Overrated by Three Days Grace
The weakness starts to show
They've created the generation
That we know
Callena Martis, 17, District One
My stylist straightens the sleeve of my thin, glittered jumpsuit that leaves a trail of sparkles on her fingertips. She then takes care to them all rub off onto her skirt. Her perfect nails press into my cheeks as she wipes something off the side of my painted face. I had been in the Remake Centre for Panem knows how long, my body and face being morphed to perfection and then being squeezed into this tight-fitting outfit. My hair feels fifteen pounds heavier thanks to the gems that are staggered down my mane and the tight crown of jewels covering my hairline. She finally steps back to admire her work and I grimace under her stare. Her eyes seem to bore into me and I can sense the comment rising in her throat before it ever exits her lips.
"If only you were taller," she sighs sadly, shaking her head, "my work would have made such a great impression."
Jax and I had been prepared separately, though I know that our costumes will at least resemble each other's. That means that he is no better off than I when it comes to these ridiculous arrangements. As soon as Jax had volunteered at the Reaping, I had assumed he would be this arrogant brute, not unlike the other boys at the Academy. As soon as we got on the train, however, he had changed so dramatically that I had often wondered if it were possible that his twin brother had jumped on the train instead of him. Jax kept to himself, barely speaking a word to myself or either of our mentors. His eyes flashed with intelligence but he did not seem to be playing the part of the brute any longer. I wonder if the arrogant boy I saw volunteer was just that, a part to play.
As if on cue, Jax along with his flamboyant stylist enter the room and walk over to where I stand beside our chariot. As I had predicted he is dressed in a glittered jumpsuit identical to mine, but his hair is not coated with gemstones as mine is. I note that the design of sparkling stones differs on his costume, his seem to be placed into short lines that don`t appear to have any set pattern, whereas mine are arranged in swirls that seem to encompass my body. The same smile that he had bore at the Reaping has returned to his face and I shake my head, trying to figure out what exactly this boy is up to.
Vulcan Crater, 18, District Two
Most of the other tributes have already arrived by the time I enter with my stylist in tow. It doesn't take long for me to spot Maxon amidst the crowd. Like me, her body is painted gold and she wears a minuet amount of clothing that has been designed to look like armour. A gold skirt that must be less than 4 inches long attaches to a strapless, skin tight bandeau of the same color and sheen. Even her face is coated with paint and the whites of her eyes appear to glow against the dark background. Maxon turns her body towards me when I have gotten close enough and I am able to admire the intricate pattern of her body armor.
"Nice pants," she smirks and I look down to the hard, gold shorts that barely cover my bottom half. Besides that measly piece of clothing I am naked, though it's not as if anyone would complain if I were to be completely exposed. You are able to make out the defined muscles of my stomach through the paint and I smile, causing some of the gold to leak into my mouth leaving an unpleasant metallic taste.
"Nice hat," I retort quickly and point to the halo of golden leaves that sits atop her dark hair. She rolls her eyes at my comeback and her gaze holds on my own crown, mentally telling me that we are wearing the exact same headdress. I shove her by the shoulder playfully once I have come close enough to her. Maxon immediately stumbles backwards as my hand makes contact with her arm and she hits the side of the chariot with her back. I reach down to help her up but she slaps my hand away and heaves herself up, her stylist rushing over to make sure none of the paint has been smeared.
The District Fours pass me on their way to their chariot and I do a double take as their outfits move from my vision. When I look back I see that both of the tributes wear blue swimsuits and have pieces of seaweed wrapped around their legs, arms, and even strung through their damp hair. Their entire bodies have been sprayed with a pale blue that makes them look like drowning victims and I cannot help the smile that comes to my face.
I glance behind the pair and my eyes fall upon the District Seven tributes that are already being helped into their chariot. The girl requires the help of two stylists and a mentor so that she does not break her outfit, the entire thing is made of twigs that appear ready to snap at any moment and expose her. My eyes remain glued on the visible parts of her body and I almost wish that they would break. The male wears an outfit based on the same concept, a white shirt with a short sleeved jacket and pants made from light brown sticks. His face is impassive as he accepts the help from both a mentor and an escort to get into the vehicle alongside the pretty girl.
My eyes drift back even further behind our chariot to the District Ten tributes. The girl watches as the boy is ushered into the chariot before her, a nervous smile on her tanned face. She wears a black and white dress that I assume to be some sort of play on the pattern of a cow and her partner sports pants of the same design along with a long-sleeve white shirt. As the girl steps forward to get helped into the chariot, a loud, low ring echoes through the stable. It is only then that I understand the dull gold shape that is poised like a necklace around her throat. Both tributes have a large cowbell around their necks.
"Time to get in, Vulcan."
I hear Maxon calling from above me and I look up to see her staring down at me with a tight expression. I accept the hand of my stylist that is held out to help me into the chariot and I climb in next to Maxon, shoving her over to her side in the process. She huffs in dissatisfaction but says nothing, only inching further and further away from me until I believe she may fall out of the thing altogether. Our chariot lurches forward and she grabs hold of the railing upon stumbling forward. I reach out to help but she only glares at me over her shoulder. Instead I shrug and position myself in the chariot, the applause from the crowds urging my lips into a wicked smile.
Fuze Lypton, 16, District Three
The applause is deafening and beside me Wyre raises her hands slightly as if to cover her ears. I shake my head quickly at her and she looks at me with a concerned look in her pale eyes. I give her a smile and a nod, placing a hand on her shoulder which seems to calm her. She closes her eyes for a split second and when they open her eyes appear dead and blank, just like they did at the Reaping. This transformation shakes me a bit and I release my grip on her shoulder, but one more pitiful glance from Wyre has my hands replaced on her shoulders to steady her.
Unidentifiable cheers from the crowds break through my eardrums alongside the mountainous applause and the shouts that sound something like my name. I listen more closely and realize that they are chanting my name, but just mine. No one seems to even notice Wyre who stands shakily in front of me, trying her very best just to not faint.
"Wave," I whisper in her ear and she mechanically lifts her hand and moves it back and forth in front of her. A few cheers of her name are audible but nearly lost in the shouts that now focus in on the chariot behind us. I rack my brain for something more, something that will get both of noticed. Just before we ride into the City Circle, I take Wyre's hand in mine and raise it high above both our heads. The applause is deafening as people all around us point and scream our district number. A smile even creeps onto Wyre's pale face as we ride through the last of the crowd. Someone throws us a silver daisy and I catch it and place it in Wyre's neatly combed hair, earning more applause and cheers. I look up to the side screens to see the smiling face of my district partner, illuminated by the silver makeup on her face and grinning from ear to ear. I throw back my head and laugh as the screams of the crowd intensify with each coming chariot. We come to a stop next to the District Two tributes and they both look back at me with empty glares, not exactly fierce and intimidating but more disappointed than anything. I turn back to Wyre and bring my mouth close to her ear.
"We beat them at their own game Wyre," I whisper. "We can still do this."
She looks up at me with a close mouthed grin and nods slowly before taking my newly outstretched hand. We shake once and turn our attention to the other tributes as the rest of the chariots congregate around us.
Faye Darson, 18, District Four
Finally District Twelve pulls up two chariots to my right. Both tributes are dusted completely in black, right down to their hair. They also wear a three quarter sleeve jumpsuit that barely brushes past their knees. Reddish-orange strips of fabric plague the suits as well as their black dusted skin, giving the faint illusion that they are burning coal. Quite clever of their stylists actually, and a large improvement from the coal miner costumes that District Twelve usually presents.
The President rises in his chair, the white hair shining atop his head despite his young age. President Snow, everyone knows who this man is, the very person that holds Panem together and allows the Hunger Games to continue even after forty-four years. His bulky body is clothed in a dark grey suit and his signature white rose protrudes from his front most pocket. Beneath his thin lips I am able to see rows of pointed teeth much like those of a shark. His eyes seem to hold each of our gazes at once and the entire stadium falls silent under his stare.
"Welcome, tributes, we welcome you. We salute your courage, and your sacrifice. And may the odds be ever in your favour," as his lips form the familiar slogan of the Hunger Games I can't help but shudder with excitement. This was all really happening, this was all going to happen for me.
My eyes the District Two male looking closely at the tight fabric around my breasts. I angle myself towards him and his eyes fly up to meet mine, a smile flitting up to my lips. He winks and then turns away to listen to the rest of the President's speech but my eyes continue to scan the other chariots.
The first thing that catches my gaze is the colorful District Eight chariot. The girl looks around with an awed look in her eyes, as if everything around her were something marvelous, which I must admit that it is. Her small body is overtaken by a long-sleeved, ankle length dress that puffs out around her arms and neck. The entire thing is a mess of green and pink, as if the stylist could simply not tell one from the other and just threw them both onto the costume. The boy's outfit is similar, but while the dominant color of the girl's was pink, his includes far more green. Atop both of their heads stands a lopsided band of either pink or green with a collection of colored feathers coming up on one side. The colors hold my eyes for many moments until I force myself to look away, the overwhelmingly tacky fashion beginning to make my stomach churn.
Two chariots to my right, I spot the District Six tributes. They are dressed in almost direct contrast to the District Eights' colorful mess, being clothed in a suit and dress of all black. A thin, tire like band runs around their heads and waists, giving the illusion that both are being strangled by their unfortunate district's industry. One chariot closer to me finds the tributes of District Five clothed in silver sequined tunics that catch the light and reflect it at all angles. Long strands of silver wiring wrap around their heads and down their faces, causing both the tributes' faces to remain locked in a single expression for fear of the wire running loose.
Our chariot begins to move again and beside me Caddis gasps and grips the handrail even tighter than before. When I look over to him I see his face stuck in a stoic expression, nobody except me would see the fear that only becomes visible when you look at his white-knuckled hands. The fear that I must find a way to infiltrate and bring out of him, and expose him as what he truly would never be. A real Career.
Toriton Aszero, 15, District Five
Mace offers me a hand and I take it gleefully, hopping out of the chariot to land five feet down to the stable ground. My feet are unable to keep still as I stare around at the other tributes. They are all dressed in hilarious costumes that I just cannot help but smile and laugh at. Today I feel happy, I have no idea how I will feel tomorrow.
Miram is helped off the chariot by Mace and he kisses her hand politely only to have her pull it away. Her eyes move around the room and I follow them as they fall on each district pair, soaking up the ridiculous costumes that make ours look like the latest fashion trend. I think that District Eight has it the worst this time, when I first saw their costumes on the screen as we were preparing to leave the stable, I burst out laughing, the laughter carrying on throughout the ride as the colorful people cheered me on. I'll never quite understand these people, but seeing them cheer at my crushing laughter only made me laugh harder. Despite how it started out, with my mentor waking me rudely as we arrived in the Capitol this morning, today has been a pretty fun day. I got to dress up like some sort of ludicrous clown and to top it all off, twenty-three other kids my age were dressed up with me, talk about funny.
"Did you have fun?" I yell over the loud atmosphere of the room towards Miram who is still looking between the chariots quickly, her eyes soon boring of the costumes and moving onto the next. When she turns to look at me she has a weird kind of close-lipped smile on her face and her eyes are lit up with amusement.
"Yeah actually," she laughs but her eyes flitter over my head as though she could no longer look at me. By the time I think of a response she is already nowhere to be seen, no doubt heading off with her mentor, Avani. Mace comes up beside me and grabs my arm to lead me away. When I see that his eyes are not pointed at me I follow his gaze over to the District Two female who stares back at me with a smile on her face. One look at Mace tells me that he does not approve of this girl looking at me but I can't understand why. He pulls me by the arm and just before we disappear through the doors I flash the girl a big grin causing her smile to widen and her eyes to narrow. Mace whispers to me not to look back and that I shouldn't aggravate her. Mace is just being paranoid as always, thinking everyone is out to get him or to get the people he is with. But I really don't understand why Mace always thinks that, what's so wrong about someone just being genuinely happy in the Hunger Games?
Mayli Dear, 16, District Six
Geare is the first through the door to our suite and he stops so suddenly in the doorway that I almost run into him. First I can do nothing but apologize profusely at the boy, who doesn't even seem to register my words, but as my eyes move upwards my lips too are unable to form another syllable.
The room we have just walked into is large, so large in fact that I am unable to see it in its entirety from where I stand. The walls, floors, and ceilings are all painted the same tint of white so they melt into each other, leaving me unable to tell where one starts and another finishes off. The colors of the furniture all blend into one another, giving the impression that everything within the suite had been hand painted just for us. A raised dining room is to the left of me and many doors take up the far right wall along with a beautiful sitting area containing a large screen that is somehow able to stand on its own.
I take another step into the place and my head spins with all the luxury that I have suddenly become immersed in. Geare walks up beside me and sighs deeply, both of us eating up the beauty of a home bigger than anything we have ever seen before in District Six. A harsh hand on both our shoulders brings us back to reality and I spin around to see Rush grinning half-heartedly back at us both, Maize by his side but not looking at anything in particular. Her glazed eyes seem always to brush over us, but without even the faintest hint of recognition registering in them.
"Would you like to have some dinner?" Rush asks and his voice carries smoothly through the room until I feel that his speech is enveloping my very body with its soft tones. Geare nods excitedly as he watches a pair of red clad Avoxes bring out trays of silver, piled high with unrecognizable delicacies.
"I would rather just go to my room," I say and take a couple steps towards the many doors on the right hand side of the suite. "Um, which one is it?"
Rush laughs at the sheepish smile that follows my question and points to the second last door that is a light brown color, its tone directly contrasting with the bright, cheery atmosphere of the room. I press through it and walk into an enormous room that is likely bigger than my entire house back home. In the centre lies a luxurious bed covered in thick, grey and green blankets and countless fluffy pillows. I run my hands over the fabric and shivers travel up my spine as I think of how much Kiko would enjoy curling up on this bed with me.
A sudden lump of homesickness fills my stomach and I sit down at the small table in the corner of the room, pulling a thin notebook out of the pocket of my costume. A pen slides out of the binding and I open up to the last page I had used just two nights ago. The night before any of this even had crossed my mind, me being a tribute in the Hunger Games, me visiting the Capitol, me leaving everything familiar to be thrown into this odd world.
I begin with a simple sentence that sums up my thoughts perfectly, writing down everything after that which I feel important to record even though no one will ever see it but me.
Everything I know has been turned upside down, but that's alright, everyone needs to be challenged once in their life.
Alpine Deerden, 17, District Seven
The sun leaks in through the sheer curtains and my eyes squint open, unable to immediately adjust to the day. I throw the blankets off me and swing my feet over the bed and onto the floor, bracing myself from the cold shivers that never come. I feel warmth course through my body and I close my eyes to savour it, like I never have before I feel completely whole and pure.
The moment is short lived when I once again I open my eyes to see a black bag hanging on the back of my door, a hanger protruding from the tope to keep it secure. I walk over to it, stretching my limbs one at a time with each step, and rip the white slip of paper off the top of the sac.
Put this on and meet us in the dining room, be ready to talk.
Aspen
I crumple the note and throw it to the wooden floor and remove the bag from the door, placing it roughly on my bed. I don't understand why everyone suddenly feels like talking, I was never good at talking to people and I see no reason that that should change just because I am a few days away from dying. All I've heard from Aspen is how I need to be more open and stop dwelling on the situation. He doesn't know me, this is just the way I am. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die as me. Not as some kind of crazy mutant that Aspen hopes to mold me into.
I unzip the long bag and pulls out a black outfit that is stretchy beneath my fingers and has pieces of grey and blue intertwined down the sides. As I slip it on I cannot help but feel exposed, as if by being so constricted in this outfit I am actually showing more than I am actually hiding. I run my hands over the smooth fabric and then through my messy hair before sitting down on the floor to force a pair of black combat boots onto my feet. They make my feet ache but eventually I manage to get them on.
I walk out the door and into the enormous apartment, memories floating back in from the previous night when Kiera and I stared in awe at the sheer beauty of the place. None of the amazement has worn off and I find myself starring once again at the luxurious layout.
Aspen clears her throat and I am flung back into real time, noticing Kiera and everyone else already seated at a long table with food being shoved into their mouths. I hurry over and take my place, piling food onto the large plate until I can no longer see white between the cracks of the food. Aspen talks for most of breakfast but I tune her out for the most part, only adding a polite nod once in a while to give her the notion that someone is actually listening to her babbling. When breakfast has ended, Aspen, Cypress, Kiera, and I make our way to the door at the front of the apartment from which we had entered that previous night. We step in and Aspen presses her finger into the button marked with a 'T,' almost immediately the floor beneath us begins to move as we descend to our first day of training.
Sedo Monya, 16, District Eight
"Welcome tributes to your first of three training days," a monotonous female voice tells us from the centre of the circle of tributes. She is dressed in an outfit similar to ours but in place of the blue stripes down the sides of our suits she and the other trainers have red. "There will be one mandatory exercise and the rest will be individual. I know that everyone wants to begin with weaponry but remember that not all of you will die at the hands of another tribute. Half of you will die from natural causes; starvation and dehydration are common. Learn what you need to survive tributes, whatever that may be."
The trainer walks off and almost immediately the Career tributes rush past Areyna and I on their way to the stations that hold the most dangerous looking weapons. The girl from Two turns back and smiles cruelly in our direction, causing Areyna to subconsciously move closer to me.
In the short time Areyna and I have been together she has become oddly comfortable with me. Even now she looks up at me with admiration in her wide hazel eyes, willing me to make decisions for her. Trusting me that I will know what it is we have to do to survive. But the thing is I don't know. I never thought I would be here right now, just as I am sure she didn't think she would be. Both of us are nothing but pawns of fate, moving around to please something more powerful than ourselves. When I look down at Areyna I see nothing but a doomed child who is holding onto a condemned hope that maybe, just maybe, she will be able to find her way home again.
My own mind however, can't help but see her and everyone else in this room covered in blood. In their own, in that of other tributes. All I see when I look at anyone is dripping, tainted blood that symbolizes the horrible game we will all be playing. Where we will all kill just to try and save ourselves. When I look at Areyna all I can picture is an arrow splitting her fragile heart in two.
"Where do you want to go first?" I ask her quietly and she begins to scan the room analytically. My eyes follow hers as the graze each station in turn before finally falling in a station nearest the back of the centre, currently unoccupied. The only person there a bored looking male with dark, green-tipped hair. Her small hand comes up and she points with her index finger towards the station and I nod, following her small form towards the back of the room.
As we approach the station I see dozens of long tubes lining the wall beside it and even more dozens of darts arranged on the table beside a makeshift target range. Areyna walks right up to the trainer who nods at the long tubes, Areyna picks one of the smaller ones and I do the same.
"This weapon you are holding is called a blow dart tube," the trainer sighs and explains quickly. "It can be used for long or short range and, when aimed correctly, can result in death."
Areyna's eyes widen and she begins to put the weapon down, suddenly realizing its capabilities as being lethal. I place my hand on her shoulder and shake my head. If we are going to win this, we are going to need a way to get to the others and this just could be that way.
Lylac Medo, 13, District Nine
I look around the room at the countless displays of skill stations. The older and stronger tributes have already made their way towards the weaponry setup and that leaves the smaller and less oriented tributes to take over the survival stations. Originally I had wanted to work with finding a weapon I could use adequately, but just looking at the other tributes swinging around axes larger than my head makes me want to puke. Instead I decided to go over to the camouflaging station where an eager trainer awaits me.
"Welcome to camouflage!" She cheers and takes me by the shoulders, directing me towards the round table that is filled with paints, leaves and picture. "Pick a picture of the background you want to blend yourself into and I will show you how to do it!"
I nod and smile sweetly at her as she walks over to wait for any other tributes who might stumble upon this station. I glance carefully at the many pictures in front of me and finally decide on the background of a grey concrete wall. I bring the photo over to the trainer and she directs me towards the grey and white paints that sit on one end of the table. I take my time carefully painting my arm with the two color as she shows me how to apply it properly to give it the same texture as concrete.
"Hi!" A voice comes from behind me and I whirl around almost managing to spray the boy with paint. He has brown hair and beautiful blue eyes that almost make me melt on first sight. His face is covered in a wide grin and he looks up to me cheerily. "That's so cool! How did you do that?"
I shrug and point to the paints in front of me, unable to hide the small smile that comes to my lips. "She showed me how to paint myself into concrete, but that will only help if the arena has some."
"Still, it's really cool! I think I might try to make myself blend into a tree," he says sweetly and begins to gather the paints in front of him that make up the intricate color and design of tree bark. I begin to return to my work but something stops me. This is the chance I need.
Ever since I was born I have always been the baby of the family, never old enough to do anything or be of any help. By the time I turned ten my family decided it was time for me to begin pulling my weight around the house and dumped chore after chore on top of my schoolwork. My youngest brother who was sixteen at the time took some pity on me and used to do some of my chores for me, with a bit of convincing on my part. If I can convince my own brother to do things for me, why is this stranger any different?
"I'm just kind of scared for what is going to happen soon," I say quietly and allow myself to sniffle almost inaudibly. "Everyone seems so prepared and camouflage won't keep me safe forever."
"I could help you," he shrugs without taking his eyes away from his work.
"You want me as an ally?" I ask and turn to the boy, letting my eyes widen slightly in questioning.
"Sure, why not?" His face is coate
Dove Uppercut, 18, District Ten
Nothing in this entire room reminds me of home.
I had thought the plants and trees that have been placed at the various stations would make me feel more comfortable about this entire situation. But I was wrong, even the nature here is brooding and unwelcoming. For a while now I have busied myself with the shelter making station, trying hopelessly to build something out of a bundle of sticks and some rope. So far all I have managed to do is give myself about a dozen splinters.
I lean myself up against one of the trees in the area that have been placed to look like one of the more common arenas, forests. Taking a piece of rope in my hand I absentmindedly twist it around the sticks as I gaze across the cavernous room.
The first thing that catches my eye is the glint of silver as one of the Career males slices through the air with a wide headed axe. The thud is audible as he connects with one of the plush dummies and I force myself to look away from the weapons training, not exactly wanting to psych myself out even more than I already had managed to. The next view I see is much nicer, a tall girl with a slender body sashays over to the plant identification table. When she gets there she runs a hand through her blonde hair and throws it over her shoulder. My eyes do not leave her beautiful body until a voice from above snaps my attention back.
"Hey."
"Oh hey," I reply to the long haired male standing above me, an "11" stitched into his sleeve. Hi smile is serene and I feel myself becoming calmer and calmer just by his very presence.
"This is a nice change, eh?" He looks around the room blankly and I find myself following his gaze as it jumps from person to person, station to station. I consider his words carefully, he is right that all of this is a huge change for me, though I wouldn't exactly call it a nice one. His eyes eventually turn back to me and I tell him this as kindly as I can.
"I guess we'll see if it's nice or not. For now though I think it is, nothing bad has happened just yet," his eyes move again to scan the room but I am unable to tear my eyes off the strange boy to follow his gaze. It seems ridiculous but in some way or another he is right, the only bad part about this experience is that eventually almost all of us will die. The journey so far doesn't seem nearly as bad as I think it should be, considering where we are going. Maybe he is right, maybe I should just focus on enjoying the ride, it's not like I have any say in where I'm going anyway.
Olive Fahrah, 18, District Eleven
This is all really weird. It's like we are all just being thrown into this place unprepared, no one except the Careers knowing how to train for these Games. I feel so unprepared even at my advanced age.
I look across the room to see the little twelve year old girl from Eight, her eyes staring admiringly up at her district partner as he blows something out of a tube that hits a target on one of the inner rings. I can't imagine how she must feel, six years younger than me and so very tiny. How can she possibly be expected to deal with all this, even training is nerve wracking for me. It makes me wonder how the Games will play out, if already I feel this lost.
I wonder if it would do me any good to find an ally. People do that a lot in the Hunger Games, that I know. Already I have seen the little ones from Nine and Twelve team up as well as my district partner, Cain, and the District Ten male. Maybe I should find someone to stay with, at least for a little while during the Games. Someone to protect me, maybe even someone to keep me sane for just a while longer than I would be alone.
Suddenly I feel a sense of coldness come over me and my vision blackens once again.
When I come back I am standing at the weaponry station, a bow and arrow poised in my grip. Immediately I drop the weapon and I hear the whimpering of a young child behind me. I whir around to see the little boy from District Six huddled in the corner of the range, scared eyes looking up at me as if I were some sort of demon. I take a step towards him and he flinches, pressing himself further into the wall and closing his eyes as if preparing himself for an assault. I throw my hands up to show him that I am not someone to be afraid of and he takes that chance to get up and run away towards the survival stations, hurrying away as fast as his little legs will carry him.
This has happened for as long as I can remember. Suddenly everything will fade out and when I come to I will be somewhere completely different, doing something that I never planned to do. Sometimes there are people around me, sometimes there isn`t. The only thing that is always present is the expressions on the faces of the people that are there. They always mimic the one of the little District Six boy, bathed in terror and eyes wide. I never ask for an explanation, I did once and after that I never wanted to know.
Amaran Luminera, 18, District Twelve
Rivers climbs in the elevator with me and I press our district number into the key panel. He seems just as happy as ever, I swear nothing can faze this kid. That is kind of what makes him interesting though, but I am scared the Games will change him too much. I have seen far too many young kids turned savage by the pressure and anxiety put on by this so called game. Last year there was a girl from one of the middle districts that was just thirteen years old. She seemed normal enough, but when the Games commenced she became unrecognizable. She killed her ally, another young kid, and tried hopelessly to take on an older lone tribute. Just a snap of her neck and she was gone for good.
I shudder at the memory, hoping to some higher force that Rivers won`t be forced to become like that girl, that he will stay this young, naive boy even in his inevitable death. Part of me wishes he didn`t have to die, but the rest of me knows that he was doomed the second his name was called at the Reaping, as it always is with the under fourteen tributes.
We clamber out of the elevator when it hits floor twelve and the first thing I see is Ridge sitting at a table with a glass of cloudy liquid in his hand. Both Rivers and I try to sneak past him into our respective bedrooms but he calls out to us and pats the stool beside him. I smile sadly and shake my head, motioning for Rivers to go ahead into his room while I head over to the table and place myself across from Ridge who hiccups loudly from the effects of the liquid.
"So how did it go?" He asks, drawing his words out in a way that remind me of a Capitol person, if not a bit more refined than one from the alcohol. I shrug my shoulders and he swats playfully at me, but manages to catch me on the side of my cheek. I back away but he only laughs, clearly not attuned to his own actions.
I had in fact made some allies today, so I consider that my day went fairly well considering the reason for my being here is to die on television. The first one I met was Miram from District Five, she seemed to get strangely attached to me from the very beginning, wanting me to watch her as she practiced with a bow an arrow. In truth she has become more adequate at using the weapon than I have, usually hitting the target on one of the outer rings and once hitting the ring outside the bull's eye. We spent most of the day at the archery station, which is where we also met Noeah, the boy from Nine. He is far superior at archery than either Miram or myself, hitting the middle rings most of the time and even a bull's eye once in a while. I watched him in admiration for the latter half of the day but Miram kept practicing, urging me to watch her progress the entire time.
I don't know why but they both remind me of my friends back in Twelve. Katie and Miram are almost one in the same, deathly stubborn girls whose determination is never lacking. Katie is one of the poorest girls in the Seam and yet she still manages to have a lively air about her, something that I wish my own family could muster up once in a while. Noeah's similarity to Olivia is almost scary, both have a quiet confidence about them that calls up attention, though both of them seem to reject the attention away from themselves, never basking in it as one would expect them to. Recognizing these traits in my new allies only makes me miss home more, and reinforce how important it is for me to get back there.
The artist theme for this story will be Three Days Grace.
Song: Overrated
The blog for this story can be found on my profile.
I really appreciate hearing your thoughts on the tributes as well as a general review on my writing. It helps me to understand what you guys want from certain characters and from the story in general.
I am really sorry about how long this took, and the next one will likely be just as long if not longer in time for me to write. I have a lot on my plate right now but I will do my best :D updates will likely get better once Christmas break begins for me! Again thank you to all who reviewed, it is very much appreciated as always!
Want more information about the mentors? Check out my story, 73 Victors, which includes all of the mentors from this Games :D reviews on that are also appreciated ;)