Petra Silverwood, 17, First Female (District 2)
Well, would you look at that? It's the day of the reaping already, and I'm fully prepared for whatever may happen. My opponents may be formidable - well, a few may be - but I have no doubt that I can rise above them all to become the victor of the 375th Hunger Games, and make my district proud. Some call me obsessed, some call me a training fanatic, but soon I'll be the one laughing in their faces when I beat seventy-one others and become the ultimate victor.
I can see it already, the final announcement: "May I present to you the victor of the three hundred and seventy-fifth Hunger Games, Petra Silverwood of District Two!" Oh, when my name is the one everybody across Panem is talking about - well, that's when I shall finally be satisfied.
Drawing back my curtains I see a pair of girls walking already. I observe the first. She is tall, brunette, and slender. The way she walks suggests happiness but the expression on her face suggests all but. Evidently, she must be scared yet trying to mask her fear.
Her companion is a slightly younger version, and her sickeningly jolly attitude is entirely genuine, from what I can see.
See, this is why I don't exactly have a large number of friends. Acquaintances, yes, but friends? Well, they're only a hindrance which spends its life giggling... and giggling... and giggling, until they're finally reaped and they die. End of story. My point is, I don't need to be around fickle wannabes to be able to keep myself occupied. That's what the training centre is there for, and I've always been one to make full use of it.
I put on a pastel blue jumper and a grey skirt. My outfit needn't be anything fancy, I can make a good enough impression by just being myself. It's always worked before. Besides, I've heard from some of the girls at school that blue is really in fashion right now, so it can't be that bad anyway.
"Good morning, Petra," my father says upon my enterance into the kitchen.
"Good morning."
"I presume you are ready for the reaping."
"No, of course not!" I roll my eyes in an overexaggerated manner. "Yes, I am, Pa. I am definitely ready - I've trained for so many years with your help that I would be stupid to not consider myself at the top of my game. I'm as prepared as I will ever be," I say with a slight yawn, and it causes him to frown.
"You remember everything I have taught you, I presume then."
"Of course. You gave me wise advice."
"Indeed I did, you're my daughter. It's about time the Siverwoods had a victor, and I know you won't let yourself become a disappointment. I've raised you better than that, and I know that you can do this."
"Of course, Pa. I would never even consider finishing anywhere besides first, you know that. It's a competition, and everybody strives for first. You'd hardly want to come second, nobody remembers those people in the long run. I doubt even the families do," I sneer.
"Petra..." my father warns.
"Don't worry, I remember. At the reaping I must seem intimidating to make me seem sponsor-worthy, but not too much so as to scare off my potential allies. I must seem brave and self-confident, but not overly arrogant so I don't become the main target. I need to stand out in a good way, to show that I really am a true Career. Pa, fret not - I have it all covered."
"You certainly remembered everything well."
"Why wouldn't I? I'm intending on coming home still breathing, and you've helped others in the past, and they have sometimes gone on to become the victor. You have a good track record, and I should be mad to not take your advice."
"Spoken like a true warrior, Petra," he says with a shadow of a smile forming, but I don't have either the time or the patience for this nonsense.
"I know, but this conversation? It's honestly boring me already," I respond, and I walk out the room and into the bathroom. I need the mirror to be able to style my hair. Yes, I might not be wearing overly fancy clothes, but I still want to look reasonably presentable for the Capitol. I mean, I can't let them write me off already because of clothes!
I pin my hair up perfectly and it looks really rather lovely, if I might say so myself. It is sure to go down well in the Capitol. Who knows, maybe when I win all the little girls shall be getting Petra-inspired hairstyles. I'd like that a lot, to be honest - to be idolised by all the children.
I calmly walk back into my bedroom and retrieve my academy dog tag. The chain's simple, stating just 'Petra Silverwood, 02587' - my name and my academy recruit number. For that is all I am right now, a number. Give it a few weeks and it shall all be different. I shall be a number no longer.
My father decides to leave early to place yet another bet on me volunteering before the odds get too measly, so I bid him goodbye. We do not hug, we do not shake hands, neither of us kiss the other on the cheek. I know plenty of families who do such things, but I have never understood them. To me, they just seem like useless sentiments, and everything of the sort is always a lie.
I far prefer solitude. After all, there is only one person you can ever truly trust and that is yourself. Everybody else just lets you down...
Mason Slate, 18, First Male (District 2)
The line's a lonely wait for me, I cannot see Lethe or Victor, and there are millions of thoughts running through my mind.
Are you really sure about this, Mason? says a little voice inside my head, and I jump. That's unusual, to say the least.
Come on, Mason. Make your parents proud of you, says another.
Think of yourself, Mason. Do you really want this? says the first voice again.
Don't you want to be the favourite child? responds the other.
Killing would change you, Mason... reminds the first of the pair and I grimace. Two tiny figures of my imagination are quarreling with one another inside of my head. It's interesting, I suppose, but very distracting, and ever so slightly creepy. They've never appeared before, and I sincerely hope that they will never show themselves again. It must be a result of the boredom right now, just waiting in a queue of other children.
I don't know why I feel even the remotest bit doubtful, this has been my dream for years. To volunteer... well, it would make the past decade of training entirely worth it. If I didn't, then that would be putting ten years of my life to waste, and I could never bring myself to do that.
You'll be letting go of many more than ten years if you enter and die, reminds one of my irritating imaginary companions, and I can't take it any longer. "Shut up!" I shout, and the others around me stare. All I can do is pretend that I haven't noticed their reactions to me behaving like this. I don't want anybody thinking I'm insane, because I'm really not.
I reach the desk and let them prick my finger. The blood forms a dome on my finger and I smirk when the young boy next to me winces. I'm not a weakling, but even in a Career district like my own some people are still wusses.
Making my way to the masses of teenagers who are mostly anxiously waiting for the reaping to begin, a small smile creeps onto my face. This is my big break, and if I get it right today then I shall be one of the favourites for sure. Maybe I'll even be the favourite of them all!
She takes her time, but eventually Elza Idelza burts through the double doors of the justice building and dances onstage. Quite literally, that is, since she is extending her arms and legs and pulling poses every two steps or so in her clearly choreographed routine. Her dress is straight and short and sequined. Her lips are painted in a red as bright as the cloth that adorns the stage, and her hair is in large curls pinned tightly to her scalp. Though I doubt that anybody would ever tell her this, she looks like a prostitute in silver.
I'm not even joking now, though I wish I was - she is welcoming us all, and she appears to be using her arms to make the wings of an invisible vertical snow angel. I swear to all things worthy, she is entirely insane. She's lost it, and I think many would agree of I voiced that I think she is pretentious and fake aloud.
The act she puts on is too overly dramatic to be even the remotest bit real.
In all honesty, she seems to be trying to give off sex appeal, but she's far too ugly to ever manage to pull that off. I mean, she's no ogre, but she's no supermodel either. I would say that she is average looking, but all the fake trash she plasters on her own face makes me think less of her.
The mayor reads the Treaty of Treason - it's the same as ever - and permits Elza to draw the tributes. I look around to see if I can see my friends as she explains the order she shall reap us in, but I cannot trace them out here.
Once she is sure that we can all grasp the concept of girl then boy, she nods ferociously and with such undeniable determination that nobody would ever be able to doubt her passion.
She does another little dance, involving lots of twirling around with her hands in the air, and I sigh loudly. This is absolutely ridiculous.
I hear a boy near me asking his boyfriend how close he is to punching her, and I find it wise to interject.
"I'll do it for you in the Capitol, okay?" I say, and they turn around, obviously not thinking that anybody was listening in. "Just be glad it wasn't the head peacekeeper..." I remind them, and they nod. I've heard from my family that he can be awfully cruel about such silly little things when he wishes.
Elza finally reaches the female bowl, and then she walks back in a normal manner once she has selected the slip. I think I speak for everyone in the district when I say that it is a relief that she is behaving like a human being now, for it really was quite dreadful.
Arminta Massina, 13, Third Female (District 2)
"Adela Lark!" she calls and a gleeful girl skips to the stage. She knows that she is safe, but nobody would blame her for relishing her moment of fame. After all, she may never get it again. If I was ever reaped, I would try to make a good impression so that when I volunteered a few years after I would be remembered for how confident I was when I was younger, and it would definitely help me to get some sponsors. The Capitol love a bit of irony, and nothing could be more ironic than a reaped girl volunteering a few years after so she goes into the arena regardless. It'd make for a few classic documentaries, that's for sure.
Of course, it wouldn't be the same this year, but there's next to no chance of my name being called. I'm pretty safe, all things considered.
A girl shouts out that she is volunteering and when she is onstage she introduces herself as Petra Silverwood, though she sounds awfully disinterested in the whole ordeal. My bet is that she wishes that such formalities as the reaping didn't exist, and that she could be in the Capitol already.
"Now, for our first male tribute of the year." A hand reaches into the bowl and a name is called. "Aaron Minchelly."
Aaron doesn't make it more than a few baby steps before someone takes his place. "I volunteer!" he calls with steely determination, and Mason Slate seems a bit intimidating to me. See, this is why I shall not volunteer until age eighteen...
"Lovely! Two volunteers already, how fabulous!" she exclaims with a flourish of her left hand. I cannot help but tut; Elza Idelza really is something else. "For the second little darling girl..." she announces as she proceeds to the bowl that glitters under the sunlight today. It really is a beautiful sky, and I'm glad that today is the reaping, for it means that I am outside beneath it - not just cooped up in the academy like the chickens that we kill are cooped up in their cages. "Marilla Celian!"
As expected, Miss Celian doesn't even have to move from where she is standing. There is, as expected for her particular age group, a volunteer. When she goes onstage she offers a nervous smile and calls herself Ellia Reyner. I recognise both her face and her name, I'm fairly certain that she is a victor's child, though I'm not entirely sure about which particular man fathered her - it was either Remus or Ares... but she looks not particularly like either.
Though it's not at all like I'll let it bother me. I mean, I'm sure they'll say on the television.
After her, it's just the same old for the boy. The volunteer's called Glair Clermont, and I see nothing perculiar about him at all. He looks like a typical tribute to me.
Finally, my section. The youngest girls.
As Elza reaches for a slip, I inhale sharply. I can't let myself die yet, I have to stay safe for just this year. Any other year and an older girl would volunteer.
Nobody under fifteen ever really volunteers, not in District 2.
She makes her way back to her microphone and slowly unfolds the paper as girls all around me all cross their fingers in the hope that the name that is read out is not theirs. I do exactly the same. "Arminta Massina." Wait, what?
I can't have been reaped, this wasn't my plan! I was meant to have another five years until then, I'm not strong enough for this yet!
And yet I have no choice but to put on my game face and walk onstage in as casual a manner as I can manage. I need to be strong to stay alive. Maybe I'll be able to fool the Capitol into thinking that I am fierce if I can stay composed for now. I can figure out my strategy later, as long as I give myself the foundations to work from.
Stay calm, Arminta. Everything will be okay if you just relax and accept this...
So that's what I do. I take a deep breath and I count - One... two... three... - and I keep walking... and walking... until I am standing next to Ellia. I offer her a small smile and she sends me one back.
Huh. Maybe she'll be okay.
I don't even have time to notice that Elza has left her podium before she calls, "Invictus Nero!" and a tall boy in the fourteens looks up from the ground, bites his lip, and cockily makes his way towards us with a smirk on his face. When he notices a boy begin to stir, he glares and calls aloud, "Don't even think about volunteering. Don't even let the thought cross your mind..."
It makes the child shy away but it doesn't stop Invictus from continuing his warning. "This is my year, my Games. If any one of you does volunteer, I will kill anyone who you have ever even done so much as look at - I will rip them apart, limb by limb. Don't think that I wouldn't do the same to you." He takes his place at the end of the boys' line and just stares out to the audience. "Now," he says with a threatening voice, "where were we? Oh, yes - any volunteers?" After a sweep of the crowd with his eyes and with confidence he makes his way to the microphone, pushing a shocked Elza out of the way in the process. "No? Good. I guess I'm the tribute then."
He ignores Elza as she tries to beckon him towards the boys once again, but instead he makes his way to stand between Ellia and I. He turns to me and with a wink that's hidden from the camera he whispers, "You're pretty."
All I can say back is, "You're not too bad yourself." Sorry, Invictus, but two can play at that game...
Glair Clermont, 16, Second Male (District 2)
The sight of my first visitor makes me smile. "Mara."
"Glair," she says with a smile.
"Were you proud of me out there?"
"What, when you volunteered? Glair, you know how much I hated the idea of you volunteering, but yes - I'm happy for you. You looked happy onstage, even if you were loads shorter than the other tributes..."
"Don't even go there, Mara. That Invictus kid must've been at least five or six inches taller than me an-"
"Don't fool yourself, Glair. He was at least one foot taller than you," she reminds me with a grin.
"Fine, fine. I'll admit, he was way taller than me. But still, that's irrelevant - and you know that. What is relevant, however, is that I am going to be returning home very soon - just you watch..."
"What choice do I have, in all honesty? They'll make me watch regardless, and if you die, I wo-"
"I'm not going to die in there."
"Just hear me out, okay? If you die, I won't be able to look away in time - there'll be no warning beforehand to tell me when your time is up. And when you kill, I'll see it. You're hurting me just looking at you now, how much you've changed, but I'm trying not to show it. You could see when I came in though, couldn't you? So there's no point in pretences any more, Glair. There's no point in lying."
"I couldn't tell, Mara."
"Don't lie to me..." she warns me, like it's a threat. "Besides, if that's true, then you're devoid of emotion, but I don't want to think that of you, I really don't. So please don't let me think that, Glair, and tell me it's a lie that you feel no remorse or that you can't even read emotion any more, even if it's a lie in itself. I'm really not sure what I would feel if you died, but I don't want it to be hate for you, I really don't."
"Please don't hate me. You're my only friend, I need you, Mara."
It's just a simple reminder, but it is all that it takes for her to forgive. She wraps me in an embrace and I feel my body stiffen up. I don't like physical contact, even if it's those nearest to me, like my family and Mara.
"Don't hate me..." I mutter into her ear.
"I won't," she whispers back.
My family appear when Mara has gone. Mother, Father, Donnelly, and Teana all crowd around me, congratulating me in turn.
My mother is especially proud. "My son, the future victor!" she proudly announces to us all, though we all already know.
"Um... thanks, I guess?" These people are so annoying. Mara I could cope with, I'm used to her. I'll never get used to my family's unbelievable optimism, despite knowing them from birth. They're just too happy.
A strand of hair in Teana's updo falls, and as it does so I say, "Your hair, Teana. It's coming undone." She just grunts.
"Stop being such an angry vegetable!" That was Donnelly.
"Donnell, your sister's not a vegetable. Behave, and grow up, for goodness' sake! Honestly, your younger brother's more grown up than you are! He's actually going into the Hunger Games. You haven't, I'll remind you."
"And I'm really glad I never did, and I really wish Glair wasn't! But you already know that..."
"I do, and I'm honestly ashamed of you because of it, Donnell Clermont Junior, I really am."
As their verbal war continues, my father approaches me. "We'll let them fight it out among themselves, eh? Glair, I'm proud of you for following your dreams, I am. I know you can win this, your mother's trained you well, she has."
"Thanks, dad?"
"Why the uncertainty, son?"
"Doesn't matter." It really doesn't, I just want them to go now.
Luckily, a peacekeeper grants my wish.
Invictus Nero, 14, Third Male (District 2)
I look at the bracelet on my wrist. It's a far cry from the engraved necklace Alexa gifted me, but my father actually means something to me - unlike her. Alexa's so naïve to think that I actually care about her, anybody can see that I don't. Besides her, of course.
I'm not the first on the train, but I'm not the last by far. There are no signs of Glair, Mason or Ellia - though I swear I saw Ellia enter before me. Petra and Arminta are together, standing over a table. I decide to go nearer to listen in on their conversation.
"You mean you can't read that? Do you even go to school?" Anybody with any sense would be able to hear Petra's sarcasm, but apparently not Arminta.
"No, I don't. I quit it to train."
"You still go to school, you only have to take some time out for training."
"I don't." Well, Arminta's pretty, but she's dumb. Maybe even dumber than Alexa.
I go over to them and stand behind Petra, looking over her shoulder. Chariot. What kind of a kid can't read that sort of word at her age?
"The word's 'chariot', Arminta. Learn to read."
"Maybe I had priorities, Invy." Invy? Ew, why would you ever come up with that?
"My name's a bit longer than that, sweetie."
"And my name's a bit longer than 'sweetie'." Ouch.
"Actually, Arminta, it isn't. You seriously should have gone to school..." Thank goodness for Petra being here.
"Hah! At least I'm not a dumbass little girl..." I jeer.
"No, you're only an abnormally tall, incredibly immature young boy."
I look around to see Arminta's reaction to both my comment and Petra's after, but she is already gone. Damn it.
Elza's here though, and I wish that she hadn't made that decision to join Petra and I in this carriage. I was quite looking forward to a little confrontation. Then again, what's to say that I can't do that anyway?
When I turn around to see Petra not there, I realise that I physically can't confront her now. I'd have to know where she was, for a start.
When Elza spots me alone, there's nothing I can do but pretend to want to make polite converation.
"Hello again, Elza."
"Invictus! Good day, and such a wonderful group of tributes you are. Why, I shouldn't be surprised if I got another victor this year, I think there's a very good chance."
"Any... standouts in other districts?"
"A few, but I still think you all are the best."
"Okay, that's good to hear," I say, gradually edging backwards until I'm out of the carriage.
In the small room I now stand in, there are the doors to the train, and I stare out of the window, taking in the distant Capitol's splendour. It really is something special.
I hear a call of, "Glair, look at the city!" and I realise that whilst I have been standing here, my district partners have been getting acquaintanced with one another.
I'll certainly have to do some catching up in the Capitol.
Ellia Reyner, 16, Second Female (District 2)
The prep team aren't too bad, though they are awfully quiet. In a way, I should be spooked by the sound of their tools as they work on my body, but my father's already told me what it all entials, so I was already prepared when I followed them into the room.
They trim my hair and sweep it off my face, creating an updo. It's pretty, like I hope my dress will be.
When they are done, I let the absolute silence overcome me. It's a surprisingly beautiful thing, to be alone amongst the silence.
"Hello, I'm Carmelia. I'm your stylist." I turn around swiftly and see who is speaking.
"Elle," I mutter. She walks towards me.
"Happy to meet you, Elle, and I do hope that you feel the same about me. I've had your outfit in mind for years, and I think that you'll be the perfect girl for it." Her smile seems so genuine when she looks at me, I can tell already that I shall like her. I recognise her from the television, from past Games, but I think she is a rather new stylist. She's only about twenty-four, and it's a relief to see that it is her, and not one of the weird stylists. Yes, her hair is metallic blue and to her knees; yes, her eyelashes have sapphires at the end of each abnormally long lash, but she seems rather down-to-earth in her interviews - rather normal.
I offer her a shadow of a smile, and she notices it.
"So, what made you volunteer this year?" Carmelia asks.
"I just wanted to," I say, but I know I sounded uncertain, and I can see that my stylist knows I am lying.
"Now, you and I both know that that isn't the truth, darling. What's the real reason?"
I hesitate a long while - I'm not sure if I can trust her enough. The concerned look on her face tells me that I can, and I really need to get it out, so I tell her: "My father made me."
I'd always expected that people would treat my like an idiot if they ever found out the real reason, but she just comes over to my side and puts her hand on my shoulder. "I thought as much. Ares always seemed too proud to have honest intentions..."
It shocks me to hear people talking about my father in that way, but I know more than anybody that what she is saying is true. He only cares about himself - not anybody else, and least of all, me. I'm just a speck of dirt to him. My only purpose in life is to win the Hunger Games, and I know that I'm not even strong enough to do that.
"Why did I have to be such a failure?" I timidly say. I'm not asking anybody the question, not really, but Carmelia answers me anyway.
"You're not. I don't see how you can think that about yourself, darling." She sits me down on the preparation table, and she sits beside me, her arm around me. "I'm sure nobody in their right mind would see you that way. You're polite, you seem to have a kind heart - you're a nice person. Yes, you're not Games material, but most people honestly aren't. So don't put yourself down, because you're not the one with the issue. The arena will be punishment enough for your non-existant sins that you seem to think you have to carry, you don't need to emotionally torture yourself before then. Just let yourself relax and enjoy the Capitol. After all, it really is a wonderful place."
I look her in the eyes and say, "Thank you," and I mean it. Nobody's ever really told me that it's okay to be me before. I've always been taught to be the best - to train, and to volunteer, before eventually entering the elite circle of victors alongside my father - but it really isn't me. It's a shame nobody back home ever thought to tell me that, to give me strength to believe in myself, or else I could be someplace safer right now.
"Well, enough of that!" Carmelia stands and grabs a clothes bag from the side. "I have your outfit. I do hope you like it..."
When she goes to unzip the bag which contains my dress, I already know that I'm going to like it - not necessarily because of the design, but because of the person who made it, and the intentions they had when making it for me.