Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.
Note: Thank you to IndigoStarling and AceReader55 for Astra and Koray, respectively.
District Three Reaping
Outside the Normal Order
Mayberry Florence
District Three Mentor
This time, she would do better.
Gazing out at the crowd of children, Mayberry felt a twinge of guilt. Since she'd agreed to mentor District Three, she had met with failure after failure, and, for the last few years, she'd begun to quickly write off her young charges. To consider them as good as dead as soon as their names were called. She had thought it would be easier that way. Better to not get attached.
But, in the end, it was impossible – impossible not to get attached. Impossible not to care about these children. The ones in front of her now, trembling and terrified. The ones who had already gone to their deaths, forgotten by some – but not by her. The little girl last year who, on the night before the Games, had taken the time to ask Mayberry why she had wanted to be a mentor.
Which was why she was still here. She could have retired, like District Nine's mentor, Nerond. But she couldn't just abandon them, leaving a stranger to take her place. No, she would be her until District Three had a victor of its own. Once. Just once. Just one life.
Then maybe the last nine years would be worth it.
Rickell Maston, District Three's escort, stepped up to the bowl. He looked as tired as she felt – tired of drawing the names of children who stood no chance. He quickly reached into the bowl and drew the first slip of paper his fingers found. Quickly, he unfolded it and read the name. "Astra Halley!"
The fourteen-year-old section parted around a small girl in a grey dress – a girl who hardly looked old enough to be eligible for the reaping. Her pale skin had a sickly look, and her dark brown hair hung in limp, dirty tangles. Slowly, the girl took a few steps forward, but, as she reached the sixteen-year-old section, she stopped, turning to one of the girls in the section. Whispering, at first, but then louder. Pleading. Begging.
But, instead of stepping forward to take her place, the older girl who could only have been her sister collapsed, trembling uncontrollably. Almost violently. The younger girl froze, shocked, as two men hurried in from the crowd to take the older girl away. "Damn plague," she heard one of the peacekeepers mutter behind her. "Gather all the district together in one small area – brilliant idea. Do they want us all to die?"
Mayberry stared as the peacekeepers dragged the little girl forwards, her green eyes wide with fright, but now too shocked even to cry. Mayberry shuddered; nobody had told her anything about a plague. Maybe they hadn't wanted to scare her. Did the younger girl have it, too? Mayberry fought the urge to cover her nose and mouth. Surely if there was any real danger they would have told her.
Rickell, unfazed, had already drawn a name from the second bowl. "Koray Chambers!"
The sixteen-year-old section made way for a taller boy in a white button-down shirt and brown shorts. He was pale – though not as pale as the girl – with short brown hair and bright green eyes. The boy started towards the stage, finally managing to smile a little as he passed the eighteen-year-old section. One of the older boys stirred, uneasy, but the younger boy shook his head, smiled a little wider, and hurried up to the stage. Once there, he clapped his district partner on the back. "Can't let our older siblings have all the fun, can we?" he asked, loudly enough for the cameras to pick him up.
Mayberry smiled a little. He wasn't fooling anyone. No one in District Three considered the Games 'fun.' But that little remark might just help his chances in the Capitol. And he could use all the help he could get.
But this year would be different. This year, the tributes would have her help. She would do her best – try her absolute hardest – for the first time in years. Maybe it wouldn't do any good, but, at the very least, she wouldn't abandon them. Even if they died, she would see to it that they died knowing they were not alone.
Not anymore.
Astra Halley, 14
District Three Female
She was already alone.
Clinging silently to her brother, Oscar, Astra felt as if she had already left. Their parents had come to say goodbye, then hurried off to tend to Raysa. None of them had said what they all already knew: it was useless. Centers had been set up in their section of the district to care for plague victims, but all they could do was keep them as comfortable as possible. There was no cure.
Oscar held Astra close. "It's okay. It'll be okay. You can do this." But he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
"I'll try," Astra whispered. Of course she would try. Everyone tried. But only one tribute every year was successful.
"No," Oscar said suddenly, his voice firmer. "No, you have to do more than try. You have to do this, Astra. Now that Raysa … it's just…" He swallowed hard. "We can't lose both of you."
Tears stung Astra's eyes at the thought of her sister. Even if she somehow made it back, she might never see her again. Raysa could be dead by then. "T-t-tell Raysa I love her, and … and I'm s-sorry I asked her to take my place," Astra stuttered quietly. "I wasn't thinking. I was s-sc—"
"You were scared," Oscar finished. "It's okay. It's okay to be scared. It'll keep you alive." He gave her one last squeeze, then took something off his wrist – a piece of string that he always kept tied there for good luck. Wordlessly, he wrapped it around her wrist, then said quietly, "I'll see you when you get back."
For a while after he left, Astra sat there alone, staring at the door, hoping Oscar was right about fear keeping her alive. Because that was what she felt – so afraid, and so alone.
But alone was good. Because tributes didn't leave the Games together. They left alone, or not at all. And she would be the one who came out alive. She had to. They needed her. So she would do it.
And she would do it alone.
Koray Chambers, 16
District Three Male
At least he wasn't alone.
Koray glanced around at his family – his mother and father, standing nearby, and his brother, Jericho, sitting next to him. They hadn't said much. But there wasn't really much to say. They all knew what came next. What he had to do. That they would spend the next few weeks waiting, wishing, hoping for him to be the lucky one to make it out alive. And that he would do everything he could to make that happen.
If only it were as easy as it sounded.
Part of him couldn't imagine not having his family there with him. Even when they'd had nothing – in the worst days of the rebellion, days they had spent huddled together in an underground shelter they shared with five other families – even then, they'd had each other. Who could he turn to for help now?
"I want you to have this," Jericho said at last, handing Koray a pin – two snakes wrapped around a pole. "It kept me safe … during the reapings, that is. So maybe—"
Koray nodded. Jericho was safe now. Next year he would be nineteen, too old for the reaping. Koray smiled up at his older brother, trying to let him know that it was okay. It was okay that he was the one who was safe. Even if the worst were to happen, their parents would still have Jericho. That was good.
But it would be better if they could have both of them.
Koray took a few deep breaths. He would still have help – at least a little. He would have his mentor. His escort. His district partner. His allies, if he could find some. And his family back home, waiting. His district, hoping for a victor, at last.
After his family left, Koray sat, twirling the pin in his hands. Two snakes, intertwined. Together. A reminder that, even in the Games, he wouldn't be alone. Koray smiled and pinned the symbol on his shirt. He could do this.
And he wouldn't have to do it alone.
"We have soothed ourselves into imagining sudden change as something that happens outside the normal order of things. An accident, like a car crash. Or beyond our control, like a fatal illness. We do not conceive of sudden, radical, irrational change as built into the very fabric of existence. Yet it is."