Marlene Rosenthall (16), District Five Female-POV
Tying the laces of my Reaping shoes, the only thing that I've been able to afford, I try my best to ignore the stark whiteness of the room. Everything in here has been scrubbed down and polished, removing all traces of imperfection that the staff possibly could. Of course, that meant that they had sprayed down my clothing earlier, claiming that they didn't want me carrying any of my germs into the Reaping ceremony. Too many people were close by, which wasn't something that they wanted; they didn't even let me sign in at the DNA check in. Each year, a troop of Peacekeepers had to escort me inside, right before the Escort called us all to attention; most of the kids at school teased me about it. They didn't bother me though, since I had a couple of friends to keep me company, and if needed, a quiet little world, just for me, existed inside of my head.
"I don't know, Ted…," a black haired lady, dressed in an unflattering white coat whispered into headset, "There's no cure for it…Perhaps it is best if…Yes, yes. I believe we'll have to contain it while we still can. Sixteen's not too uncommon…"
My brown eyes widen ever so slightly, having picked out the pieces of the conversation that I could. Of course, it could very well be that I was overreacting, that they wouldn't send me into the Hunger Games on purpose. People may not have a high chance of survival with my…well, my condition, but I've been holding on long enough. If I live to be thirty, then I will have surpassed my father- the father that I never had the time or chance to love. People told me that he had my ginger hair, though his didn't fall in fiery locks. Not too surprising, as just about each pair of Tributes we'd had from District Five lately had someone with red hair in it; Reina Vane had it last year. And I don't remember who represented us the year before, as Jeremy had begun to act a bit odd which stole away most of my attention, but the familiar flash of scarlet must have been there.
"Yes, yes…I'll…I'll send her down in a moment," the woman mumbled, as if I couldn't hear her from here, "'suppose this is for the best…right, Ted?"
A subtle click occurs minutes later, as the woman reclines back in her chair. Such a look of pity is on her face, though I know very well that she doesn't care about me in the slightest. I narrow my eyes, which Aurora, one of my friends, claimed resembled that of a demons. At the moment, I'd been in the midst of one of my seizures, so I hadn't exactly been able to reply to it. Still, at these rare moments when I didn't have to worry about anything going wrong, things like that felt comical and trivial. A quick glance at the metallic clock reminded me that I'd have to leave soon, as the brigade would be here soon enough to pick me up.
To my left, the pile of freshly pressed clothing awaits one of the rare luxuries of this place. Though I guess, if the District Five Hospital decides that you need to stay the night once a week, with a daily check in with a doctor each morning, it's the very least they could do for you. Already, my brand new blue jeans hug my legs, not very tightly though, as most of the stores here cater to the rich- the people that aren't stick thin from starvation. At least the jean jacket finally fits, as my dad had purchased it for me when I was little, and I grew into it this past year. A plus, but when I look into the mirror, with the plain white shirt being my finest top, I could just here the critical remarks people in the Capitol would give me for this. Oh well, let them say whatever they want; it's not like I haven't heard it all before.
"It's time to go, isn't it?" I ask, standing up as I walked towards the lady, who sat separated from me by a seat of glass, "No more tests, eh? Guess you guys finally run out of them. Or maybe you're still developing them…just like the cure for the impossible."
The lady, whose name I remember is Melanie, Melanie Pipes, stares up at me awkwardly. Her eyes dart back and forth, as if she's considering possible routes of escape; she must have forgotten the real scenario. They'd locked me up in this chamber long enough for me to analyze all of the controls, and to know that one of them could add oxygen, one of their attempts to cure my asthma. But just as things can be added, they also can be taken away; from the way Melanie was talking, she's all too capable of doing that. I stare forward at her unblinking, watching the unnatural signs of panic erupt under her body, which is practically sweating more than a terrified Tribute did in the Hunger Games. Paranoid Pipes, that's what they had been calling her behind her back earlier; I tended to overhear a lot of conversations that people have. All of them are so busy avoiding me, so that they don't gain my curse, my burden that they don't even bother to see if I'm standing right behind them.
Obviously trying to compose herself, Melanie taps on the microphone, causing an ear splitting screech to echo through the room. Some of the people here shouldn't really be let near technology, as I feel myself start to waver, the way that I can tell a seizure is coming on. Gritting my teeth, I feel helpless as I collapse to the ground, hitting my head against the blank whiteness of this morbid feeling room. The only thing I can do now is keep my eyes wide open, watching as the daily rerun of my uttermost tortures flickers right by, disappearing like mist before I am able to lift a finger.
"Come with us…," the voices seem to chant, starting off faintly, yet continuing to louder volumes, "We'll keep you safe, Marlene….Come with us. We'll keep you safe. Come with us. We'll keep you safe. Come with us."
My vision bursts into vivid colors; scarlet, purple, indigo, orange, the softest pink, and the most heartbreaking lilac. Another one is at the edge of my spectrum, having no defining traits, nothing that I could possibly describe it from. It wasn't the first time that I'd seen it, breathing in awe as I stared at it, not even aware of my thrashing limbs and eerie laughter. It must have been the things that dreams were made out of, that imagination thrived on, and the color that our souls were firmly painted. Yet sooner than I would have liked, the iridescent color was ripped from my sight, or in better words, my mind was ripped from my body.
"Hello, Marlene…," a pale form whispered, lying down on a bed covered in blankets, "Mom send you to check on me? I'm…I'm okay."
With a mop of red hair, sweat glistened down the forehead of the twelve year old boy. Sweet hazel eyes beamed upwards, as if I had been the one dying, not him. My heart felt heavy with the knowledge of what would happen to him, the event that would take my sweet Jack away from me; the event that would me as an only child. Dad had already died, leaving mother stricken with grief and despair, and from the way Melanie had been whispering, they'll be another Rosenthall funeral soon enough. Of course, there's no way that I would have been able to tell Jack that, as a sweet faced girl, with curly auburn hair, beat me to it already.
"The clock will strike," the girl said, staring towards me with deadly seriousness, "The clock will strike 'till eternal night. And one will fall to rule them all."
She pushed her curls over her shoulder, hitting the face of my brother with a stray few. With my seizures, images like this normally are to be expected; it wasn't the first time that I've relived deaths. My father's, dying from the same disease that I'm afflicted with at twenty two years old had been a reoccurring one that visited me as a young child. Of course, by the time I was just twelve years old, it had been replaced with that of my brother Jack, who died from pneumonia. I guess you could say that us Rosenthalls had weak immune systems and still wouldn't know how right you were. But right now, I wouldn't have found the time or the reason to correct you, as the supernatural invaded my horrid dream.
Just like a ghost, the auburn curls seemed to sink inside of Jack's face. However, the worst thing must have been that only I could see the girl; that within my mind, something had been coming to haunt me. Something to do with a striking clock, some sort of counting device at the very least, and with darkness falling. All but one of us falling, with one falling to rule; it didn't make any sense at all. Yet nothing ever really made sense anymore to me; it hadn't for a long while. I suppose that I ought to get used to it, as I have a bad feeling that a storm has finally arrived.
Jeremy Carath (18), District Five Male-POV
With a crummy consistency to it, the cinnamon flavored oatmeal fell down onto the clean plate. Quickly going through the process of diffusion, which my Biology teacher had been lecturing on a couple days prior, the immaculate white surface kissed the dust. None of its cleanliness would remain, with the thick sauce, drizzled on top of it carelessly, invaded the neighboring kingdoms, and appeared to have won an easy victory. None of the dazzling whiteness that covered it, having been painted many years ago, had stood a chance against it. But of course, they would remain supreme again, as a war craft of silver, long and slender, clattered down to a dizzying halt a second's journey away. This left me, the lone witness of the dastardly battle, a tremendous choice to make. Without any effort on my part, I could create genocide of the oatmeal people, wiping them off of the map for all of existence; the plate kind would be pleased.
"Why don't you just eat it, Jeremy?" Raif, my thirteen year old brother, inquires, "Its not hard or anything. I mean, it's not like they'll fail you like they did at-"
"Raif, don't talk that way. You know how Jeremy's sensitive about…that," Mom chastises, holding up the feared paddle in case Raif doesn't listen to her the first time around.
Rolling my eyes slightly, I pick up the fork that Raif had tossed me, in a rush to devour his own sugar coated food. Most of the time, we don't get to see delicacies such as this, but we've lucked out for this year. Perhaps we'll be able to keep it this way, allowing Raif and I to be considered a healthy weight eventually; most of the people in our District are malnourished. No one is trying to stop it either, as the Capitol continues to punish us further into oblivion, further under their all dominating control. Like a moth takes a flame, the mighty fortress that imposes us enjoys the punishment to the very core of our souls. Last year's District Five Tribute, Elezar Brewen, probably would have agreed as well; he's quite a philosophical guy, from what I had been able to tell from the footage. Of course, the largest grip that they hold upon anyone has to be Marlene, the most beautiful person that I've ever laid eyes upon. Her voice is heavenly, like the choruses of angels from above, and it's so easy to lose yourself in, to close your eyes shut and remain there forevermore. But the door has become covered in frost, leaving me to fear for her, to want to be able to protect the one crush I had that never left; the one crush that feels something like love to me. The others have come and go, but the diseased girl has never seemed to leave my mind; in the corner of my eye, transparent ember-like curls are always visible.
"So Jeremy!" Raif starts up again, hastily downing a spoonful of oatmeal; unfortunately, he hasn't learned to eat with his mouth closed, "Guess what time it is? Guess! Guess!"
For a moment, the deep blue eyes of my younger brother transported me back to another time. A time when whatever news he was going to squeal wouldn't affect our futures, a time where we didn't have to worry about being chosen for the dastardly Hunger Games no more. Yet as the snow on the mountain tops must crumble, no matter how strong neither in number nor in size, the same fate awaits the children of Panem. The same fate may very well be the destiny of Raif, my towheaded brother, who is almost identical to me in description, yet not at all in stature; it was like gazing out of the present and into the past. A feat that I'm sure no one could have attempted yet at such a point of history, at such a point of time, and at such a point of the empty vacuum of space.
"What time is it?" I muttered, delicately scooping up a small portion of the oatmeal; the plate seems to celebrate its victory.
Raif's eyes dart back and forth, as if there's some deep and dark secret within him, just bursting to get out. His heart must be hammering so fast, like an injured yet excited dove, awaiting it's time to be released from whatever has captured it. Mrs. Labros, my English teacher, did always say that I had a way with words, but it's mainly because I don't think like other people do. I think of life, the world, and just plain old thoughts as pictures; there's relatively no noise inside of my head, making reality seem like such a strange and foreign place in comparison. Perplexing, really, must have been the only word suited to describe it, the only word that would correctly slot into place when letters are squares and the ideas are circles.
"It's time….for the Reaping!" Raif shouted, abruptly tossing his head back to consume the last couple of morsels, the way that some of the Tributes in years earlier had done so many times, before literally bolting out of the house.
Hearing a grunt, I whip my head around, feeling a slight whoosh as my black tie hits against my chest. Dad's sitting there, staring dully ahead, his newspaper- Capitol News!- sitting folded up in his lap. Obviously, the lack of emotion means that he wants me to do something; Dad never really wanted to have kids, and from what I can tell, Raif and I were accidents. Or at least, we're as much an accident as the rushing river, abruptly changing its course, is directionally challenged. Bearing this in mind, it takes me a moment before I succumb to Dad's wishes, wishes that aren't delightful and sweet, to be granted by a fairy, yet instead hold a task in store, for me in particular. I step up from my chair, watching as the soft dust plum rises up, having been disturbed from its resting place as my tiny foot hit the oak paneled floor. Other people wouldn't have noticed the little things, but I tend to zoom in and focus on them, to feel the wind whistle as it shoots through my hair, a side effect of the abrupt sprint I launched myself into. Living fairly close to the Justice Building, it wouldn't be very long until I finally caught up with Raif, who must have been a speed demon in his own right.
"Jeremy!" a high pitched voice cried out, repeating my name over and over again.
For a moment, I turn my head to the side, running awkwardly forward at the same moment. There's no one there, though I'm positive that I heard someone. Someone who sounded sweet, someone who I somehow knew had eyes that could sour like those of a demon, quickly and without any warning at all. Everything felt surreal, as if the dark and dreary shop windows didn't belong in my reality, that the screaming echoing from the distance had never existed. My stomach quickly twisted into knots as I turned my gaze away, hoping for the little nightmare- a daymare- to go away as fast as it had come. The blinding sunlight felt harsher, as the beats of my heart seemed like they were accelerating, running faster than that of a race horse. Prickly, that's how my very skin felt, as an image intruded my mind. The vivid illusion flashes by so quickly it leaves me gaping, completely bewildered in every aspect of my body. Of course, as soon as I clamber to a halt, standing five people behind Raif in line, the words are beginning to slip out of my mind. A storm is coming.
"Hand, please," a lady states dully, holding out the tiny needle.
Dutifully, I comply and allow them to draw the blood. Part of me quivers in disgust, as it reminds me of the several times that Marlene had coughed up that very substance. As I walk quickly to the area for eighteen year old boys, I feel as morose as a mother who was told her child was ailing and had no hope of recovery. I stare forward as Tilinus, a thin faced man who resembles a goose, one which had been trodden upon by a massive giant, enters the stage flamboyantly.
"W-Welcome!" Tilinus cheers out, lines appearing on his face as he broadens into an all out grin, "As this is going to be my last year as Escort, I received permission from P-President Gremlin to mix things up a little bit! I thought it would just be lovely to reap the Tributes before the video! Don't you?"
Silence is the only thing he receives in reply, as people stare hatefully forward. Yet when I strain my ears, the soft sounds of marching feet reaches my ears, as foreign as a panda would be on a unicycle; Marlene must be arriving in a moment or two. Each year, the camera would train in on her; the queasy feeling fills me up once more, making me hope that I didn't tempt fate with that almost thought. That I didn't endanger her, by thinking how much the Peacekeepers must wish that she would just die. That she would roll over, that way they wouldn't have to deal with her; it just proves what a horrible world we live in.
"Ah, Miss Rosenthall, it's lovely to see you," Tilinus commented, as the crew deposited Marlene in her sectioned off area, "How are you faring this year?"
Bitterly, Marlene kept her face placid, though each ounce of venom she felt towards the world was easily heard in her reply, "I'm alive, aren't I?"
"Oh, what a card!" Tilinus exclaimed, before reaching into the Reaping ball, shifting through the numerous white slips before pulling out a single one.
Dread coursed through my every vein before Tilinus had even read the card.
"And this year's District Five Tribute will be….Miss Marlene Rosenthall! Come on up, my darling!" Tilinus grinned, his face twisting into an obscene and wolfish mask, as several of the children in the District let out a relived sigh; they were afraid of being infected, and if Marlene died, they thought they would be safe.
"Guess this means we'll be seeing each other a lot more, doesn't it?" Marlene stated idly, strolling up to the stage with her Peacekeeper bodyguard, "I ought to have been used to it by now. Especially when you'll be with me when I become a Mentor for the new Tributes."
Tilinus grins, pulling in Marlene for a chilling embrace. In my mind, icicles freeze over, obstructing the fiery red hair beneath the layer of frost, sealing her away from me forever. Reasoning told me that it would have been too late for that, as Marlene's fate had already been sealed, coldly and without a trace of heart. No one would care for her, no one in the world would weep; her troubles only grew, until time decided that she should cease.
"And for the plucky young man, we'll have…," Tilinus paused dramatically, his teal eyes sweeping over the crowd; he must have gotten them modified, to match the murderous Tribute from District Ten last year, which just proved that he didn't have an ounce of loyalty to District Five, "Jeremy Carath!"
What? Me? A quick glance up towards the stage confirms that, as Marlene's eyes have widened slightly in alarm. Seconds must have passed as I watched them, not listening as Tilinus repeated my name over again, or as Raif started to stutter. Gold reflected out of them, though in a moment, I would have to watch as they tightened; Marlene had just decided something, probably that she would kill me in a heartbeat. Some of the people in my situation wouldn't have let her, but as I stumbled forward, almost tripping over the pant legs which were too wide, an eerie sort of tension built between us. Neither of us was going to be allies in the arena; that much I could tell; we were both too concerned about living.
"I Volunteer!" a voice screams out, breaking slightly; a sign that the person had been going through puberty.
"No!" I holler out, running through the jammed up crowd of kids, and bruising one of them in the process, "No Volunteers!"
They better hope that I'm not a Victor, because if I am, there will be hell to pay. They would have taken away someone I love- I mean someone who is my friend, and I will work to end this stupid system of sacrificing kids just for a little bit of control. No one is going to endanger my little brother, there's no way that I'm going to let him go into the Hunger Games; girls aren't important when it comes to family. Family is the thing that matters most, the thing that I'll be holding to me dearly if I meet my death in this arena. And it isn't startling like I expected, the realization of what I was willing to do.
I was willing to kill the girl from District Five; I was willing to have Marlene's infected blood on my hands.