To Come of Age - The 18th Annual Hunger Games
"So young so wise, they say, do never live long." -William Shakespear
The Reapings
District One - Luxury
Allegra Rhodes - Winner of the 11th Annual Hunger Games
Age of Victory: 15
Current Age: 22
Seven years have past since I rose up that pipe and into those tall glades, seven years since I pitted my allies against each other to further my own goal of going home, seven years since I stabbed one in the back as he asked me why?. Seven years and these people still spit and hiss as I walk to market to spend my Victor's winnings on eggs and jewelry plucked from our mines. After all this time, they still have me pegged as a villainess, a monster that scares their children as they cuddle up in their little beds and after all this time, I still couldn't give a damn.
Their words and actions will remain meaningless until they, too, rise up into the depths of hell and certain death with twenty-three other children that want their lives just as badly as you do. Only then will they know what it is like to chose your life over someone else's, what it does to your very soul. I may have manipulated those boys into doing my bidding, but without them, I would have been just as dead as that girl from Nine. They had their strengths and I had mine; the only difference is I barely had to life a finger to use my weapons. Words are dagger when said right.
Even now they hiss and make one-fingered gestures at me and I just laugh them off. Today isn't about me, nor is it about themselves. It is about observing the glory of the Capitol and showing Panem why the Luxury district should never be underestimated. The Capitol smiles upon its favorite sons and daughters, especially after my controversial victory and if that will keep my tributes alive long enough to bring glory to our home, then I am fine with that.
Last year we managed to get our hands on a pair of Volunteers, willing to break the mold of what it means to be a Capitol lap dog, but it wasn't enough when pitted against the sob story that was Coriander Rivets. Girl makes me sickā¦
My father, Mayor Rhodes as he is called, announces me onto the stage as One's only Victor and instantly, the insults come flooding in. Of course, I just smile and wave, refusing to give them even the slightest show of weakness, kissing my daddy on the cheek before taking my seat on the stage. Good old Janus Bar, our escort since the beginning, joins us shortly thereafter, decked out in his two-toned suit and large golden glasses. The man frightened me as a small child, especially when my father would force me to sit with my brother Gaius on the side of the stage as he ran the Reaping Ceremony, but after going with him year after to the Capitol, you can see how harmless and idiotic he really is.
"Welcome, welcome my dear friends to this rather glorious event," his voice sounds as though he had sucked down a balloon, comical and inflated, just like his ego. "The oldest of you left in today's Reaping were born the very year this institution was established! How about that? Most of you conceived during the tail end of the Dark Days themselves!"
Great mental image for this children, Janus!
"Now, let us get this show underway, shall we?"
With his long legs carrying him, it is merely seconds before he is at the first Reaping Bowl and choosing the first name from the bounty within. He barely slides his slender fingers into the sea of names before he pulls them back and reads the name aloud.
"For the ladies, we have-"
He doesn't even have the chance to announce the name before a hand shouts up from the back end of the pens, making our first Volunteer eighteen. "ME! ME! I volunteer!"
A head of blonde hair makes her way out of the gaggle of girls that have swarmed her, cheering for her as she attempted to make her way towards the front. I know her name before she even bothers to say it to the district with pride. Gemma Merlot, the daughter of Ivin Merlot and heir to the family's Panem-renowned winery. They are so deep in the Capitol's pockets that they could be considered honorary citizens and members of President Cross' cabinet, what is she doing Volunteering? A dig at daddy, perchance? That is something I can honestly get behind, seeing as how my own father is a pompous ass most of the time.
"Gemma Merlot and I am here to win!"
"Of course you are, sweet child," his voice drips with sugar and I can't help but gag. "Now, for the boys. Can we manage two Volunteers?"
A boy stumbles out of the seventeen year old section before Janus can even pick a name, and I do mean stumbles. All cameras turn to him as I regains his footing and stretches his arm up to the clear sky above him.
"Carnelian Links, sir! I volunteer!"
Janus pouts, obviously upset over not being able to do the job he lives for. "Yes, very well, come on with it, Mr. Links!"
While his face may not ring any bells, his name does. The Links family is well known for their lofty connects within the Capitol, thanks to coming from a long line of goods importers. Perla Links, the head of the Links Family as well as their company, must be booming with pride over her only son's entry into something as glorious as the Games. When many others turned on the Capitol, biting the hand that fed them so to speak, the Links stayed loyal and were awarded handsomely for that loyalty. His entry into the games will be well pair shake hands in a show of solidarity, same as I did with my own partner. How long that partnership lasts will be up to them, but I know this for sure.
My money is on the girl.
District Two - Masonary
Pius Bastille - Winner of the 9th Annual Hunger Games
Age of Victory: 17
Current Age: 26
Father would have been pleased with the turnout today. Decked out in their matching leather jackets, beaming with pride over Reaping Day, my trainees stood stoic in the background of the pens, all the more willing to Volunteer for the pride of the District or die trying. Part of me wishes he could see this, to enjoy what he started and marvel at how I perfected it, but the other part of me is reminded of the scars that will never heal and bruises that never truly faded; forever reminding me of the cost of his acceptance and love. What he beat and tormented out of my siblings and I, I was able to coach into these kids and make them better than we ever were.
Regardless of what Father said, I made the Bastille Training Center what it is today.
Our first year open saw our first trained Victor in the form of Atticus Winder, the dark-haired son of a stonemason with a keen eye for archery. His big win is what lead more children from all walks of life to pour in, ready and willing to be taught in the chance that they are chosen. Despite our bet efforts, no others have come back since him, but we are looking to change that today. I've got a good feeling about this year.
Standing proud with his brothers in arms is the next winner of the Hunger Games and the continuation of my work.
"We've got a live one this year boss," Atticus piped up, eyeing up the hulking blonde standing out amongst the tributes. "Gregor Belmont is a beast on the field."
I nod in response, never taking my eyes off the boy, even as our escort makes it difficult.
With his flamboyant statue and bright clothes, Marcellus Burrows tends to keep your attention for his entirety on the stage. Even now, he is prancing about the stage in his rainbow pantsuit and multicolored mohawk, praising our wins as though he was the one fighting for his life in the arena, murdering others for his own survival. He makes me sick, if I'm to be honest, but I know he is really harmless. All he is is another face of the Capitol, another reminder of who we should all really be fighting.
Still want to deck the guy regardless.
"Last year we announced the boy last year and that didn't seem to go well for us," he reminds us all as he sneaks a harsh glance back at me. "So let's go with the ladies first this year."
With the swish of his wrist, we have our name. "NICOLA ANAGNOS!"
Anagnos? The name was one that brought about a mix reaction from our district, all depending on whom you asked. Some saw them as opportunists, capitalizing on the plight around them and going with the winning side. Most, like myself, saw them as traitors, pocketing money on the backs of the dead. Either way, the Anagnos name will come with a price and I have to pity the girl, as I doubt this has anything to do with her. Much like myself, she was thrust into something that had nothing to do with her.
To her credit, she holds herself together, only bawling up her fists as she walks out of the furthest pen, her head held high. People whisper and gawk, some even giggle, but for the most part, the crowd is respectful as she marches towards what could be considered her death. Once onstage, I am given a better look at her; lanky and tall, her skin marred with bruises and her lip is busted. Womanly, this girl is not. She is a fighter, that's for certain, and my kinda of gal.
"I'll take the girl," I whisper to Atticus, who barely seems to be paying attention. "She is going to be a dark horse in this race."
He nods, not taking his eyes from Marcellus, who has move onto the male section after out-right ignoring Nicola. Another quick swish reveals the name of the boy our Gregor will be saving. "HOLLIS CRATER!"
To his credit, the boy the name belonged to didn't even bother to step forward; instead, he stands in the fifteen year old section with his hands crossed, waiting for our pick to make his way from the back. And make an entrance he does, storming from the back with his head held high, unable to see the frozen white hair of the boy coming at him, tripping him hard to the ground before he can make his way past the furthest pen.
It happens so quickly; one minute, Gregor's large frame slams his way out of his spot, charging up the center isle before he is a victim of a sneak attack by some seemingly delicate boy with perfect skin and the whitest hair I have ever seen in person. After taking out the competition, he casually skips to the stage, making sure to shake the hands of the boy who's name was called, acting concerned for the lad as he makes his way towards us. Atticus looks as though he might kill the boy before we even reach the Capitol, but he seems to have gotten the crowd whipped into a frenzy.
"I am Aleksandr Skala and could not bear the fact that a person I know from school could be headed towards a certain death!"
Something tells me he didn't know that kid even moments before his name was called.
Gregor, in the meantime, has managed to get himself back up and starts plowing through Peacekeepers to get towards the stage. "This isn't over, you little pipsqueak! This was my time to shine, not yours! I'll make sure you never make it out of that arena alive!"
And, just like that, District Two is reduced to a sideshow freak exhibit. On one side, we have the busted up, brute of a girl and on the other, a grinning, beautiful boy with an affliction for violence. We sure do have our work cut out for us this year.
District Three -Technology
Decimal Danvers - Winner of the 10th Annual Hunger Games
Age of Victory: 14
Current Age: 22
Smog.
It's all our district is known for. That, and my victory eight years ago. We create and build the technology the Capitol craves, but other than that, we are overlooked. Year after year, our tributes barely make a blip on the radar, outside of my surprising win. And even then, people tend to forget I was ever a Victor. At one point in time, that would have bothered me, but now I am willing to sink into the background that helped cement my win in the first place. All I need is my quiet place and my fiance, and I will get through all of this.
That, and a victor to share these duties with.
There was a strange hum over the crowd, significantly different from the usual thickness that seems to permeate throughout the District. It differs from the hum of the factories, making it even more noticeable, as the buildings surrounding the town square are silent as to not interfere with the feed transmitting towards the Capitol and the rest of Panem. No, this is a sign...a sign of things to come. A change in the air, almost.
This year could very well be our year.
Regulus Nova, a usually rather melancholy man, seemed almost droll in appearance today, retiring his Gothic attire for a brighter, jewel-encrusted ensemble that went so against his nature that it baffled everyone. Even his voice, once so slow that it put kids to sleep in their spots, had more of a bounce to it. Everything about this day was seeming more off with every passing moment.
"District Three! Please, enjoy this video all the way from the Capitol!"
In the crowd, I spot my fiance, smiling encouragingly and giving me a thumbs up from his spot in the crowd. Lancel's love and support have gotten me through these past eight years, even thought he should hate me. After all, it was I that came home and not his Reaped brother, Keir. Even as I sit here with my swollen belly, I can't help but ponder over the fate of Keir and myself. Why am I here instead of him? Is that why I have yet to bring home another Victor?
A kick from in the inside of my stomach brings me back to reality and the image of Regulus picking the next name.
"CRISTINA RIVAS! Come on down here, dear girl!"
A whole opens up towards the back, showing a distraught girl with olive skin, standing alone as those around here whisper and gawk. The name strikes a cord with all of those in the crowd, most especially on the stage. Regulus stutters, pointing at the Mayor Rivas as she drops to the ground, sobbing for the daughter who beings to descend on the stage, her face absent of emotion. The girl holds it together rather well, giving herself a better chance with the sponsors than her mother is giving her by acting like this. Cold, yes, but I am all about the truth. Once on stage, the girl goes right to her mother and helps her up, promising her that she would see her again in just a few weeks. The crowd is silent, the hum gone.
Why must I always be right about these things?
Regulus froze for a moment, taking in the scene that he, himself, created, then moves on, quickly grabbing another name to break the tension. "CUYLER WATTS!"
A circle appears in the first pen, closest to the stage, and my breath catches in my throat. Two boys stand still, one with the ghost of a laugh on his face and the other with tears streaming down his face. Friends, ripped apart by the Capitol. Peacekeepers make their way through the crowd, shoving aside child after child, before gripping a still stunned Cuyler by the scruff of his neck and dumping him on the stage. Never once does he cry, never once does the look of amusement leave his lips; I can't help but favor the small, dark-skinned child. He will need all the help he can get.
The same Peacekeepers that once drug the small boy on stage went after the girl, ripping her apart from the mother that loved her dearly and I can't help but feel another lump in my throat. When my name was called, so few people seemed effected by my plight, outside of my mother. The girl has a mother breaking down for her, as well as a boy calling her name from the outside, while the boy has his dear friend sobbing with such force that I find myself crying as well.
Damn hormones.
There is no way I can bring both home, but maybe with the same luck that got me through my own games, I can get at least one. No one expected much from me, but with proper guidance, I can mold at least one of these kids into the next District Three victor. At least one of them can live.
Now, to figure out which one can come home...
District Four - Fishing
Magdelyn "Mags" Calhoun - Winner of the 12th Annual Hunger Games
Age of Victory: 16
Current Age: 22
One of the few beauties in life here in District Four is the smell of the sea; the salt, the nostalgia, it engulfs you, reminding you that no matter what happens, you are here, you are alive. It was the thing I missed the most when I was Reaped, besides the freedom that came from riding the waves. Even now, I can hear them crashing against the burning sand, calling out to me with each break. A grim reminder of what I am losing during my time in the arena, and every year since. Six years later and I have yet to get used to it.
"How are you today, Miss Calhoun?" Her voice lacks the usual Capitol shrill and is rather soft, almost blanket like. "Beautiful out today, am I right?"
I nod slightly and grin. "Yes, Sakia, but please, call me Mags. Miss Calhoun makes me feel older than I am."
Unlike most Capitol escorts, Sakia Flutes is rather mild in appearance. Her hair is filled with tight, bouncing curls, the color of wet sand and her eyes as green as the sea. She is not much older than myself, barely twenty-five, and her voice lacks any trace of a Capitol accent. If one didn't know better, you would think she was one of us; an average woman from Four with a Fisherman husband and job at a canning company, maybe a kid or two running around. I could even see her being Reaped and coming out alive, just as I was. Maybe then, I wouldn't be so alone on this stage.
I wasn't the first Victor from Four, but people seem to think I am. Their memories are short and forget the boy that won just eight years before I did, how he was Reaped along side the girl he loved so much. Us kids from the home remember, especially since he was one of us and I knew Wake quite well. Not a single one of us would ever forget the day he disappeared, nor the money he left behind to help the home get out of the financial hole it was collapsing into. No one wanted to help fund a home for abandoned and orphaned kids, not with more pressing matters at hand, like rebuilding after the Dark Days. He wanted to give back while he still could, same as I am trying to do. Without the Capitol's knowledge, I use my money to fund those same homes, making sure no child ever goes hungry again.
It's the very least I can do with my time and money.
Out in the crowd, I see a mixture of faces; some fearful and worried, some brazen and self-assured. Unlike District Two and the rumors of their training facilities, we have only had a small amount of volunteers, mostly due to older tributes saving younger ones. Only once, two years ago, did we have a girl volunteer on her own terms, going in with her head held high and a trident in hand.
She lasted eleven days.
Now we sit here, watching a video praising the Capitol and their supposed mercy doled out to the remaining districts, wondering who will be the next to go. Will in be the large boy in the back, with bronze hair and a wide smile? The scrawny girl in the front row, silently willing herself to be anywhere else in the world but here? Just like the year I was taken, things very rarely change. Same boring process, same wicked outcome.
Before long, Sakia is up at her spot, ready to do the duty that keeps her awake at night. She switches things up this time, going for the boys first, rather than the girls. "Our male tribute this year is...LEITH ABERFORTH!"
A loud 'whooping' noise is heard from the back, indicating that Leith seemed proud of his tribute status. He quickly emerges from the crowd, slapping the hands of all that he could, even going as far as to hug a few before launching his way up onto the stage and swiping the microphone from Sakia. His bravado is showing, that much is certain, as well as his muscles and good looks. This boy will be an easy sell to the Capitol, with his dark hair and obvious charm, but I can tell already that he is lacking something upstairs. He's going to be a handful, I know it.
"Thank you, District Four! I am more than happy to represent you in the next Hunger Games and I-"
"Leith Aberforth, thank you," her voice is so deadpan that I can't help but laugh. "Now, for the ladies...AZURA K-"
A hand shoots up from the seventeen year old section and a shrill voice rings out. "I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"
The same scrawny, sad little girl in the front looks relieved, almost as if that was her name spared from the Capitol's wrath, as a girl with curls just as bouncy as Sakia's, only darker, makes her way forward. Unlike her male counterpart, she gracefully asks for the microphone and announces herself as Omayra Chass, a girl I recognize as being the daughter of a local Peacekeeper, one of the ones stuck over from the Dark Days. In the distance, I can see his face turning red with anger, as if he hadn't a clue that his beloved daughter was doing this...
...same as he did, two years ago, when he oldest daughter did the same exact thing. Ophelia Chass, eighteen, mowed down by kid from the Livestock District, before he himself, was killed. This girl is the younger sister, vowing revenge for her big sister. She's an easier sell than Leith, that much is for certain, but will she be a team player? Will her anger and bitterness get the best of her? Even now, I can see the wheels turning in her head as she shakes his hand, tightening her grip as he attempts to flirt with her.
"I can see the wheels turning, Miss Calhoun," Sakia whispers, her smile inviting. "What are you thinking?"
"That I might not be doing this alone for much longer," I answer softly, watching as the pair seems to wear out each others welcome. "As long as I can get them on the same page."
The year I won saw a bonding of Districts One, Two, and Four...maybe if I can get them to band together again, one of them will have a chance.
District Five - Power
Boothe Powers - Winner of the 7th Annual Hunger Games
Age of Victory: 16
Current Age: 27
My district doesn't trust me anymore.
It's not as if I can blame them, if I am to be honest with myself. I wouldn't trust me, either. What they see is a traitor, the enemy, a murderer of their children, but much like most things in life, it is a bit more complex than that and sometimes, I think that they are right. However, there are layers that they don't see, that they can't see, not if they want to live. What I do is for the people I love, so that they don't end up the way of my mother and brother.
I do it for my District.
They never tell me how my inventions are going to be used, if they are going to be used at all. Also, I am sworn to secrecy and any inkling that I breathed a word of what I have created with end with the deaths of those around me. Never will they kill me, as they need me for my brain, and a guard is kept on me at all times to keep me from killing myself. Three attempts down and they have yet to fail in bringing me back. If they could take my brain and dispose of my body, I know that they would. Anything to keep my weapons going into the arena and into storage, to be used on the day an uprising comes along. Not that I can see anything like that happening in the near future, our nation is too beaten down from the last time. Even now, I can see that beaten down look on the faces of the children before me. They all beg for a hero to save them, the bring Panem back to the way it once was, long before most of us were born, but there is nothing a guy like me can do.
"KILLER!"
A woman spits in my general direction and it's a face I recognize; the mother of Lindy Bishop, the girl that went into the arena with me. Every year she stops me on my day to the Town Center, every year she spits at me, blames me for her daughter's death. Funnily enough, it was my alliance member, Pallas, that took her out and yet, she still blames me for the death of her only child.
"Thank you, Mrs. Bishop," I call after her, refusing to even raise my voice in malice. "See you next year."
I can't even bring myself to hate the woman. Everyone needs someone to blame for the death of their children and I guess that is just my lot in life. It is easier to blame me, a local face associated with the Games, rather than go after the sleeping dragon that is The Capitol. Instead of blaming President Cross for the deaths of my fellow tributes, I only blame myself for the death of my first and only friend in this world.
I just long to kiss his lips just one last time.
"You're late again, Boothe." Peacekeeper Ezra greets me with a mockingly stern look, before playfully punching me on the arm. "Better get up there before Alba notices and raises hell...again."
Of all the Peacekeepers assigned to keep me alive, Ezra is the only one I like. He reminds me of Pallas a lot; dark-haired, strong, great sense of humor. It was Ezra that found me during my last attempt and I remember his lips pressed to mine as he breathed new life into me. We've kept our relationship a secret ever since and I have vowed a strict promise to never do something that stupid again. Even now, I sneak a few glances his way from the stage, almost laughing out loud at the faces he makes in my direction as Alba Cartias does her thing on stage, which is boring the masses, despite wearing loud clothing that only a person with a personality can pull off.
Even now, Alba is doing things the complete ass backwards way, drawing one name from each bowl, rather than getting one at a time and announcing it. She does this every year, making it hard for each tribute to make a stand out appearance to potential sponsors. This has lead to many of my tributes being lumped together, whether they liked it or not, and most times, lead to their early deaths. This has been going on since she joined us during the tenth games and despite several years of me telling her this wasn't helping the tributes, she goes and does it anyway.
Idiot.
"Peacekeepers, please bring down...TEZ STENTON and ODALIS DI MAURO!"
Movement comes from the closer pens, which is never a good sign. Younger tributes mean they are less likely to make it back home and once again, it will be my fault. A small boy emerges from the twelve year old pens, his skin ashen and dirty, his body language that of being at a strange ease - almost as if he has already accepted his fate. It pains me to see him walk up on stage, knowing full well that he is never coming back. It hurts even more to see how almost satisfied he is with being Reaped.
The girl is another story all together. You can tell she is terrified, unwilling to accept where her life is now headed, but she is still holding it together, holding back the tears that threaten to fall. She wants desperately to hold it together for her family, so she silently makes her way towards the stage, her head trained to the ground as she lets her feet take her towards death. She isn't quite as dark as Tez, but still has an almost olive complexion, like one you would see in District Twelve, but she is tall, standing a good head over the boy Reaped along side her. Or, she could, if she just stood up straight, instead of walking around as though she has a hunch on her back. Scabs line her arms and both children are littered with scars.
This is going to be a rough year for District Five, I can tell.
"Shake hands, the both of you." Neither one moves, but I swear I hear something along the lines of "pinche idiota" and I can't help but smile. "...District Five, these are your tributes, unless any of you want to volunteer to do a better job?"
No one moves.
This is it, District Five.
I am coming home alone.
District Six - Transportation
Steam Douglass - Winner of the 3rd Annual Hunger Games
Age of Victory: 17
Current Age: 32
Coriander Rivets.
They vilify me for pacifying the girl, giving her the easy way out. What they refuse to see for themselves is, I did her a service. She came from addicts and abusers; her mother died of an overdose, her father an alcoholic that confused her for the woman he lost to the needle. She had her own demons to fight, demons to silence, demons that could be taken away with a simple plunge of the syringe. Same as her whore mother, who slept with my father to get her next fix, she begged to forget the world around her and all I did was give her a way out. Is that really a crime?
She would have found herself there anyway.
Now she sits, medicated to the point of almost drooling, propped up on stage like a marionette doll abandoned by its puppeteer. Valencia sits beside her, getting as much petting time as she can before she is forced to let her little love puppy go. It's pathetic, honestly. It makes me sick to my stomach, seeing all of this lovey dovey bullshit. Valencia doesn't care for the girl, she cares for the Victor the girl has become. I see it all the time in the women and girls that throw themselves at my feet. They are in love with the wealth and power that comes with winning the games, finding the murders that happened at my hands attractive as hell. It disgusts me. I would never lower myself by being with a lady of this appalling district.
I will stick with the wives of Gamemakers and aristocratic ladies with too much free time on their hands, thank you.
Not a single victor has embraced their status quite like I have. Some couldn't tough it out, like that girl from the first games and that boy from Four, while others have simply fallen apart, like Cori here and that drunkard from Nine, Summer...Sourpatch, something like that. If anyone is going to drown in their own vomit one day soon, it is that girl. All because she lost the boy she loved in an earlier game. Spare me! Her games last hours, maybe a day. The rest of us had to fight for our victory, get our hands dirty while trying to eat and find shelter and she is the one that got off without damaging her soul.
Bitch.
As Agrippina struts onto the stage, taking the attention off of myself for just a moment, I reach for my hide-a-flask that I keep strapped to my ankle at all times and take a swig. The bitter, clear substance burns on the way down, leaving it an almost acidic waste, but I can't help but fall in love with it all over again. It hurts, for the love of Panem does it ache. The pain reminds me that I am still alive, still kicking it while those other twenty-three bastards are lying in the ground. Valencia huffs, showing her lack of approval of how I handle myself, but until she is in our shoes, she has no right to tell us what we can and cannot do to keep the visions at bay.
People say that I am a heartless bastard, one that gets his jollies off on making everyone around me even more miserable than I am, and it's absolutely true. I will be the first person to admit that; I am a dick, a murderer, and a bully. What they don't know is that my drug dealer father beat me almost every day of my life until I was big enough to fight back. The other kids picked on me, laughed at the bruises he left, pushed me around...to them, I was just another District Six weird kid. They unleashed something inside of me, they brought out a guy no longer willing to be anyone's victim. It was that guy that made it through the games, it was that brought home their precious Coriander.
It was I that got her to stop her damn weeping.
Almost on cue, she makes a sound like a crying puppy and her little girlfriend is on the move, making sure she's ok. Agrippina halts her speech for just a second, checking on the princess before going back to entertaining the masses. They baby the girl, then wonder why she is acting the way that she is. It disgusts me, honestly. How else is she going to toughen up?
"Get a move on, toots!" I sneer, taking another swig. "We aren't getting any younger."
The crowd hisses, but I couldn't care less.
"Anyway, your female tribute for this year is...PAGET MOSS! Come on down, sweetheart!"
A shrill cry hits the air, coming from the middle of the female section. The girl it comes from is a looker, that much is certain, and seems less broken than the one sitting next to me. However, she is shaking like a leaf the whole time, barely able to make it out of the pen before collapsing to the ground. You would almost feel sorry for her, if you didn't realize how much she was hurting herself and her chances by acting like a complete ass in front of the whole nation. At least she is beautiful and that, in itself, is a plus. And if she has a hidden talent stuffed away in that tight little body of hers, well, maybe she can pull an underdog move like my last tribute and surprise us all. A Peacekeeper is quickly dispatched to pick her up and dump her onto the stage, where Agrippina goes right to her, fixing her skirt before she shows us any of her good parts.
"Yes, Miss Moss everyone," her voice breaks, making her accent go through me even more. "Do we have any volunteers for the young lady?"
Ha! Not a chance.
"Sorry, my dear," she whispers to the girl, attempting to calm the poor girl down. "And now for the boys...NIALL HOLT!"
A whole opens up in the seventeen year old section, producing a brunette boy with an almost bowl-like cut. Where his partner is flaky and meek, he seems like a fighter, getting openly pissed off over his fate. He challenges it the only way he can, walking slowly towards the stage with clenched fists and his emotions spread across his face as though they were painted on. The curses he believes he are just mumbling grow louder and louder until I can fully make them out without trying, making me like the lad even more. Hand I not already decided on taking the male tribute over the girl, I would fight the morphling for control of the boy's sponsors.
This one is coming back.
"District Six, these are your tributes! Let the Eighteen Hunger Games begin!"
A/N - I've said it before, but it bears repeating...I hate Reapings. I really do. That's why I am breaking it in half and doing the first six as Reapings, the last six as Train Rides. It just gives it a little more...I dunno. Makes it less redundant. Whatever. I am tired. :D Here's a few questions I'd love to see you guys answer when you review. If you don't, don't sweat it.
Which tribute(s) stood out to you the most?
Which victor(s) stood out to you the most?
How are you doing?
Expect the second half with the train ride soon. I want to try to plow through the boring Capitol stuff so we can get to the fun part...killing everyone! Yay!
Also, don't forget to go to the blog I have set up for this story. To Come of Age HG . blogspot . com (just eliminate the spaces) It's also on my bio page.
