Luther Szeto

District 2 Male, 18
15 Days before the Games
Outskirts of District 2

"Aunt Roxanne! I'm going out with Alice, I'll be back later," I yell as I grab a sandwich off the counter.

My aunt is somewhere at the back of the house, rummaging through our stuff no doubt, trying to keep the place in order. In vain, if you ask me. My cousin and I cause quite the ruckus and while we certainly try to help out, my aunt gets exasperated more often than not.

"Aunt Roxanne!" I repeat myself.

She comes stumbling out into our tiny kitchen, three heavy-looking boxes in her arms. I instinctively drop my sandwich back on the counter and rush to help her.

Aunt Roxanne is a tiny black-haired woman, with a sharp look in her dark eyes, skewering me on the spot. I know for a fact that she could slap me to hell and back if I did so much as contradict whatever she said. I take two of the three boxes from her and set them on our decrepit counter.

"What do you want?" she asks, huffing as she sets the last box down.

"I was just saying that I'm going out with Alice to watch the stars, I'll be back late," I say slowly, articulating every word, "If that's okay with you."

"Don't go getting into trouble now," she grumbles.

"I won't, I promise," I say, chuckling slightly.

I know she worries about me quite a bit. Our entire family was pretty much obliterated by the war, and she took it pretty poorly. I mean who wouldn't, right? I was barely five when it happened so I don't remember a ton, but my aunt remembers everything.

Her sister, my mother… she died horribly.

Aunt Roxanne's husband Winto died in the war too, after all. Anytime we sit together in our little living room, Aunt Roxanne recounts the day where Winto, Fred and Rula, that's my dad and mom's names respectively, left the house and never came back. They were killed in action, by the rebels.

"In the end, I guess our side did win," aunt Roxanne always concludes heavily, when finishing that particular story.

"At what cost," I used to mutter but I know that upset her quite a bit, so I stopped. I know she cried a lot, those months after my mom's, my dad's and my uncle's deaths. It wasn't easy, and it's not fair to poke such a sensitive subject with a stick.

Aunt Roxanne actually likes to talk about that night, weirdly enough. It's almost like it's a fond memory she keeps chasing, amidst the absolute shit-show her life descended into afterwards. She romanticizes it quite a bit too, something I don't necessarily agree with but oh well. Before I started training, she struggled to keep the household running, working herself bare to keep me and my cousin Lydia fed and clothed. Now we had a bit of money coming in in the shape of my stipend. That isn't half-bad.

For me, the death I mourn the most is that of my older brother Daniel. He was the one I looked up to, my fondest memories from before the war being of us playing and thinking up wild scenarios and plots together. It's even worse for his death, because while my parents and my uncle died protecting their values, he was… collateral damage. Both my parents were soldiers and I was proud of them, in a way. Angry for leaving us, but proud. When they died, the war was in full swing, so we didn't even get a call. We just heard on our shitty radio that their battalion had been bombed into oblivion and that was it. I remember asking aunt Roxanne what that meant, and she had pursed her lips then, and hugged my cousin Lydia, me and Daniel hard. We got separated the day after, because the rebels started bombing the shit out of civilians too, clearly getting desperate.

I remember that day clearly. I was covered in soot and grime, my ears hurt and I didn't understand what was going on. People were dying, but I thought it was kind of a game. By then, I still didn't understand my parents were dead. I ran into a building and hid there, with another girl who I saw on the street. She was crying a lot, and I remember telling her we just had to play and we'd win, which made her sob harder.

I wasn't particularly scared, but I guess I should have been. Our building was safe and so was aunt Roxanne's. She had taken Lydia and ran for her life, she told me when we found each other later. She thought me and my brother were dead, and she beat herself up about it so much, all these years later, for not looking for us longer. I didn't blame her though…she was only 24 years old back then, scared out of her mind, with one child of her own and saddled overnight with the responsibility of caring for her sister's kids. She also would have died, if she hadn't run. Turns out she was half-right about us being killed, because my brother was crushed by collapsing debris that night. I think that's why she's so conflicted, about me leaving, about me training, about me risking it all in the Hunger Games.

The building we were hiding in, the nameless girl and me, it had a little television. Somehow, three quarters of the district lost power following the attacks, but that house somehow didn't. We distracted ourselves by watching the news, which was the only thing on anyways. The girl cried even harder when they showed one street bursting into flames after a particularly-accurate jet-fighter dropped liquid fire on it.

I still remember her repeating over and over "that's my street, that's my street" as her tears created soot-rivulets down her cheeks. She told me her little brother and parents died in that attack, and she barely escaped. I didn't know it at the time, but I watched my brother's death on television too. Towards the end of the day, the attacks weakened. I told the girl we'd be out soon, everything would be okay.

Suddenly, a helicopter shot revealed the outskirts of District 2, the fence visible already. They had only built it a few years prior to my birth, my aunt told me. To keep intruders out. To keep our district safe and protected. It had looked pristine on television, compared to the rest of the landscape. Most of the buildings were small, dilapidated, craters carved out in the ground. One building stood out however, and it would forever be etched in my memory.

It was an apartment complex, like any other. It went down, floor by floor, and I almost found it amusing the way it fell like a house of cards. My brother was in that building, I found out later, hiding out just as I was. He was way smarter than I was, he was older too, and he probably understood what was going on. He was only nine at the time, younger than when I picked up my first weapon and went ham on a Styrofoam dummy. Younger than when Athena handed me my first knife and told me to kill a squirrel, to prove that I had it in me. He just had shittier luck than I did.

Either way, as upsetting as this all sounds, I'm over it. Almost everyone alive today had something shitty happen to them during the Dark Days. I'm taking this whole war situation in stride. Now there's the Hunger Games and that's pretty much all I can do at this point, considering I have zero discipline, don't give a shit enough to join the Peacekeeping force and have no other discernable talents apart from training. That's alright, I made peace with that and I'm hoping everyone else will too. I know for a fact that when I told aunt Roxanne I'd be volunteering, she told me she was very proud. I also overheard her crying at night, but I'd never tell her that. She'd slap me in the head if I did.

Athena told me I'd be great, if I stopped my bullshit, so I know the endeavor isn't hopeless. I know aunt Roxanne respects Athena tremendously, for her efforts to purge the district of rebels and her vocal dislike of dissidence. I can't particularly say I'm of the same opinion, because I mean…my parents fucking died for the Capitol. My brother died. My uncle died. The three of us ended up shit's creek without a paddle, because of their stupid war. So, forgive me if I am not as stocked about the Capitol's greatness as Athena seems to be. In other words, I can't say I'm a staunch Capitol supporter, but I also can't not be one, if that makes any sense? I don't really see a point to it, but my parents died for the cause, so it has to mean something. Even if I don't get it. Even if I don't think it's as black and white as people like aunt Roxanne make it out to be.

"Did you have an aneurysm or something?" aunt Roxanne asks me, none too sharply. I snap out of my unexpected detour through memory lane, coming back to reality. I almost want to ask her what's an aneurysm but decide against it. She was a medic, back in the day, and she could launch herself into a full tirade about what an aneurysm is and frankly I don't really care. I'm not good at that stuff anyways.

Her daughter Lydia, my cousin, is the smart one. She's really brilliant. I'm just really fast, lethal, good with weapons and not-dying.

"You ain't the sharpest tool in the shed," my aunt says whenever I do something dumb, and I don't take it personally because it's true, I'm not. Athena says I make up for it with other stuff. That's fine by me.

"Okay I'm leaving," I announce and grab the sandwich again.

"Love you, aunt Roxanne!" I call out just as I step out the door.

"Love you too Luther, come back in one piece please," she yells after me.

My life is all about this now. Getting yelled at affectionately by aunt Roxanne. Getting yelled at in frustration by Lydia, for having eaten her food. Getting yelled at for some bullshit or another by Athena at training for like eighteen hours in a row.

I run as fast as I can as the sun sets over the horizon. I don't want to miss it, and I know Alice will be waiting for me. Might even get yelled at by Alice, if I'm too late. As I said, getting yelled at and hitting things pretty much sums up my life and is a specialty of mine.

I see Alice just as I speed through a crossing and hit the small tree line that marks the boundary of the clearing we always meet at.

I bump her in the arm and tackle her, flipping us over. We crash into the tall grass, me laughing, her cursing. Alice is my best friend. We've tried the whole dating thing when we were a bit younger, but that's when we discovered she preferred girls and I'm just generally not all that big on relationships. Still, I'd say she's the person I am most comfortable with.

The sun turns a deep red color and we both look in wonder. We try to do this every day that I am not bogged down by training. Most of the time, our friends join us. Tonight though, we're alone. There's been quite the drama at the Center, for the volunteering positions.

I straight-up told Athena I'd be volunteering no matter the outcome. I've told her this repeatedly over the years actually, and the first time she actually broke my clavicle for insubordination. She's mellowed down a little bit, and I think she realized just how good and malleable I really was, so she stopped breaking my bones, thankfully. The fact is though, she's undecided who she's sending in. I know exactly who she's sending in, but she isn't. It's not my problem and she'll have to deal with it, because she's the one who told me I was good enough in the first place.

"Look at it. It's particularly beautiful tonight," Alice remarks, childlike wonder tinting her features, no doubt. For the second time today, I am pulled out of my own head. Alice's face is partially obscured by her dark hair. That's how Alice is. She's this super independent strong fighter and the next second, she's a kid fascinated by the sunset and the vastness of our universe. That's what I love about my best friend, she has so many facets to her. Sometimes, I am almost envious because the only thing I have is training. I We both train but for polar-opposite reasons. I like chaos whereas she likes order.

In a way, I like to think of myself as an anachronist, the kind of person who wants to watch the world fall to pieces and build itself up from the ruins of the old. That's why I think I'm perfect for the Games. Or is that an anarchist?

I am tempted to ask Alice as the blues, purples and yellows in the sky are replaced by a deep velvet black. She'd probably know, she is actually good at this memorization crap, whereas I'm positively awful.

Before I can bring anything up, Alice asks me whether I believe I am ready for what's coming. It takes me a few seconds to understand what she's talking about.

"Oh, the Games? Yeah sure, why not. I just need to nail my volunteering moment, and I'll be good to go."

She frowns, clearly not satisfied with my dismissive answer. Alice's family was originally from District 4, displaced to District 2 during the war. She's been training with me ever since we were ten. We're part of the new training program Sujax has been pushing ever since he got the approval and funding. I know Athena was our first success story, and Sujax has promised many more Victors. It's funny to think that without the war, her family would have never migrated out of necessity, and Alice and I would have probably never met.

Now, I almost wish I remembered my old history classes, to visualize the mass migrations that had occurred on our continent when sea levels were rising and hunger and disease decimated the population. I tell Alice that much and she launches herself into an impromptu history lessons, as the stars appear above us. I see the smaller pan and the bigger pan, and point them out to Alice.

She laughs. "That's the dipper, you dipshit. And there's the archer."

She points to the sky and I attempt to follow her fingers. She knows a lot of things, just like my cousin Lydia. I guess that's why they get along so well.

I lie down on the grass, stretching my muscles. I open up my sandwich, and munch on it, trying to retain at least an ounce of historical information that Alice is launching at me. It's really crazy, how Alice remembers all these myths and legends and stories. It's almost like history lives through her, because they don't really teach us this at school anymore, which is a shame.

We stay like this for a while, her talking and me listening. After a while, she finishes and we are plunged into a comfortable silence, punctuated by the sounds of crickets and fireflies around us.

"It's really crazy, how meaningless our lives really are, in the grand scheme of things," I say.

Alice chuckles next to me.

"Hey there, master philosopher Luther!"

"I'm serious," I insist. "We think that like, this universe, we can fight in it, we can make it all about ourselves, but in the end it's all chaos. That's why I'm an anachronist," I punctuate the end of my sentence with the word I was struggling with before.

"I think you're thinking of anarchist," Alice snorts, rolling over and bumping me in the shoulder. "An anachronism is when you're at a time when you don't belong, a chronological inconsistency of sorts."

"Yeah yeah, anarchist, whatever. It's just bullshit that so many people lay their lives for a cause and then they just die and the world keeps spinning. If that's not the embodiment of chaos, I don't know what is."

"Aren't you doing just that though? Laying your life down for the Hunger Games?"

"I guess, but you know, at least I have a chance of getting out alive," I retort.

"In the war, people had a chance of getting out alive too," Alice counters.

"I guess. I don't know man, I guess I have no idea what I'm doing but I feel like I need this. Does that make sense?"

"Absolutely not, but that's you, Luther. You never make sense and it works out in the end."

I smile. I realize it's really late, but Alice's presence has always been comforting to me. She's the only one who kind-of gets the duality of what goes on in my brain, the legacy of my parents' blind belief struggling against my belief that it all doesn't matter in the end.

Maybe I'm also an anachronism in a way, stuck in a time where I don't belong. But it doesn't matter anymore, because I'm going into the Games and no one is going to stop me.

I get back home when both my aunt and cousin are already asleep. I sneak through the front door, skip along the creaking floor as quickly as possible so as to not wake them up.

I get into my room, which is a glorified attic, and make my bed. And because I'm still feeling incredibly awake, or I'm just feeling especially silly, I go up to the dusty mirror that stretches from my floor to the ceiling, on the back wall of my room.

"I volunteer," I utter solemnly. My reflection stares right back at me. My black hair is in disarray, and my eyes are like flint.

I decide to change it up a bit.

I cock my head slightly to the left, and smile lopsidedly, turning my body to the side.

"I volunteer," I repeat, sounding almost like I am flirting with the reflection.

Then I turn around, walk away from the mirror, and suddenly like I was stung by a bee, like a true madman, sprint back and hiss "I volunteer as tribute!". It comes out almost like a guttural croak. I look positively deranged, and I have to stifle a laugh. Now that would create an impression, let me tell you that. My reflection grins back at me, all angles and crooked knees and squinting eyes.

I roll my shoulders back, flex my muscles and stand proud and tall. Putting my feet slightly apart. I raise my right hand and walk to the mirror slowly. "I volunteer as tribute," I whisper, and finally, I like what I see.

I think I hear a noise downstairs, and get worried suddenly that aunt Roxanne will find me rehearsing my volunteering. That would be equal parts embarrassing, humiliating and mortifying. Even if I somehow make it out of the arena, I'd probably just trip onto a sword intentionally just to avoid ever seeing her again if that happened. What kind of moron practices and rehearses this crap anyways? To avoid this scenario, I promptly undress and lie down in my bed. Everything is quiet again.

My mind begins to wander again. In a way, I don't really have much of a choice about any of this. There's nothing here, for a guy like me, except for more yelling. When I was five years old, people were dying, and I thought it was a game. How different could it really be, once I volunteer?

Notes: Here's the one and only Luther Szeto from District 2! I hope you guys enjoy my take on the next set of Careers we're going to have to look out for in the 13th Games. I really enjoyed writing this goofy friendly side of this kid, so tell me what you think. Are you disappointed I didn't follow up the gruesomeness of the last chapter?

Once again, a huge shoutout to the people who reviewed and who will review, to the people who read and to the people that advertise my SYOT on forums. You fuel my addiction, many thanks.

Peace and love.