Catalaia Boyd, 16 - District 7 female
DanaRulezTheWorld
"Wake up! All of you up!" My step-father's drunken voice rings through the house. I groan and sit up in bed. We live in the richer part of town, so all of us have our own room. Well, except Gail and Bailey. They share a room because Bailey is afraid of the dark. My door slamming open snaps me out of my reverie.
"What did I say?! Get up! Today is the reaping and we will not be late like last year!" Yuko thunders. I surpress a laugh. Last year we were late, and he got 50 lashes. He passed out around 20.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm moving," I grumble, getting out of bed. I go through the morning motions, brushing my teeth, a bath and washing my hair. Another knock on my door, this time softer.
"Come in," I call, and then turn around. It's just Gail.
"Cat? I'm scared." She jumps right in, not beating around the bush.
"I know. I am too," I admit. "You'll be fine. Three slips out of thousands," I assure her. She gives me a smile, a quick, "Thank you," and bounces out of my room. I then pick up my reaping outfit. Instead of the usual dress that girls wear, I decide on a pair of tight black jeans, and a white blouse. I slide into my white slippers and begin working on my face. My dark hair is stringy, due to the water. And my green eyes have faded. They fade more everyday, so instead of a bright Yuko green, I have my father's mint green. I pick up the curling comb, and set to work.
We all manage to meet downstairs on time, Bailey with a yellow sundress, white buckle up shoes, and her hair done up nicely. Gail wears a blue skirt, with a matching blue blouse tucked in. And some blue buckle-up's. My brother manages to look decent, considering all of his clothes contain tight shirts. A black button up shirt, with khaki pants, and black dress shoes Yuko bought him.
My eldest sister, Veronique, looks the most stunning. A white halter dress with white heels. Although she doesn't have to attend the reapings, she insists on looking as though she does.
Yuko looks at us, nodding in approval.
"Yes, well done. Now let's go," he claps. Bailey reaches for my hand and I cringe. I hate her more than life and death itself. Almost more than Yuko. Almost.
"I have to walk with Vero, since we're not eligible. But I like you Cat. I really like you," she says, and I try not to gag.
"You should walk with Vero anyway, okay? Go on," I say, and she goes to latch onto my sister. I can practically feel her tense up.
"C'mon, let's get this over with," Kevin says, and Gail, Kevin and I walk dreadfully to the reaping.
There comes a point and time in life, where you know you're going to die. It's absolutely inevitable, and everyone gets it. My point is when our escort called my name. The girls make way, parting the line for me. I rub my eyes and they come back wet. I quickly rub the tears away, take a deep breath and step forward. I do the only thing plausible right now, and give a loud laugh. There. My vision is still blurry, but I manage to make it on stage.
"Now for the boys." Clementina doesn't hesitate when she calls out the next name.
"Oliver Cerese!" and there he is. Hmm. He comes from the 17 year section, and he's attractive. Muscular and manages to keep a blank face. District 7 actually has a chance. I grin.
"Ladies and Gentlemen your tributes for the 7th annual Hunger Games: Oliver Cerese and Catalaia Boyd."
"You have got to be kidding me," Kevin growls. Bailey and Yuko apparently aren't coming, so it's only Kevin, Gail and Vero sending me off.
"Nope," I say, instead of my usual sarcasm.
"You work in the woods, you know how to use an axe. And you're clever, with the plants and animals. And you're fast," Gail stumbles, coming up with things I'm good at.
"And I'm small. I'm small compared to my district partner, compared to the careers," I say. Her face falls, and she cries.
"Look, just... steer clear of the cornucopia. Find water, make a few smart alliances. You can do this," Vero says, shaking my shoulders. Gail cuts between us, giving us a tight hug. Then Vero and finally Kevin.
"You forgot this," Vero says, and hands me my necklace. A heart pendant strung on a leather necklace. It's the last thing mother gave to me.
"Thank you," I say, fingering the necklace.
"Time!" a peacekeeper says. Gail clings to me, and they wind up carrying her out. Vero drop drops a kiss on my head, and turns to leave with Kevin.
"I love you," I tell him.
"I love you too... big sis," he says, and closes the door. I'm alone.
My mentor, Acton, and I are sitting alone when he invites the boy over. He instead asks to be escorted to his room. Fair enough. The train ride is awkward, and our escort won't shut up.
"-you see, because I have a knack for-"
"Not shutting the hell up?" I ask, nonchalantly. Our mentor snickers.
"That was completely out of context young lady!"
"Clementina, I don't give a fuck," I say, and she glares at me.
"Language!"
"Ugliness!"
"You're an animal."
"Says the monster herself," I snap. The train is rocked with silence, and I realize I'm standing, breathing heavily.
"Hmm," Acton, our mentor says. I take a deep breath, and pick up a roll.
"I'll be in my room." And with that, I walk away, biting into my roll and keeping the threatening tears where they are.
I wind up taking an hour in the fancy shower, eating in my room, and watching the recaps alone. Once I get a look at all my potential threats, and analyze the others, I lay back in the covers. I decide against the warm, cozy pajamas, sleeping just in an overly large t-shirt. I close my eyes and think about home. Then my district partner.
"Look out everybody, because we're going to wreak havoc this year," I mutter, and drift to sleep.
Oliver Cerese, 17 - Disctrict 7 male
Faith-o-saurus
I lay in bed and stare at the log ceiling, rays of sun peeking through to bathe me in slivers of light. Dust particles are shown where it hits; it's amazing how true the term "come to light" pertains to actual light. These specks floating around, so small and harmless, would have never been noticeable if it weren't for it "coming to light". I shake my head and try not to judge myself for lying here, pondering the wonders of dust.
I can hear my mother in the kitchen, banging pots around for a pre-reaping breakfast. This is the one day of the year that we allow ourselves to indulge – a way to put a pleasant spin on an otherwise macabre event.
I wait a few minutes more before forcing myself out of my small bed, my intention to dress and go help my mother in the kitchen. Alma wants me to meet up with her at 10:30 so we can walk to the Reaping together. I think about getting dressed, but decide to just head down to the kitchen instead.
My mother must hear me, because she looks up at me with a small smile before I make myself noticeable. "Good morning, Oliver."
I smile and walk over, grabbing a pan off of the ground that she must have dropped. "Morning. Need help?" I place the pan next to the small stove, and then lean against the counter, one foot crossed over the other.
She grabs a few of the small eggs from a basket on the counter that she had gathered from our lone chicken and places them in front of me. "Go ahead and use that pan to cook up these eggs," she says while motioning toward the pan I had picked up. I place it on the stove without another word.
We prepare the food in silence, my father most likely out back working on an intricately designed rocking chair that some prissy Capitol woman placed an order for. To them, our work is 'rustic', which apparently is a fashion statement right now.
By the lack of light feet tapping away, I conclude that the kids are still sleeping. Might as well, seeing as they will be standing out in the heat for an unnecessary amount of time. At least they won't be forced into a small roped off space full of body heat.
I glance over at my mother. Her face looks worn, but not from age. The reaping hangs above all parents of children twelve through eighteen, and it doesn't help that even though I only have one more left after this, greater age also comes with more reaping slips. I want to comfort her, but I've never really been one for that; I wouldn't know how. It's best for me to just act as though I don't notice, or it will just end up awkward. We continue to cook in silence, both lost in our own thoughts.
My father comes in about ten minutes later, while we're setting the table. He doesn't say anything to either one of us, and he seems to be purposely avoiding any eye contact with me. He was never really a man of words and has always bottled his emotions up inside. Many people think he just doesn't feel much, but I know what he does; I know because my personality comes from him. Or perhaps we're both empty inside, and just want to pretend like they're bottled up. I guess it doesn't really matter either way.
Just as he sits down at the table, I hear tiny footsteps nearing the kitchen. Eller, my three-year-old brother, sticks his head around the doorframe. His eyes scan over all of us before he stops at my mother and says in a hushed voice, "Mama, I can't sleep."
Her demeanor changes immediately. Perhaps it is a mother's instinct; to push aside their feelings for their young. "That's alright hun, breakfast is almost done," she says as she walks over to him and lifts him in her arms. "Momma's making a very yummy breakfast today." Her voice is now sweet as honey. She sets him down in the chair next to mine, and I ruffle his hair when he smiles up at me.
"Oliver, go and wake up Dara. We all still need to get dressed after breakfast," my father says as he starts on his eggs.
I nod and get up, heading down the short hall and into the bedroom Dara and Eller both share. She laying on her stomach, her cheek puffed out and a small line of drool down her pillow. I walk over and shake her shoulder gently. "Dara, get up."
She sucks in a breath and opens her eyes. Their half-lidded as she looks around in confusion. When she lands on me, she starts to come to her senses. "What time is it?"
"Almost 9:30. The Reaping starts at noon, so we really need to get moving. Come on." I pull her up and out of bed. She wobbles a bit when I let her go, but catches her bearings quickly and heads toward the door. I follow her out and down the hall, back to the kitchen. My mother has filled all of the plates, so all we need to do is sit down.
The only one making any sound while we eat is Eller, who is playing with his food and laughing. His eyes are sparkling, and I try to remember a time when I was that innocent; in the end, I realize that was much too long ago.
I get sick of the somber aura about fifteen minutes in, so I stand quickly and pick up my plate. "I'm full. I'm going to get dressed and go find Alma." I don't wait for a response, or really just don't listen. No matter how much I enjoy my family's company, I can only humor everyone for so long.
I have learned long ago to never wear white. In the end, it just ends up dirty and then you're forced to wash it, and eventually are forced to find another. My shirt is a dark blue – only a bit worn. Pants are a different story, with the dirty ground. If they are dark, the dirt shows; it's an easy fix, but a nuisance nonetheless. This is where it is good to wear a lighter color, such as my light brown. Still, never white.
I go to my closet and pull out my blue shirt and light brown pants, and then reach down to the floor to grab my Reaping shoes. They are uncomfortable, but are the nicest pair I have. They once shined, but nothing good lasts forever. I pull them on quickly, my right leg getting trapped in the pants before toppling over on the bed. "Shit." I huff and pull them on the rest of the way, then slip on and tie my shoes. My hair is the one thing that always gives me grief, the curls never neat. I really need a haircut.
I go to the bathroom and comb through it with a pick, then head down the hall and to the front door. I turn in the general direction of the kitchen and yell, "I'm leaving!" I hear some muffled responses, which I take as consent, and then open the door and leave.
Alma's house isn't too far from mine, so the walk is short. The scenery has always been nice, though, with the vivid green leaves on the vast amount of trees. One upside to practically living in the woods is the sense of serenity. I'm not particularly fond of crowds, or company in general, so being able to take trips through the wilderness works wonders.
When I reach Alma's, I see her father in the back chopping wood. When he looks up I nod to him, and he gives me a small wave before going back to work. It seems that no one will take the one day off they are allowed. I open the door to their home – I have come to here long enough that formalities are not necessary anymore – and close it behind me and pull of my shoes with my toes. I don't see her mother, so I figure she has gone out for the time before the Reaping. She has a weak heart. "Alma?"
"Bedroom," she says, but I barely hear her. Her house is not much different from mine; really only a mirror image. I head down to her room and see her sitting on her bed cross-legged, reading a horror novel. She glances up quickly. "Hey."
I go on the other side of the bed to sit down and lean against the head board, crossing my feet when settled. "Hey." We are people of few words. Most of our interactions are physical, which is in both of our comfort zones. In reality, it is the only comfort we both crave. I trail the tips of my fingers over her bare thigh and murmur, "What're you reading?"
"Invisible Rose," she says without looking up, though I can hear her breath become ragged and see her bite her lip.
I lean in to kiss her neck and whisper, "What's it about?"
She slowly closes her book and lays it on the wooden bed stand that my father made for her before turning her head to catch my lips with hers. "Do you really want to know?"
I smirk against her lips. "No." I take her bottom lip between my teeth.
We never do little pecks, loving smiles and warm gazes. We don't love each other; we enjoy each other's company. Some may call our relationship cold and unfeeling, and I can't exactly deny it, but it's not about everybody else. It's about us.
I push her down so I can lie on top of her, and deepen the kiss. I enjoy the tiny whimper she gives as I move my hands from her waist to her hips. My fingers span over her stomach and I gently caress as I move to nibble on her neck.
She pulls away a bit after, and I raise an eyebrow. Usually we finish, especially when things are going at this rate. She pushes me to the side and glances at the clock on her wall. "We need to get going if we're going to get there on time," she says before getting up and going to her small dresser. I watch as she pulls out a deep green dress and black shoes, and then put it on. I admire her figure for the small moment before she's heading to the door.
I get up and follow her out without a word, straightening my shirt on the way. When we get to the front I see her parents already waiting outside on narrow porch, their eyes on us the moment we're visible. Alma's mother brushes her fingers through Alma's hair, and her father pats me on the back. They've always liked me, probably because I've always played the part of a perfect boyfriend in front of them. I've been known to be quite the actor.
I have never liked the walk to the Justice Building. There is barely a minute before we are immersed in town, with loud children and idle conversation from the adults. The noise is deafening. Luckily, we are some of the last that make it to the table to check in, so most of it was deserted. Alma's family says their goodbyes to her, and I know they are hoping it is not their last. I'm sure my family would have wanted to say goodbye to me, as well, especially my little brother.
Alma and I split up after we get checked in, then stand in our designated areas. We're a bit late, so it's already beyond crowded. I glance around, looking for my best friend Charlie. I'm taken by surprise when I feel a punch on the back, and when I turn around I am face-to-face with him.
"Hey there, buddy! Ready for some fun?" There is a smirk on his face, though the fear is evident in his eyes. He waves to someone that has caught his attention before turning back to me.
I roll my eyes, but give him a smile regardless. "You know it. Gotta love these Reapings, right?"
He laughs and pats me on the back. "Just the best. You're a bit late." He raises an eyebrow.
I shrug. "I was with Alma."
"Ahh, all right, I gotcha." He winks with a large grin. "You know, th-"
"Welcome! Welcome, everyone, to the Seventh Annual Hunger Games!" We both turn when our escort, Clementina Parrino, starts her staged speech. She's wearing a black tailored dress covered in colorful roses and deep purple heels that look impossible to walk in. Her hair is in such tight curls that she looks like a porcelain doll. I must have not been listening while surveying her ridiculous appearance, because the scheduled video has already started. Same old, same old – some shit about victory and everything the Capitol does for us. Really, it just seems like survival of the fittest to me. The screen goes blank, and I know it's now time for the real fun.
Clementina heads over to the right glass bowl, sticking her left hand in the bowl and flicking it out. She looks it over, her yellow lashes flickering, and then looks out at the crowd with a smile. "Catalaia Boyd!" I don't recognize the name, so she must not be in my class. I keep my eyes to the front and cross my arms, waiting for her to appear. I see a flash of brown before she is ushered up the stairs, and oddly enough she's laughing. Well, all right.
Clementina doesn't spend too much time on her before going over to the boys' bowl. Now, when she looks out at the crowd with that same clown grin, you can imagine my surprise when I hear my name. Interesting. I share a look with Charlie – he looks horrified – before stepping out of the crowd. I keep my face blank, which really isn't too hard. Honestly, I think I might have a chance at this thing. I'm pretty tall, and probably strong enough with all of the work I've done with Alma's father. You never know. So many people spend this time fretting for their lives, which is a waste of time.
They usher me up the stage and I take a glance at our only victor, Acton Berkeley. He won the second games at the age of eighteen, making him 23 years old. He's in a nice tailored suit, but he looks less than happy. He's always seemed to have a bit of a soft side, or at least what I've seen of him. Obviously there is an undeniable hardness in his heart – after all, nobody is a victor by chance. I then look at Alma. Her face is emotionless, just as I expected and appreciate. I skip over everyone else and wait until we're lead into the building and to separate rooms.
The first visitors are obviously my parents. Eller comes up and hugs my leg, tears in his eyes. He's too young to understand what's going on, so I'm sure the crying is a reaction to my mother and sister's own. "I love you, Oliver." His voice is muffled from being buried into my pants.
I ruffle his hair and offer him a smile. "You too, bud. Now, go stay with momma, all right?" He looks at me with his big eyes before shuffling back over to my mother, keeping his gaze on me.
My mother is still crying, so I figure she won't be giving a proper goodbye anyway. Dara is stuck to my mother's side. I look up at my father, and he looks the same as always.
He walks over and gives me a pat on the back before saying, "You're strong, Oliver. You'll come back." They are taken away less than a minute later.
Next is Charlie. When he walks in, he stills like a deer caught in a headlight. His mouth is opening and shutting, small strings of words coming out. "Dude, I…fuck…you know…you're gonna be okay." We stare at one another before he rushes over and gives me a one-armed hug, and then he's gone. I hate hugs.
I go and sit on the couch, and about five minutes later Alma comes in. I wasn't sure if she was going to come at all, but I have to admit that it's nice to see her. I nod toward the spot next to me on the couch.
She takes it and leans back before looking at me. "So, you've been reaped."
I nod. We sit in silence for a bit, until she reaches into one of her dress pockets and pulls out a worn leather bracelet. "What's that?"
She glances toward me, but this time there is something in her eyes. Sadness? Fear? I couldn't tell you, but it's a foreign emotion one way or another. "It's some bracelet I made when I was younger. I have to use for it, so I figured you could us it as a token. I doubt you have anything."
I look at her for a long while, then grab it and put it on. "Thanks." It surprises me that this exchange took a whole three minutes, because the Peacekeepers have just opened the door to usher her out.
I sit back and close my eyes, not sure where to let my mind set. The district I'm leaving behind? The Capitol? All the ways I could kill my district partner? In the end, my thoughts end up on Alma and that look in her eyes. I'm much too curious than what I'm comfortable with.
The ride to the train is a quiet one, besides the chatting of Clementina about curtains and how she just has to get the purple. It is just so in this season, apparently. I'm more than happy when the car stops and we're allowed out.
"Ah, we're here! Finally, I just can't wait to get out of this district," Clementina screeches as she pops out of the car, hurrying us onto the train's steps.
Color. That's all I see when I enter the first car. Peach and lavender-colored foods. Drinks the color of the sky. Deep cherry wood tables and bright pink and green couches. I'm really not sure what to make of it all. Once I'm done taking in my surroundings, I see that my district partner – what was her name again? – and Acton are sitting in two chairs surrounding what I believe to be some odd form of a coffee table.
Acton notices me staring and waves me over. "Oliver, come on over. We have another chair." I hate the pity in his eyes. I don't have time for pity.
I stare at them both blankly for a second more, then ask one of the servants to take me to my room. I'll have a better chance at all of this alone. I can hear Clementina chatting away, then Catalaia yell, and I almost laugh. The woman leading me does not talk, and it makes me wonder if this is her job or her sentence. I thank her when she allows me in, then close and lock the door behind me.
The room is no better than the rest of the train. The walls are much too bright to sleep in, and it would not be hard to just slip out of the satin sheets on the bed. The only normal object is the large wooden dresser on the far side wall. I decide to take a look, so I walk over slowly and open the first drawer. Undergarments, though they don't look to comfortable. The next drawer is full of pajamas. The next is shirts. Last is full of pants. I notice a chest at the end of the bed and open it up. I'm disappointed when I see it is full of shoes and cologne. Who puts those two together?
I sigh and roll my eyes, then go back to the dresser to take out a pair of pajamas. The best pair I can find consists of a royal blue short sleeve shirt and matching pants. They are both silk, which is unfortunate. It's much too early for bed, so I go and lie down in my bed, contemplating the day's events, and then I do start thinking up ways to kill.
In the end, I realize that I do have a chance at winning.
