stout. Pleasure to see you."
Ursa sighs, but returns the greeting with a smile. April stifles a laugh. Lennox has lived next door to the Stouts since he was born, but still insists on calling Ursa a Mrs., like she's a stranger or an old lady. Ursa has long since given up on trying to get him to change.
"Nice tie, dork," April says, tugging it so it's skewed to the right. With a huff, he readjusts it to its former state. He's smiling, though. April knows he likes it when she teases him.
"Would you like some toast, Lennox?" Ursa offers. She hands Arthur his textbook, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead. He's only in kindergarten, so he has one book. Once he's April's age, he'll have to carry a whole bag of them.
"No thank you, Mrs. Stout," Lennox says. "You are very kind, but we will be late if we don't leave soon."
"They won't punish us if we are, though." April observes. "Because it's the Reaping Day."
"If school is only until 8:30 today, why do we have to go?" Arthur whines.
"Two hours is still enough to learn something!" Ursa says. "Now get going, all of you! The Peacekeepers may not come after you for being late today, but I will!"
April does a mock salute. "Yes, Ma'am!"
Ursa playfully swats her and plants a big wet kiss on her cheek before pushing them all out the door.
District Three Male
Halon Baxter, 18
Halon brings his pen down, only to scratch out what he has written once again. He's been at it for an hour, and all he's got to show for it are a dozen crossed out apologies and a couple holes from when his pen tore right through the paper. Everything he writes sounds so wrong, and he's out of ideas. Not for the first time today, he curses himself for putting this off until the last minute. Normally, he has no trouble managing his time and getting things done, but this last farewell is something he had almost planned on skipping for the longest time. As the Reaping drew nearer, though, he realized that his family at least deserved an explanation for what he was about to do. So he tried to write a speech.
If he wants them to forgive him, to understand, and to be able to live the rest of their lives in peace, he doesn't need a speech. He needs a games-damned miracle.
Zero, lying faithfully at his side, raises her head and barks, signaling someone approaching the door. Halon places his hands on the desk and pushes himself into standing position, brushing the papers into the trash.
"Can I come in?" His uncle, Mikas, asks through the door.
"Sure."
Mikas shuffles inside, facing the floor with his hands in his pockets. As the door clicks shut behind him, he sighs, looking up at Halon. There are tears in his eyes.
Halon has been close to his uncle since he was young. Mikas owns a company that develops virtual reality programs for the Capitol, and Halon always enjoyed watching him work. He's a good man, and he is the only person Halon has told about his plans because he knew he would understand and respect his decision.
"Please tell me you're not going to try to change my mind." Halon says. "I'm going to need your help down there."
Mikas sighs, wiping away an escaped tear with the palm of his hand. His voice is rough, as if he's been crying for a while. "I'm not, kiddo. I've got your back. Always."
Halon has never been the weepy type, but seeing his uncle in such a state makes it hard to keep a straight face. He manages to maintain his composure, and gives his uncle a hug.
"Thank you." Halon says. "For everything."
"You're a brave man, Hal. Braver than I'll ever be. I hope you find what you're looking for."
They pull apart, both of them teary-eyed. That was the easy part. It won't go nearly as well with the rest of his family, he's sure.
Before they leave, Hal looks around his study one last time. This room has been his home for the past couple years, especially so in the last few months as he began to isolate himself, hoping to ease the blow when the time came. It's strange, knowing this may be the last time he ever sees it.
They make their way down to the living room in silence, neither of them having much else to say. Hal grows more nervous with every step they take, until they finally turn the corner and greet their relatives in the living room.
It's a big room, for a big family. Halon shares the house with his mothers, Sira, and Mauve, and Mikas and his five daughters. The triplets are only three, not yet school age, while the older twins are thirteen. They're sitting on the couch, braiding each other's hair in preparation for the Reaping. Everyone is in their finest clothes, including Hal himself. As one of the wealthier families in Three, there has never been a need to take tesserae, so Hal and his cousins don't have to worry about having their name pulled.
"Hal, there you are!" Mauve says from an armchair by the window. Sira sits in her lap, smiling as her wife massages her shoulders. "Come say goodbye to the girls before they leave for school."
Hal has to tell them now, or not at all. "Actually... I've got something to say to everyone."
"Oh, a Reaping day speech?" Sira says. "Go ahead, honey, we're all listening."
The room quiets down. All eyes are on him, waiting for him to begin. Hal swallows his inhibitions and speaks. "I'm dying. You know that. They told me two years ago that I had four years to live, if I was lucky, and the process of decay has already begun. First my muscle tissue, and my bones, and then my organs, withering away until I finally die."
Sira looks confused. "We know that, honey. We're grateful for every day we have with you."
"I know. But that's not how I want to go out. That's not how I want to be remembered," Hal takes a deep breath. "And that's why I'm volunteering today."
"What?" Mauve looks at him blankly, struggling to compute what he has said. "Honey, I don't- is this a joke?"
"It isn't. Whoever gets called today, I'm stepping up and taking their place."
"We had no idea you were this unhappy." Sira says, rising from her seat. Oh, Snow, she's crying. "You don't have to do this, honey. There are other options. I know the treatments have been hard, and if you-"
"No, you don't get it. I'm not trying to kill myself. This isn't about the treatments." Halon interrupts. "This is about being... something, something more than wasted potential. All my life, I've had so much potential. I was going to be the best scientist this district has ever seen! Then I was diagnosed and they told me I would be nothing. Nobody. This is my last chance to be something great."
"You already are something great!" Mauve says as she stands to go console her wife. "You're our son, our proudest achievement. We're not ready to see you die yet, honey. Please, just drop it, you're upsetting your mother."
"I'm not changing my mind. I've been planning for this for almost two years, watching games footage, memorizing statistics, crafting strategic plans for different arena types. I'm better prepared than any Three in history to win these games." Hal says. "I have a chance. Anything the arena has in store for me can't possibly be worse than what I'll be facing down the road."
That last part isn't true, at least not entirely. Hal has watched every Hunger Games in recent history, hoping to learn from the mistakes of countless others, and in the process has witnessed more horrors than anyone should in a lifetime. He's seen the unforgiving arena give children slow deaths through dehydration, starvation, and infection, and swift ends from tsunamis, earthquakes, and volcanic eruptions. He's watched deadly muttations, engineered to be more vicious and abominable than anything found in the natural world, tearing live tributes limb from limb. Arguably the most terrifying of all are the careers. They're trained, ferocious, killing machines, with no sense of empathy whatsoever. After watching Enobaria's games, the goriest in history, he began to doubt that they were human at all. If the odds are at all in his favor, he'll at least be spared a slow, agonizing death being tortured and mutilated by a bloodthirsty career.
"Wait, Dad, is Hal really going to do it?" Mikas' oldest daughter asks. "Is he nuts?"
"Far from it." Mikas says. "He's a hero. He's making a sacrifice, so some kid in Three can live a long, full life."
"And what about Halon's life?" Sira snaps. "What about my little boy?"
"I already have a death sentence." Hal says, trying his hardest to hold back tears. It's impossible. How can he watch his mothers cry and not cry along with them? "Adding another one on top of it isn't going to make a difference to me."
"But it will to someone else. Someone else, and their parents." Mikas adds. "He'll be saving their life."
Sira is sobbing, now, hurling accusations at her brother while simultaneously pleading for Hal to change his mind. It kills Hal to see his moms like this. He's got to get out of here.
"I- I'm going to go," Hal says, slowly backing away. "I'll... see you after the Reaping."
He leaves, not looking back once, even as his mother screams for him to stay.
District Three Female
April Stout, 14
There is only time for April's first two classes, Science and Mathematics, before they are all let out of school and herded onto the trains heading for the town square. April stands with Lennox and some other kids their age. One of them, a girl named Maxine, is clutching a wrinkled paper to her chest and crying. April barely knows her, but doesn't like seeing her upset.
"You'll be alright," April says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Your name is only in there a couple of times, and there's so many kids in Three! I'm sure you won't get picked."
"That's not what I'm worried about!" Maxine wails, shoving the paper into April's hands. "Look at it! I only got ninety-one percent! At this rate, I won't even qualify to take the Exam, much less pass it!"
April stares down at the number, stamped in red by some grading machine. She has never scored above an eighty in her life, which makes Maxine's grade look incredible in comparison, but with the Exam to worry about, April understands her concern. The Exam is everything in District Three. It's ten hours long, taken over a period of two days, and has hundreds of questions. Every sixteen-year-old who qualifies to take it, and passes, gets to continue in school until nineteen, when they'll get some high-paying job as a researcher in a lab or something. Everyone else goes straight into the factories. April's parents, grandparents, and probably even great-grandparents were all factory workers, and she has no doubt that she will follow in their footsteps. Maxine is different, though. She's a genius, and has a real chance of being something important someday.
"You can't let one grade get you down! You've scored near-perfect on all the other tests." April reassures her. "The Exam is years away. You're the smartest person I know, you'll be fine. Breathe. Smile. And try to stop crying, you're gonna be on camera soon!"
Maxine sighs, wiping away her tears as the train comes to a stop. "Thanks, April. You're such a sweetheart."
The doors open, and any response April might have had is drowned out by a hundred shuffling feet as they all exit the train and file into lines to be identified and sorted into their age groups. It's like being on a production line; stab, scan, check, move along, repeat. Finally, it's April's turn to have her finger pricked, and of course it stings, but it bleeds a lot, which is strange. Once she's moved into her roped-off section, she sticks it in her mouth and sucks on it, hoping to staunch the bleeding, but it's no use.
"Do you have any tissue?" April asks the girl to her left, who shakes her head. The girl on her right doesn't have anything, either, so April keeps her finger in her mouth throughout the Capitol video and speech. She doesn't want to get any blood on her dress.
"Are you ready, District Three?" The escort shouts, trying to get the crowd excited. It's a lost cause; in the five minutes it took to get through the speech, the whole crowd has grown hot and cranky. The heat is relentless today, even more so than usual. April finds herself growing impatient with this whole process, which is unlike her.
Sensing the crowd's energy, the escort skips the theatrics and dips her hand into the glass bowl, pulling out a single paper slip. "Your female tribute for the 66th Hunger Games is... April Stout!"
April's finger falls from her mouth with a loud pop as her jaw drops.
That's her name. That's her, she's going into the games. She takes one step forward, but it feels like her shoes are filled with lead. She doesn't want to go. She wants to watch Arthur grow up, and grow up herself and have a family. A family that she can work for and love as hard as her mother works for and loves her, even if it means long days and longer nights and factory smoke that turns your lungs to mush. She wants a future.
April doesn't want to die, but she's got to start moving forward before the Peacekeepers come after her and drag her up to the stage, and maybe kill her family for putting them through the trouble. So she walks, trembling hard but not crying, all the way onto the stage. The escort helps move her into position, smiling big and fake even as her make-up melts off her face in the heat.
April faces the crowd, squinting through the hot desert sun like dozens of little girls before her. It always has to be someone, doesn't it?
District Three Male
Halon Baxter, 18
They call a ginger-haired girl in a dress that's too small for her as the female tribute. Definitely not ally material, but Halon wasn't planning to team up with his district partner, anyway. He already has the brains, and he needs to find some outlier with the brawn.
If he can't manage to find a suitable ally, his chances of survival will be cut in half- and that's just one of many variables he has to worry about. His mind buzzes as he goes over his plans, his odds, trying to convince himself that the benefits of volunteering outweigh the consequences. He somehow manages to miss the name of the male tribute that is chosen, but a piercing wail from the twelve-year-old section shakes him out of his daze. It's a young boy, hardly more than a child, which is the best he could have asked for. He'll look like a hero, now, stepping up and taking his place. In the eyes of the Capitol, anyway. The rest of the district will probably see it as a suicide.
"Any volunteers?" The escort asks. From the tone of her voice, it's clear she doesn't expect there to be any.
"I volunteer!" Halon shouts, raising his hand as he does, so the cameras can find him quickly. His heart is beating a million miles a minute. Maybe it's because he's anxious, or he's been standing in the sun too long, but he's starting to feel dangerously woozy.
The young boy on the stage drops to his knees, sobbing impossibly harder. His words are unintelligible, but if Halon had to guess, he's thanking him. A woman far out in the crowd screams. Whether it's Halon's mother or this boy's is impossible to tell.
"What a wonderful surprise! Come on up onto the stage, then." The escort says. She turns to the Reaped boy, now freed of his death sentence, and shoos him away. "You can go, now. Go on."
Halon begins his procession in to the stage, trying to ignore the bewildered whispers of the crowd. It's somehow even hotter up once he gets up there. This had better be quick, or Hal is at serious risk of collapsing from heat stroke, as some people in the crowd have surely done by now.
The escort shoves the microphone into his face, almost lacerating his cheek with her nails. "What's your name, young man? And how old are you?"
"Halon Baxter." He says. Another gasp runs through the crowd; that's a surname almost everyone in Three knows. "I'm eighteen."
"Well, Halon, I think I speak for everyone when I say I can't wait to learn more about you." She says. "At a later time, then. District Three, I present to you: your tributes for the 66th Hunger Games!"
District Three Female
April Stout, 14
April starts crying as soon as she's in the Justice Building, but she's only alone in the room for a couple seconds before her mom comes storming in, carrying a sobbing Arthur on her hip even though he's too big for that. Ursa wraps her free arm around her.
"Oh, sunshine, my brave little girl," Ursa whispers. She's not crying, but from her voice April can tell she's going to. "I love you so much, so so much, I'm sorry I can't save you from this."
"I love you too, Mom." April says. "It's okay. Lennox can watch Arthur after school when you're at work, he promised me. It was a couple years ago, I don't know if he remembers, but-"
"You're gonna die!" Arthur wails, climbing down from his mom's arms to hug April around the waist. "They're gonna kill you! They're gonna kill you!"
"Don't say that!" April sobs. "I'm going to be fine. No matter what, I'm always with you, okay?" She takes the skirt of her dress in her hand, ripping off a strip of blue fabric and handing it to him, even as her hands shake. "See? Like daddy's shirt. As long as you have it, I'm still with you, even if I'm not right there."
At this point, it becomes too much for Ursa, who begins to sob. Watching her mother cry pushes April over the edge, and the rest of their conversation is mostly incomprehensible crying as the small family holds each other close, not wanting to let go.
District Three Male
Halon Baxter, 18
Halon's mothers visit him first, alone. Sira walks into the room on her wife's arm, her chin high, but the façade crumbles once she lays eyes on her son. Mauve whispers something in her ear, and Sira stays quiet.
"We have always supported you in everything you do." Mauve says. Her voice is calm and strong, though it is clear this is hard for her. "But not in this. We both believe you have made a terrible mistake."
"I already told you-"
"I'm not finished!" Mauve snaps, her voice cracking on the last word. "I'm trying to say that we love you, Halon. We could never hate you, even for doing something like this to us. What's done is done, and we just want you to come home safely."
He can hear the anguish he is causing her in every syllable. This was supposed to be the easy part. He'd pulled away and withdrawn so far in preparation for this moment, hoping the goodbye would be somewhat easier because of it, but almost two decades of love and care can't be undone in a couple of months. They still love him now as much as the day he was born, and they'll love him just as much when he dies.
"I'm sorry for hurting you." Halon says. Now he, too, is on the verge of tears. "But this makes sense for me. I love you both."
"Oh, Hal!" Sira finally speaks, throwing herself into his arms. "We're going to miss you so much!"
The door opens, and a Peacekeeper walks in, signaling their time for goodbyes is over. Mauve gives him one last squeeze before taking Sira's hand and guiding her away. Thankfully, she doesn't put up any sort of fight, and goes peacefully. Halon almost wishes he could go with her.
After that, Mikas and the younger girls come in. The twins are both crying as they kiss him goodbye, but the triplets are thankfully young enough that they don't understand what's going on. Only one of them is fussy, and if that smell is any clue, it's not because she's sad to say goodbye.
"Just do your best, kiddo." Mikas says. "Hopefully that's enough."
With any luck, it will be.
A/N: Another update, right on schedule! This was a long one (more than 5k words!) and I really hope you guys enjoyed it. I know I enjoyed writing it!
I'm not one to beg for reviews, but I wanted to be totally transparent and let you guys know this upfront: if you're not reviewing at all, your tribute is not going to be the victor. If you haven't shown any interest in the story, I think it's fair for me to assume you don't care if your tribute wins or not, right?
What did you think of the tributes? April was submitted by Elim9, and Halon was submitted by Blade Is My Penname.
The next chapter should be coming up August 8th!