Kyla Brooke, 16, District 4
The television screen was the only light in the dark room. Two deep turquoise eyes stared blankly as the colors from the T.V. reflected in their depths. Caesar Flickerman was on screen, chatting amiably to the audience. It was part of the pre-game hype. Every year Caesar aired recaps of previous games to try and get the capitol excited for marking another victor in the books. She didn't know why she was forcing herself to watch this show right now, but all the same she followed the action in a ghostly trance.
On the screen three boys circled each other dangerously. A dark melody rumbled from the speakers as they held up their weapons. The sky had opened up, and was pouring buckets down onto the tributes. This was the final battle of these games- the climax of two slow bleeding weeks. The boy with the spear was the first to move. He had blonde hair that swung in wet clumps as the wind billowed around his body. Two sea green eyes seemed to glow on his face. His muscles rippled as he wielded the spear with a certain level of artistry only a career would have. He lunged for the boy to his right, who clearly didn't have the same finesse as him.
Something went wrong though. The other boy as from District Six. He wasn't a career, didn't have any training, yet he possessed an invaluable natural-born instinct. When he saw the blonde boy coming, his body just seemed to react. He swiveled around the spear and spun into an attack, lodging his knife into his attacker's neck. The blonde boy fell to his knees, blood gurgling in his throat. The third boy hadn't moved all this time. He was simply watching, waiting, probably hoping his two opponents would just kill each other, and he wouldn't have to do anything.
The sound of a loud cannon booming through the air unfroze the third boy. The blonde guy died, choking on his own blood. Kyla couldn't force herself to watch anymore as the District Six boy proceeded to use the fallen tribute's body as a shield before using his spear to skewer his final opponent, thereby crowning himself victor. She already knew the ending. She had seen it a million times. Still, she couldn't stop the tears from stinging her eyes.
"Get yourself together Kyla," she whispered to herself, her voice sounding broken and weak. She fell backwards into her bed, trying to control her breathing. Caesar Flickerman was still talking, going through the cleverness of the District Six victor. What a great idea it was that he use the body as a shield. The runner-up had been equipped with a sheaf of bow and arrows. Although he really had no idea how to use them, at such a close range, it would have been an easy kill. Not with the body as a shield though. Instead, the dead blonde boy got seven arrows plunged into the torso of his limp carcass, and the District Six boy saved himself.
Well great for him.
"Liam wouldn't have wanted you to cry for him like this," Kyla whispered. She shook her head. She kept telling herself that maybe if she watched his death one more time, she'd become numb and get over it, but no, every time she was left with this dreadful gut wrenching grief that raked over her heart. The Capitol idolized the victor of that year's games for his guts. Kyla just wished he could have saved her the agony of watching her brother's dead body be ravaged by seven arrows.
She sighed, letting the tears flow freely now. She told herself that she should sit back up and keep watching. She had two more videos to get through before the reaping. If she was going to stand a chance in the arena, she would have to overcome this horrible paralyzing fear that threatened to drown her every time she thought of the games. Her solution was to put herself through this mental torture - watching all three of their deaths over and over and over again, until she was numb.
It didn't really help though. The bloody scenes of their down falls haunted her every waking hour. She had seen them die so many times that it was all she ever saw. When she slept, she would find herself watching helplessly as her older brothers died. When she day dreamed, she'd catch her thoughts recalling the last moments of her best friend. It never ended. She had to get over it though. Why you might ask?
Because it was her turn this year. Despite their deaths, and her never-ending sea of grief for them. This year she would be volunteering. She had to be ready.
Foster Finner, 14, District 4
Foster kicked his feet up onto the kitchen table, leaning back as he stretched, a big yawn escaping his lips. Gosh he'd gotten up early. Was Paylor really that important that Foster was forced to loose an entire two hours of sleep for his farewell breakfast? Well, in his opinion the answer was no.
"Foster put your feet down," his mother snapped immediately, her beady eyes shooting daggers at him.
"Why yes oh all-powerful mother," the boy rolled his eyes, letting each foot fall to the floor with a heavy thump.
"Don't be fresh with me young man," the woman said sharply.
This time he listened, shutting his mouth before she decided to start throwing around punishments. He looked up wondering where his brother was anyway. Paylor should be down here by now. It shouldn't take two hours to get ready, even if he did have to get dressed up.
"Where is that boy?" his father asked as if reading Foster's mind. "Not staring at himself in the mirror again I hope." Foster laughed as he glanced over at his dad. The man was sneaking a piece of bacon off of the plate in the middle of the table a mischievous grin in his emerald eyes.
His mom was faster than him though, and the minute she saw her husband reaching, her hand was out, cracking like a whip. "We are waiting for Paylor," she practically barked at the man. He rolled his eyes, and pulled the woman into a confining hug.
"Come on hun, just one piece," he whispered into her ear, a contagious smile lighting up his face.
Foster wrinkled his nose. "Get a room," he moaned sinking low into his chair. His father snorted, trying very hard to suppress a smile. Foster himself, couldn't help grinning. His comment was pretty funny, although he'd come up with better more original things before. Unfortunately, his mother didn't think it was so funny.
"Foster!" the woman screeched, pushing her husband away and shooting him a hateful glare. "To your room. Now."
He sighed, standing up. She obviously wasn't done with him yet. If he had to guess, this little slip up probably meant that he wouldn't be spending so much as an hour outside of the Tribute Academy for the next month. Hopefully she just didn't take him out of real school this time. If he was stuck with all those uptight careers non stop for even a week, he'd go crazy.
As he climbed the steps towards his room, Paylor emerged from the bathroom. "Hey dude," Foster said absently as he passed. Paylor gave him his classic tough guy nod and continued down the stairs.
Hmmmm, well that was odd. Usually he knocked his shoulder into Foster or something. It wasn't like the two brothers hated each other or anything. Paylor was usually just a little cocky and liked to show off his superior fighting skills. Everyone in District Four expected him to win this year's games. Paylor was one of those career tributes that came just once in a generation. Foster was pretty convinced that he was the best swordsmen to ever step foot on earth.
It was something in his nod that seemed off though. It lacked the confidence his brother usually carried on his shoulder's like a privilege. And did was he seeing things, or did Paylor's face look kind of pale- like all the life had been drained out of it. He shrugged it off as he collapsed on his bed. It never occurred to him that Paylor might actually be a little nervous about his games. Huh, weird.
Kyla Brooke, 16
Kyla felt like the crowd around her was a huge rippling cage. Like the sea, it seemed alive with movement, each and every individual was just a little bit of a huge monstrous whole. Now that she had dived in, she was lost in it's depths. Closing her eyes she imagined she was in a happier place, on the beach maybe, by the real ocean. She felt the salty breeze in her hair, and the gritty clumps of wet sand in between her toes. In the ocean in front of her, three figures were swimming. There was a tall muscular boy, the very same that she had watched die on the television screen earlier. The second was a smaller boy who was splashing the first, his own brown hair was dripping wet. And then the third was a girl, her green eyes just watched amused as the two boys played.
Kyla sighed as she opened her eyes again, returning to the present. She'd like to think that they were in place like that, where they could swim all day forever under the warm sun.
Up on the stage, the mayor was speaking. As she stood there, mentally building herself up to the point where she'd walk up to the stage, volunteering, she sort of felt like she was preparing herself to make the dive, joining her two brothers and her best friend in her happy place by the ocean. Suicide by Hunger Games, surely there should be a term for it.
She had to volunteer though. She had long passed the point where she had the option to turn back. Her mom had even admitted to her that she regretted the day when they enrolled Liam, Poseidon, and Kyla in the Tribute Academy. The problem was the contract. You see, getting into the Academy was no simple ordeal. Everyone in the District wanted their kids training there. Therefore every year there was a drawing. If a family was chosen, they could send all, none, or some of their kids into the Academy. It was their choice. The only problem was that once you enrolled, there was on turning back. They had the volunteers meticulously planned out for the next ten years. To ensure that all those on the list followed through with their promises to volunteer, all future tributes signed a contract. If Kyla didn't volunteer, her family would owe the Academy a ridiculous sum of money that only a victor would really be able to pay. She signed the contract years ago, before Liam had died. Gosh she'd been so naïve.
At least she'd be the last one. When Poseidon died, in the final ten, her parents had taken Oceana out of training, just two months before she would have to sign the contract. She would be the last one in her family to die for these games.
On stage, Iris Siren swayed in front of the crowd. She blotted her eyes as she laughed at some bland joke. Kyla waited impatiently as the woman reached foward and pulled a name out of the bowl "Perl Danger," she read to the crowd. Kyla knew Perl. She was in her year.
About twenty feet to her right, the girl sighed and walked up onto the stage, waving to the crowd with an exaggerated eye roll. The only reason that she was so calm is because she thought Kyla would be volunteering. But Kyla was shaking violently now. Fear consumed her soul.
"Any volunteers?"
She should raise her hand now, say something clever. Her feet were frozen to the ground though. In her mind last years reaping was on re-run. She could see Marina raising her hand, calling out that she'd volunteer, then blowing a kiss to the camera. She was so confident, just like Perl was currently. Marina volunteered though. Perl at least had a reason to be confident.
The thing that finally set her in motion was the quick nervous look Oceana shot her from afar. She only caught a glance of the girl's sea green eyes, the same color as Liam's, but in that moment of contact, something good in her took over.
"I-I do. I volunteer," Kyla cried, springing forward like a mad girl. She ran full speed up stage as the crowd seemed to release a collective breath. She had them worried there for a minute.
"And your name dear?" Iris asked.
"Kyla Brooke."
"Oh! You are Liam and Poseidon's sister?" she inquired absolutely delighted. All Kyla could do was nod. What had she just gotten herself into?
Foster Finner, 14
Foster elbowed his friend Troy in the arm as Kyla Brooke volunteered. "There she is," he said pointing. For a minute they both thought she was going to chicken out. That's why they stuck her in the same Hunger Games with Paylor though. They figured that since Paylor was such a shoe in to win, they shouldn't waste a promising girl in his Games. No one would have been surprised if she didn't go through with it. They would have been furious sure, but not surprised.
"Dude she's hot," Troy responded immediately. Foster laughed.
"You think the wall is hot," he replied. Troy shook his head as he gave his friend a shove. Foster was about to trip him back- he always won these fights since Troy wasn't a career- when someone a few rows behind them made a hissed at them to cut it out.
"Hey, I was thinking we head over to the Academy later and do something. No one's going to be there because it's reaping day. Everything is going to be vulnerable," Foster mumbled quietly, an excited glint in his eye. "I was thinking that we go collect some seaweed and dump it in the trainer's office."
Troy nodded eagerly, immediately jumping on board. "We should get some fish too, they'll be smelling by tomorrow," he whispered.
The two didn't even realize that Iris Siren was reaching into the boy's bowl until her voice rang through the crowd. "Foster Finner," she called.
Foster looked up momentarily confused. Then he realized that he had just been picked. Immediately a wide grin stretched across his face. Only one thought was going through his head- right now, the entire nation was watching him. Might as well take advantage and embarrass his mother. "Oh. My. Gosh. It's it's like my wildest dreams have suddenly come true," Foster cried, barely holding in the laughter. As he skipped up to the stage, his various friends clapped him on the back, all of them snickering and laughing in some way shape or form.
When he got to the stage, he jumped up the steps, ran immediately over to Kyla, and enveloped the shaking girl into a big hug. She looked positively confused. Now he had the entire District smiling and laughing. With a wide lop-sided grin sitting contentedly on his face, he took his spot.
Searching around the crowd, it was easy to find Paylor. He was the only one in the eighteen year old section that wasn't talking to anyone. Really, Foster getting reaped couldn't have been better for Paylor. Before, his only angle was the tough guy. Not even the best mentor in the world could have made him look even the slightest bit compassionate. Now he could be the tough guy who had a heart because he volunteered to save his brother. It seemed like a pretty good deal to Foster.
Iris, who seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that Foster was joking when he skipped up to the stage, shot him a feverishly happy glance. "Well, I hate to take your dream away from you," she said, looking genuinely sorry for him. "But do I have any volunteers?"
Everyone in the District looked to Paylor, and waited. As the seconds ticked, Foster rolled his eyes, it would be just like his brother to make him sweat it out up here. More waiting. Foster found Paylor's face again, and looked him in the eye cautiously. Paylor was staring back at his brother as if in a trance. His face was as white as snow as his mouth hung open slightly.
"Ah," Iris said looking surprised. "It looks like you'll get to go into the arena after all Foster. How grand!"
"Paylor!" Foster choked out. Suddenly his brother unfroze, and upon realizing that his opportunity had just slipped by, tears welled up in his eyes.
"Foster," he cried. "Foster I'm sorry."
No. No. No. This couldn't be happening. Foster was supposed to have another four years before he had to go, and by that time his brother would have been a victor. If he wanted to drop out, Paylor could have paid the fee for breaking the contract. He wasn't supposed to be tied to these games the way a normal career was. But it didn't matter. His name was drawn in the reaping. He was going into the Hunger Games whether he liked it or not.
Kyla Brooke, 16
Kyla didn't bother holding back the tears as she cried into her parent's shoulders. Her mom even sobbed with her. "We love you, don't forget it," the woman said as they soaked each other's shirts with their tears. Her dad on the other hand was sitting on the coach beside her, his eyes a million miles away. He would not cry for her today, and maybe not even tomorrow. It was questionable if he even realized what was going on right now. He'd lost so much of himself when his eldest two sons died.
Kyla looked over her mom's shoulder at her four younger siblings. Only Oceana really knew what was going on the way her parents did. She was the only one that actually had solid tangible memories of Liam and Poseidon. In many ways Karissa, Aries, and Apollo were fortunate not to remember. They didn't hurt the way the rest of the family did.
"You're coming back," Oceana muttered, sounding only half way convinced. "You're a career and they always come back. And that Paylor guy didn't volunteer. Now you have a chance." Tears were in the girl's eyes as Kyla hugged her.
"I'll try," she muttered back to her quietly. She spent the final moments of her goodbye hugging her siblings. Maybe Oceana was right, she told herself. Maybe she'll actually make it back. Perhaps that was what it might take to heal her family.
Foster Finner, 14
Foster waited with his arms crossed as his parents entered the room. Unlike his district partner, he did not cry. He wasn't the crying type. In fact, if he looked past the demobilizing fear that buzzed through him like some kind of sick adrenaline, what he really felt was anger. He wanted so badly for Paylor to walk into the room. It would have been one thing if he had just decided not to volunteer, and he had given his family some warning. It wasn't like he was going to be sending them all onto the streets because he breached some sort of binding contract or anything right? Wrong. His parents would be homeless and drenched in debt if Foster didn't win. But at least if he'd talked to Foster about it beforehand, he would have been able to forgive his brother.
That wasn't how things went down though. Somehow the best student at the Academy didn't even have the guts to volunteer for his own, significantly less prepared brother. What a selfish coward. Foster had already said good-bye to Troy and a group of about seven other of his friends. He almost felt bad for Paylor because his brother would be getting no sympathy from anyone else in the district. Troy had made that very clear.
"Foster?" his father said finally after standing there for a minute. The man seemed like he was in some sort of daze as he stared at his youngest son. Well, probably only son now. No doubt Foster's mom had already filed the legal papers to disown Paylor.
"You look like you just saw mom skinny dipping in the ocean," Foster muttered shooting his dad a slight smile. If his dad wasn't going to lighten the mood in this stuffy room, someone had to.
"Foster," his mom snapped sharply. Surprise surprise, the edge in her voice hadn't softened even the slightest now that he was going to be in the games four years early. She was still just as stern as ever. "You have to be serious now. No more joking around. Now you have to win. We need you to bring glory to family name."
Foster had never wanted to slap someone so bad in his life.
Still, he resisted. He knew all too well that his mother was a twisted jealous person. She never could get over the fact that her sister was a victor, and she was not. Now she had to live through her two sons because she was an old hag and couldn't enter the games herself anymore. At least he would get to spend the last month of his life with his Aunt. She was really great to Foster growing up, and if she was going to be the last bit of family he saw before he died, that wasn't the worst thing in the world.
"I love you dad," he said hugging his father one last time before the peacekeepers came in to escort his parents out.
A few minutes later the peacekeepers returned, telling him that it was time to go to the train. Paylor didn't even muster up the courage to come and say good-bye to him. Foster shook his head, his face a mask of fear, anger, and pain. There was nothing he could do about it now though. He was too late. Everything was just coming together too late.
A/N: Here's the latest chapter. Notice how this one took a little longer to get out? I think I'm slowing down a bit with the writing. Just a heads up- expect slower updates in the future. Not too much slower of course. Maybe just like once a week as opposed to every day. But any way, hoped you liked this chapter. I actually had a bit of a struggle writing sane tributes after the last chapter, haha. Hope you liked them though. Let me know what you think.
