I do not own the Hunger Games. The tributes belong to their respective submitters.
Danique Vittori, District One
The moment they had set foot in the training center the day before, Danique's spirits had fallen. Despite the lack of volunteers, most of the other tributes looked fit, competent, or otherwise intimidating. Today, everyone seemed just as dangerous, if not more so than they had yesterday. Save a select few, it looked like the competition would be pretty rough. She had no idea how she was going so stand out among them during the training sessions, or how she would attract sponsors in the arena. It all seemed so hopeless.
Dozens of hostile eyes followed them around the room as they walked from station to station. Danique felt them like cold knives pressing against her skin, judging and expectant. But she had nothing to offer. The other tributes saw a weak, run-of-the-mill rich girl, and honestly, that's all she was.
Florian nudged her slumped shoulders. "Relax, will you? You look like your puppy just died, and it's scaring everyone away."
"Sorry," she said, lacking both the energy and motivation to dispute his claim.
His expression softened. "I'm just kidding, Danique." He scanned the room, and nodded toward the weapons station, where a few other tributes were trying their hand at swords and spears. "I'll go see about other allies. Stop by if you need me." He patted her shoulder before he left. "Really, though. Lighten up."
And with that, he headed off, leaving Danique to her brooding. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, resenting her district partner for being so flippant. He was right, though, which made her resent him even more. Rolling a strand of hair between her fingers, she raised the corners of her mouth, trying a lighter expression on for size, and finding that it didn't quite fit.
"You have a nice smile," someone said.
She looked over and saw the boy from Five staring at her from the nearest training station. First aid, or something like that. They made eye contact, and his mouth flashed with a nanosecond grin.
"Thanks," she replied, not entirely sure how to proceed. She hadn't really paid much attention to him yesterday, and had simply filed him away under 'probably dangerous', like most everyone else here. The more she thought about it, though, the less sure she was about that assessment. He hadn't done anything to earn such a judgment, at least not that she'd seen. Still, better safe than sorry.
He pointed toward the camouflage station. "I saw you there yesterday. I'd have never thought to use torn rope fibers in place of dead vegetation." Turning back to the bandages in his hand, he added, "Pretty clever of you."
An unfamiliar embarrassment twisted in Danique's gut. She hadn't thought anyone would notice. She was too used to everyone looking past her and focusing on her older sister. Her crutch. Her shield. For her entire life, Riella had received what Danique craved, yet feared, taking center-stage and diverting everyone's attention from the younger, less interesting sister who always stood just behind the curtain. Protecting her little sister from their prying eyes, stealing the spotlight for herself.
But Riella wasn't here, and for maybe the first time ever, someone had noticed Danique instead. He'd even complimented her, too. Twice.
"I'm sorry," Danique said, curiosity overcoming her nerves. She cautiously taking the seat next to him. "I don't think I ever caught your name."
"Damian Ridge," he said, holding out his hand. "Nice to make your acquaintance."
Danique returned the gesture. "Likewise."
On the table lay a medical dummy, gravely "injured" in multiple places, indicated by gashes in the gelatinous flesh that overflowed with red, non-stick goop meant to represent blood. Damian had wrapped most of the injuries with gauze, and stitched the deepest two together with a needle and thread. Crude, but effective.
"That's pretty impressive," Danique said, gesturing to his stitch work. In reality, she had no idea whether his work was impressive or not. She just wanted to keep the conversation going.
He smirked. "Being a fairly proficient bullshitter myself, I can safely say that you are full of it." Setting the gauze down, he offered her another grin. "But I appreciate the sentiment."
She felt herself blush. Caught red-handed. "Well, it still looks like good work."
With a kind nod, he said, "If you say so."
Tullus Marl, District Two
Under the supervision of two trainers, the girl from Twelve and the boy from Seven attacked each other without hesitation, without mercy, hitting hard enough to draw blood. The girl cried out in pain, and Tullus looked away. A dark thread of memory went taut in the back of his mind, drawing the image of another crying girl in another time and place, but he forced it away. He didn't want to remember. That part of his life was over.
Instead, he wandered across the center, and eventually found himself in front of the holographic sparring chamber. A lone girl stood in the center of the enclosed room, thin hands clutching a hammer close to her chest, and she didn't hesitate to use it against the onslaught of orange-cubed virtual enemies. The range of the hammer required the targets to come a little too close for comfort, though, and though she managed to take four out, she hesitated for a split-second on the fifth, giving it the opportunity to land a critical strike on her neck. The lights flashed, and the enemy figures disappeared.
"Not too awful," the trainer said, rubbing her chin, deep in thought. "But definitely could do with some improvement."
With a brief nod, the girl set the hammer down, chest expanding and contracting with heavy breaths. She obviously wasn't accustomed to such exertion, though she'd done well in spite of that. Of all the tributes here, she seemed like one of the more hopeful choices, and considering that he hadn't seen her with anyone else in the past day and a half, he wouldn't be imposing on a preexisting alliance. No harm in asking, right?
"Hey," he said. She turned with a start, and he instinctively help up his hands, showing her that he meant no harm. "Uh, hi. I'm Tullus."
The girl relaxed, but only by a fraction. "Polly."
Tullus let his arms fall back to his sides as the tension dissipated. "A hammer, huh?"
She examined it, and gave him a brief nod, her shoulders not quite as stiff as before. "Yeah." Glancing at the weapons rack, which displayed everything from swords to spears to obscure and ridiculous things like chakrams, she said, "It's the only thing I really recognized."
Tullus knew nearly all of them, but kept that to himself. Gesturing to the patch on her shoulder that designated her district, he instead said, "That isn't surprising, considering you're from Three."
"Oh, and because you're from Two, you know what all of these things do, right?" She said it with a touch of reproach, but her expression was warm nonetheless.
"Something like that."
"What about you?" the trainer cut in. "Are you here to use the holo-chamber?"
Fear crept along the fringe of Tullus's mind. He'd didn't know if he could bring himself to do it. He'd only come here to talk to Polly, and the violence... he didn't want to be that person anymore. And if he started again, he didn't know where he would stop, or if he even could stop.
But these were the Hunger Games. He would have to hurt people, maybe even kill them, if he planned on having even the slightest chance of going home. He'd just have to be stronger than he had been before. Know his own limits, know when to stop. He could do it. He had to.
"Sure," he said, picking a machete off of the rack, sounding more confident than he felt. "I'm already here, so might as well, right?"
The trainer nodded, and ushered him into the chamber. He hoped she didn't see the waver in his smile, or the hesitation in his stride.
The first couple of holograms were easy enough. They rushed at him head-on, leaving themselves open to attack. He took advantage of their exposed chests, and with each killing blow, the figures dissolved into orange cubes. The third tried to sneak up from behind, but he whipped around and sliced its neck open. He imagined the pain such a strike would inflict, realized what he was doing, and pushed the thought away. But he already felt himself starting to cascade. He wanted to hurt them. See someone suffer.
The next three opponents passed in a blur, "dying" before Tullus's mind could catch up with the attacks he readily doled out. Four more rushed him, and he took them on one by one, feinting and dodging, twisting away and slashing at their necks and faces. Each one fell without so much as touching him. They weren't real, though. Not human. No nerve endings. They felt nothing.
Silence fell upon the chamber, and the lights flashed overhead. The trainer pointed at him and waved him out.
"Good job," she said. "Took care of all ten targets in forty seconds."
Polly appeared beside him, obviously impressed by his performance. "That was pretty cool."
Tullus nodded in thanks, and gently replaced the machete on the rack. He had done it. He was okay.
For now.
Benjamin Stavros, District Ten
The day started off bright and early with coffee and artificial sunlight, since the real sky outside was overcast and gloomy. By the time their mentors had dragged themselves out of bed, Benjamin and Aviana were ready and raring to go.
As they entered the elevator side-by-side, Benjamin reluctantly asked, "So, got any ideas for allies yet?"
"Maybe. Why?"
The elevator doors opened with a pleasant ding, and they headed down the hallway, following the arrows to the tunnel that led to the training center. A few other tributes walked alongside them, like the pair from Seven and the boy from Thirteen, though most were probably still in their rooms, getting ready to face the day.
He drew a heavy sigh. "I was wondering… if you'd be interested in an alliance? With me?"
He tried to make himself sound serous, but it was entirely his mentor's idea. He'd discussed it with Fae the day before, and though he'd agreed to ask Aviana, he had no intention of actually going through with it. Still, he would feel bad if he didn't at least humor his mentor.
"Oh please," Aviana said, crinkling her nose. "You're too much of a fuddy-duddy. Too serious."
Although he was relieved that she agreed with him, he took issue with her reasoning. "I am not 'too serious'. I'm just aware of my situation." He paused, and amended with, "Our situation, actually. If you don't prepare for the worst, it'll catch you off-guard. That's not me being a fuddy-duddy, that's me being prepared."
She gave him a 'no-duh' expression. "Call it what you want, but that's exactly what I'm talking about. You focus on the negative." She rested her hand on his shoulder with mock sympathy. "Just because I don't want to be your ally doesn't mean we can't still be friends."
He swatted her hand away with unnecessary force, though a smile betrayed his amusement. "Well, you're too touchy-feely for me, anyways."
"What, like this?" Before he realized what she was doing, she reached down and gave his left butt cheek a light squeeze and cackled when he jumped in surprise.
"I know it's a new concept to you," he said, a fleeting heat coloring his face, "but there's this thing called personal space. You should try it sometime."
"Or maybe I should just find someone with lower standards." She gnawed on a fingernail, and he noted her line of sight, resting firmly on the girls from Four and Zero. He'd noticed her watching them the day before, too.
Lower standards, indeed.
Inclining his head toward the girls, he raised an eyebrow at his district partner. "I'm sure they'll love you."
A trace of uncharacteristic fear shone in her stooping shoulders and drawn eyebrows. "You think so?"
Benjamin nodded. "Of course. Just because you completely ignore social norms for your own amusement doesn't mean you aren't lovable."
She planted a kiss on his cheek. "You're such a sweetheart." With a wink and a winning smile, she pranced away, hair swinging with the movement.
Benjamin rolled his eyes, unable to suppress a grin. She was a nice girl. Totally lacking in respect for personal boundaries, but nice nonetheless. Shame she had to get wrapped up in a crappy situation like the Hunger Games. Shame any of them did, really. He wanted to wish her well, but he wanted to win, too.
In the meantime, he had to find an alliance of his own. A quick sweep of the room revealed a number of possibilities. He had his eye set in particular on the girl from Seven. He'd observed a number of people the day before, and she seemed the nicest and one of the most sane, whilst also showing a solid range of survival skills and a tendency toward peacemaking.
No point in waiting, he thought, and headed over to introduce himself.
Aviana Recine, District Ten
The two girls looked up, eyes narrowed and lips curled into mean smirks. They'd been having another competition to see who was more accurate with their long-range weapons. It looked like Dabria was winning, but only by a few points.
"Hi," Aviana said, seating herself on the ledge of the weapons counter, ignoring a nasty glare from the trainer.
Charne set her knives down. "And you are...?"
"Aviana Recine." She bobbed her head. "Nice to meet you."
"You say that now," Dabria drawled. She leveled the crossbow with the target, and let an arrow fly. It struck the line between the bulls-eye an the first ring. Still a point, apparently, because she pumped her arm and gave Charne a smug grin. "Five."
"Yeah, whatever." Charne rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Aviana. "So, what do you want?"
"I wanted to know if you're open to more allies," she said, swinging her legs back and forth. "You both seem pretty cool, so I thought, why not ask?"
With a cold, steely chuckle, Charne cocked her head to the side. "And what exactly do you have to offer? Can you hit things? Swing a sword? Heal people?" She put on a false half-smile, imitating Aviana's attempt to keep a neutral expression. "Can you do anything?"
Zero's cruel tone didn't phase Aviana. She'd dealt with plenty of people like that before, and she wasn't about to let a potential alliance slip through her fingers because one of the tributes needed an attitude adjustment. "Combat-wise, no, not really. But how hard is it to swing a sword, really?" She stared Charne straight in the eye, not afraid of the other girls' glacial blue glare. "But I do know a bit about medicine and plant identification. And I can tie ropes like no ones' business." She finished with a wink.
"Kinky," Charne deadpanned. She crossed her arms, pooching her lips as she decided what to do about the girl from Ten. "And that's all you can do?"
"Well, I could give you an exhaustive list, but we'd probably be here for a while. Don't forget that I'm perfectly capable of learning things, too."
"And a smartass, to boot." With a melodramatic sigh, Charne spared a knowing glance toward Dabria. "Aren't we lucky?"
"Apparently so." The girl from Four set her crossbow down and sauntered over, placing a hand on either side of Aviana's legs, and leaned in close until their noses were almost touching, breathing each others' air. "There's this big question mark hovering above your head right now, and I'm not much in the mood for mysteries. So tell me: why should we trust you with our lives? Better yet, why would you trust us with your life?"
Aviana narrowed her eyes and leaned a few millimeters forward, refusing to let this girl intimidate her. She didn't let any hint of vitriol enter her voice. "I don't know. Why does anyone trust anyone? I think the potential payoff is worth the risk. And if it's not, I'll deal with the consequences." She allowed herself a small, ever-so-slightly self-satisfied grin. "Besides, considering it's just you two, I think I can handle myself."
For a brief moment, she thought Dabria might hit her, but the older girl's poker face broke into something warmer, almost happy. "What you lack in brain cells, you make up for in confidence. At least you have something going for you, I guess." She pushed off of the table, arms swinging in front of her, and turned back to Charne. "Well? What do you say?"
At this point, Zero seemed more amused than anything. "We can at least give her a chance, like the warranty period for a sassy vacuum cleaner with no social boundaries and an overinflated sense of self."
"Give me a break," Dabria said, shouldering past her ally. "You're one to talk. You're like a case study in teenage narcissism."
As her new allies argued over the finer points of armchair psychology, Aviana smiled. At the very least, her time in the arena would certainly be interesting.
Evelyn Arellis, District Eight
The girl from Two hovered at the plant identification station, not really paying attention to her work, and instead stealing glances at Evelyn every ten seconds. It was starting to irritate her. Either the girl would scrape up the courage, or she would give up and leave, but at least the decision would be made.
Evelyn glared across the table until their eyes locked. The girl from Two blinked, but didn't look away. Evelyn respected that.
"Medea, right?"
"Correct," said the girl from two.
"Well Medea, you've been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes, and it's making me uncomfortable." Evelyn narrowed her eyes. "Either do something or go away."
Medea blinked again, unfazed, and nodded. "You seem like one of the more put-together tributes around here. I don't have any allies yes, and as far as I can tell, you don't have any allies, either. I figured you'd be the most logical choice." She cocked her head to the side. "Unless you don't want an ally, in which case I'd be happy to leave you alone."
After spending the last few years fending for herself, Evelyn had come to realize that most people only cared about themselves. Even her supposed parents, paragons of virtue that they were, had abandoned her shortly after birth, handing off their responsibility to some stranger who could have sold her into child slavery for all they'd known. But they'd done it all the same, and she couldn't change the past. In any case, it had shaped her into the person she was today, and in a very small respect, she thanked them for that.
Much like her parents, Medea, and all of the other tributes here for that matter, were only looking out for themselves. Even Evelyn.
Especially Evelyn.
Could she afford to trust another person in a game where there could only be one survivor? Someone who had formal training? Someone who could kill her without much trouble?
She'd trusted Terryn enough to accept the girl into her home, and as much as she hated to admit it, she cared about her friend. To date, Terryn was the only person who'd even glimpsed the real Evelyn, the desperate girl who sunk her teeth into every glimmer of hope like a half-starved dog, who was tired of putting on an impassive, bitchy front day in and day out, because it was the only way to keep all of those selfish people who only helped themselves from stepping all over her. Lucky for Evelyn, Terryn had still chosen to stand by her, even though she knew the truth.
This new girl, Medea, was nothing like Terryn. And even if she was, Evelyn couldn't let herself become too attached. The circumstances were entirely different. She couldn't let herself form another bond, because in the scheme of things, such sentimentality would only put her in danger. She'd have to be prepared to do anything for survival, personal preferences be damned. If they did agree to ally, it would be a working relationship only. Evelyn had already lost so many parts of herself to the machine of District Eight and to the maw of Panem as a whole, that she didn't know how much more she could sacrifice. So, she wouldn't. Not if she could help it.
Even from a purely objective standpoint, Medea was a risk. A potentially helpful person in the long-run, but a risk nonetheless, especially since she would be one of the only formally trained tributes in the arena. Then again, it would be nice to have that kind of skill set on her side.
Evelyn weighed the possibilities as the girl from Two looked on. Medea could kill her. Medea also had training and knowledge, which would increase Evelyn's own chance of survival. But she could also become an emotional liability if Evelyn wasn't careful. Was she worth the risk?
"Okay," Evelyn finally said. "I'll be your ally, but on one condition. We aren't friends, okay?"
"So we're survival buddies, then?"
Evelyn nearly gagged at the use of such a squishy buzzword, but forced herself to nod. "Slightly more formal than that, but yeah, you get the gist."
"I can live with that," Medea said, relieved.
Or maybe you won't, Evelyn thought.
"Good," she said, and nodded at the plants laid before them. "Let's get to work."
Brand Coil, District Thirteen
The foam-padded sparring pole struck her on the side of the head, knocking her off-balance, and her teeth involuntarily clamped down on her lip. Arms flailing, she regained her footing as a trickle of blood seeped down her chin. She winced and she wiped it away.
Owen's eyes widened at the damage he'd inflicted, and he took a tentative step back. "I, uh." He paused, searching for an apology. "I didn't mean to do that."
Brand waved him away. "It's fine, really." The terseness of her voice made it obvious that it really wasn't fine, and she knew it. She also knew that it really had been an accident. Holding onto the bitterness had never done her any good in the past, and she couldn't afford to mess up another relationship this early-on, particularly with someone who had made the effort to approach her in the first place.
With a heavy sigh, she lowered her shoulders and offered him a small smile. To her surprise, she actually meant it. "You just surprised me, is all."
He relaxed by a fraction. "Yeah. Sorry."
They readied themselves for another match, but Brand noticed the boy from Zero lingering at the periphery of the sparring mat, thumbs hooked in his pockets and a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. She didn't know how long he'd been standing there, but she found his smug face immediately annoying. In fact, everything about him seemed very punchable.
"What are you looking at?" she demanded, stepping back from Owen before he could land another unlucky hit. Her ally paused and followed her line of sight, frowning when he saw the object of her scorn.
Enoch, apparently surprised that they'd noticed him, put on a sheepish expression. "Just watching." Sheepish or not, Brand didn't really trust him. She couldn't tell if he was being genuine, but she wasn't about to place her faith in anyone from Zero, especially not someone who would soon be in a position to kill her. District Zero had created this whole stupid Game in the first place. His people were the reason for the whole damn thing, as well as the suffering of countless families, friends, and especially tributes over the last century.
Of course, he was there for the same reason, but that was beside the point.
"Just watching, huh?" Owen cocked his head to the side, and raised an eyebrow at Brand before returning his gaze to Enoch. With the slightest hint of mockery, he said, "Some hands-on learning would probably do you more good than sitting on the sidelines." Owen stood nearly half of a foot taller than the already tall boy from Zero. Enoch instantly acknowledged this vital discrepancy in their heights, starting to shake his head and ready to back away from the provocation, until Owen said, "Unless you're scared."
It wasn't quite a taunt, more like a benign challenge, but those three words seemed to have a near-magical effect on Enoch Emeris. He stood a little straighter and squared his shoulders, mouth set into a hard half-smirk. He took one of the sparring sticks from the rack, and assumed a battle-ready stance. At first, Brand didn't understand the complete reversal in Enoch's behavior, and it took her a few seconds to fit the pieces of logic together into a coherent picture. When she did, she almost laughed, both at the simplicity of it all, and at Enoch's general demeanor. Of course! The peacock had to defend his ego.
The fight was short, but even so, it lasted much longer than Brand expected. Despite Owen's obvious advantage in terms of size and mass, Enoch managed to hold his own for a good thirty seconds, striking at vulnerable areas like the chest, neck, and stomach. He even landed a hit on Owen's face before the larger boy forced him off of the mat with one powerful blow.
"Not bad," Owen said, genuinely impressed. "For a guy from Zero, at least."
Enoch held a hand over his heart, still panting. "I'm touched." He walked back onto the mat, and assumed a fighting stance. "Round two?"
Even though she still only trusted him about as far as Owen could throw him, at the very least, Brand had to respect Enoch's persistence. Maybe she'd be able to put up with him, after all.
Samson Galloway, District Nine Male
People were pairing up left and right, yet he still hadn't found a single tribute to partner with. It was starting to get to him. Wasn't he alliance-worthy? He was able-bodied, strong, and definitely not dumb, which was more than could be said about a lot of the others who already boasted allies. Then again, he definitely wasn't the strongest, or the smartest. Most motivated, maybe, but that was hard to judge. Everyone here would fight for their life, to varying degrees of success, but they'd fight nonetheless.
He just had to find someone who was strong, but not quite as driven as he was. Allies or not, he still had to outlast them.
Of the remaining loners, only the guy from Eight seemed like he fit the bill. Strong, but not unmanageably so. Driven, but with a certain measure of weariness that made him seem rather burnt-out. Irritable, too.
He would do.
Samson took a seat at the rope station, not awkwardly far from the boy from Eight, but not inappropriately close, either. If Denim noticed, he didn't let on.
"Hi," Samson said, lacing his fingers together. "Interesting station, huh?" The boy didn't respond, so Samson continued. "Ropes are interesting. Start with weaker individual fibers, tie them together, and get something that's stronger than the sum of its parts. It's a nice metaphor, really. Reminds me of-"
"Why are you talking to me?"
Despite the standoffish tone, any communication was progress. Samson allowed himself a satisfied nod. "I just thought you looked like a good potential ally. Figured I'd try to get the ball rolling with a little small talk."
"I hate small talk," he said, tying the rope tighter to emphasize the word 'hate'. "And you don't know anything about me."
Samson raised his eyebrows. "Well, I know you don't have an ally."
"Maybe I joined someone in secret."
"Bullshit. You're alone, and you know it. But you don't have to be." Samson paused to gauge Denim's reaction. So far, so good. He seemed to have the other boy's reluctant, though undivided attention. "I think we should ally."
Denim set the rope down and lifted his gaze, suspicious eyes darting across Samson's face, searching for any sign of fraud. He found none, but didn't change his defensive posture. "Why me?"
With a shrug, Samson said, "Why not you?"
"Alright," Denim said, almost smiling. "Why you? What makes an alliance with you so attractive?"
"Well, it's nice to have someone who's got your back. Each of us has different skills, which we could use to help each other. And I won't stab you in the back."
Denim took a while to answer. When he did, his voice was level. Inscrutable. "Sounds reasonable. Don't get me wrong, though - I still don't trust you."
Raising his hands in submission, Samson said, "Totally understandable. I wouldn't trust a near-total stranger, either." He inclined his head. "But I think you'll come around."
Someone across the room cried out in pain as their sparring partner took a cheap shot. Even so, the two boys didn't break eye contact. If anything, their gazes intensified.
Denim returned his attention to the knot of rope on the counter. "We'll see about that."
Margery Kappel, District Seven
She watched from the sidelines as Benjamin beat the stuffing out of a few combat dummies, doing more damage with a staff than she thought possible. It had been a good idea to accept his invitation to ally. He was certainly one of the stronger kids here, and judging by the direct, out-of-the-blue way he'd approached her, probably one of the most confident, too. Maybe not the best thing, but she could work with it.
Benjamin's self-assurance crowded out the finer points of subtlety, but all things considered, Margery liked it. He knew what he wanted, and wouldn't waste anyone's time by beating around the bush.
In that way, he reminded her of Greyson.
She hung her head at the thought of her fiancé. He'd proposed only the month before, and now... now she was here. In the Hunger Games. Maybe she'd never see him again, and maybe he'd have to watch her die. She supposed that's what they got for tempting fate and making plans past the reaping. It wasn't fair, but then again, what was?
Anger flickered in her gut, but it sputtered out almost as quickly as it appeared. She and Greyson simply hadn't wanted the Games to dictate their personal lives. If they wanted to get engaged before their last reaping, they had every right to do so, and they had. She didn't regret their decision, even though it hurt to have such happiness snatched away, potentially forever, when it had been within her grasp.
No matter what, she had to get home. She had to be strong. For Grayson, for her family. For herself.
"You alright?" Benjamin said, breaking her from her thoughts. "I mean, other than being in the Hunger Games."
Margery forced herself to brighten. "I'm fine. Just thinking about home."
He crossed his arms and made a sound that was more of a scoff than a laugh. "Aren't we all?"
That was the problem. Margery knew that every person here, every tribute that she had to outlast, had homes and families and friends, just like her. What made her so special? Why did she deserve victory more than the rest of them?
It's not about who deserves it, she thought. It's about who earns it.
And she had every intention of earning it. The details, however, were a bit fuzzier. She didn't quite know how she would get from point A to point Z, though she knew full well that it would involve a lot of pain, disappointment, and death. She wished it wouldn't. She willed it with every fiber of her being, but no amount of pleading with the universe would change anything. Whatever was in charge of their fates, it had allowed for the existence of the Hunger Games in the first place. Surely, it didn't care about the wishes of one insignificant girl.
Margery recoiled at the thought. Was she truly insignificant? Next-to-worthless?
To some cosmic entity, probably. But to herself? No. Definitely not.
Did that mean her self-preservation was worth the lives of the other tributes? Again, definitely not. Each one of them valued their existence just as much as she valued her own, and she valued their lives, too. Just as every good human being should. She knew that every tribute here had a universe of memories, thoughts, and emotions, and that every single one of them deserved to exist, to live.
That was the problem. She cared too much. She empathized too much. It had never been a problem in the past, but right now, she wished she didn't, because she wanted to survive, but she also wanted to be able to live with herself afterward.
Three weeks. Yeah. I know it's a long time, and I'm sorry. Right now, classes come first. That being said, finals are next week, and then it's spring break!
Now that we've seen everyone at least once, there's a poll on my profile asking for your 5 favorite tributes. Even if you don't have a tribute in Lockdown, I'd love to know your opinion!
Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think of the chapter!
