Olive Pithy, District 3.
The welding mask keeps slipping down in front of my eyes, and I jam it back up quickly. I glance down at myself, inspecting my costume. I'm dressed in a blue jumpsuit, made from a soft fabric that I don't recognise. The jumpsuit has only been pulled up to my waist though, and my top half is only covered by a very skimpy white tank tap. I have to keep fiddling with that as well as the mask, because I'm paranoid that it's going to reveal too much. There's a bright green belt around my waist; a last minute addition when the stylist noticed my eyes.
As we sit waiting for the procession to start Jared suddenly pulls at my arm. Panic rushes through me whenever I think of my tiny little, twelve year old district partner. He's so skinny that they made him wear a padded costume so that his ribs wouldn't stick out and disgust the Capitol audience. But I don't think he'll be getting too many sponsors anyway.
His quiet, intelligent brown eyes remind me of my younger sister, Glacies. He's almost the same age as she is, and there's something in the way he holds himself, and speaks that reminds me so much of her. I just hope that she's coping with mum, who's been quieter than ever after dad... Still, I think that I can trust Glacies to deal with things back home. After all, out of my sisters, she's by far the more reliable twin. Or maybe I'm just biased because I like her slightly more.
Flamma, my other sister, is a complete stuck-up snob. I can't even remember the last time she deigned to look at me, let alone speak to me. Apparently I'm an embarrassment at school because I keep to myself and work hard. I didn't always used to be so painfully shy; there had actually been a time when I had been quite popular at school. But once they executed dad... I just didn't really up to socialising very much. Besides, I'd had other things to worry about – the Hunger Games were supposed to be a punishment, and I'd figured that maybe the Capitol weren't satisfied with just punishing dad. They wanted to punish his family as well.
How hard would it have been, really, for the Capitol to have rigged those Reapings? It just seems like a bit too much of a coincidence to me.
So I'd made sure that I started training. Just a little bit, I mean I'm no muscle machine, but I made sure that I could run. That way at least I can escape from a fight.
I glance down at Jared, the familiar flare of pity in my stomach. "What did Sheela and Rita," our mentors, "say that we had to do?"
I remember the conversation like it happened five seconds ago rather than this morning, "We have to wave and look happy – like this doesn't bother us at all, and I especially have to try and act like I'm not really that shy. You have to sit up straight so that you look taller and we're not allowed to talk to each other," I reel off effortlessly, not really liking the last piece of advice. I guess we've already broken that one though.
Jared's looking at me in open-mouthed astonishment. "What?"
"How did you remember all of that?" he demands, looking confused.
I can't help but smile at his expression, "I just have a good memory," I tell him dully and stare ahead as the arena starts to fill with people. I can't help the nervousness that makes my limbs tremble; I've always hated being in front of audiences of any kind, and this is the biggest audience that there has ever been. I'm awkward at the best of times, but there's something about a huge crowd of people that makes my tongue stumble over my words, and my limbs turn to jelly.
"That's more than a good memory," Jared replies.
I smile sadly as I remember my dad saying the exact same thing to me the first time that he realised how good I was at remembering things. He had glanced at me with the same look of confusion that I can see in Jared's expression now. It's nothing really that special though; it's easier to remember something that I've read because then I can actually visualise the words on the page in my brain, but it's works with people talking as well, because I just have to remember the way their mouth looked as they were speaking.
My dad insisted that it made me 'special' though. No one's called me that since he died – executed because of his brilliance. He had been a rebel engineer during the rebellion, and had come up with some truly innovative inventions – stuff that I don't even understand. Weapons and defence mechanisms that played a huge part in gaining ground against the Capitol. But once the rebels surrendered, my dad was pretty high up on the list of people who were to be executed. They took him away on the evening of the surrender and televised his execution live. My mum made my sisters leave the room but I refused to. So I had watched as they had hung my father, and my mother's soul had died along with him.
I keep thinking that I see him though; sometimes it's just someone who looks remarkably like him. But then sometimes... sometimes there's no explanation and I swear that it's really him. So, if there's no logical explanation, then it must be his... spirit?
Ever since I was six years old I've been absolutely petrified of ghosts; I saw this fat old lady coming up the stairs on my house, but she wasn't making any sound. Our stairs are extremely creaky; you can hear every single foot step that people take on the steps, but it was completely silent. Like she was gliding, or something.
I don't know – I normally think so logically about stuff like that but I can't forget what I saw that day. It still sends shivers down my spine whenever I think about her.
A shudder runs through me now, and Jared obviously feels it and sends me a confused glance.
A sudden gong rings out across the arena, and I start in terror. This is the signal for the chariot rides to begin, and I'm definitely not ready.
We watch as District 1's chariot is pulled into view by two beautiful, pure white horses. I can't help but watch the girl in amazement; she's beautiful. Her strawberry-blonde hair is piled high on the top of her head, and looks so sleek and shiny that it makes me run my fingers through my own lank blonde hair in jealousy. Her costume looks so perfect as well, as if her stylist actually put some effort into it. It's coated in fragments of jewels and shiny stones. I glance back down at my welding outfit in distaste.
Then District 2 rushes past and I can't really see anymore, because my mouth has gone all dry and fingers are shaking as I push my hair back off my face. The horses are surging forwards and all the advice about waving and smiling goes straight out of my head. I just concentrate on not embarrassing myself.
Lien Axford, District 9.
I pull at the folds of the green dress my stylist had forced me into. White boots that cut off the circulation in my legs, and a white shawl that resembles one that my granny used to own complete my outfit. I resent the fact that I've been made to wear a dress for one thing; it's so constricting. How can you do anything if you're wearing a stupid, floaty piece of material that blows up in your face, completely humiliating you, whenever there's a slight breeze? Answer, you can't. Still, I guess it makes me look younger, which should hopefully have a positive effect on these Capitol morons.
I watch with distaste as the other tributes are pulled slowly past us, and I twirl a strand of my reddish-brown hair idly around my finger. These idiots aren't worth watching; there's the girl from District 3 who looks like she's about to pass out, the blonde haired gorilla from District 4 who probably can't tell one of a pencil from the other, and the girl from District 7 who doesn't look like she's all there. In fact, I actually think that she almost fell out of her chariot. They all look even stupider in person than they did during the recap of the Reapings.
And what about the idiot that I'm stuck with? Griffin Ashlock; his very name causes my lip to curl in derision. Ever since we got on the train yesterday he's been making these non-stop jokes that make me want to slap him in the face. My brother, Trevor, used to be able to tell amazing jokes. You know, one's that could actually make people laugh. He always used to make me laugh; his jokes were clever too, not just this stupid observational humour that Griffin seems to be so skilled at...
Every time that I close my eyes I can still picture my brother so clearly. Strong and handsome – he had been my hero in every way. Still is my hero actually, seeing as I'm unable to find anyone else who matches up to him.
It still makes me feel physically sick when I think of the day that we received the news about him. I remember how I had just lain in bed for months after it had happened; not wanting to speak to anyone, or even move. Because in my eyes there had been no point once Trevor wasn't there anymore. I didn't care when my mum tried to tempt me to get up with a wide smile and my favourite food. I didn't move when my dad tried talking to me in his soothing voice, trying to persuade me to be reasonable.
I only started being active again when I remember something that Trevor had said to me before he had left to join the rebellion and turned my whole life upside down; you have to be brave Pixie, no matter what happens to me.
I'd hated him so much when he'd joined up – he was supposed to be there for me not fighting for some distant cause that hardly seemed important.
I clench my fists tightly, ignoring the strange look that Griffin gives me.
Trevor had been sent off to District 2 with his squad. I had made myself sick even then, just thinking about all the possibilities, and considering what could happen to him. He was too far away – I just couldn't understand why he had no longer been satisfied with fighting against the Capitol secretly. We had supplied the troops with food and money, surely that had been enough.
Why, Trevor? I think now, as my eyes scan the rest of the tributes. If he had been reaped he would have beaten them all so easily.
Strong, brave, clever.
What am I supposed to do without him?
I sigh as our chariot suddenly starts gliding forwards and I shove a sweet smile onto my face, getting ready to fool the Capitol audience, just like I had fooled the members of my District at the Reaping. I smile to myself as I think of the groan that had erupted from the crowd as my name had been chosen, and of the surprise on Griffin's face when he shook my hand and realised that I hadn't just given up. Everyone just assumes that because I'm a fragile little girl that I have no chance of winning this thing. Well, they can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. They don't know my strategy.
I turn to Griffin now, meaning to put my plan into action as soon as I can, and begin convincing him that I'm exactly the kind of ally that he wants. After all, he's kind of stupid looking, so I doubt he'll really be able to see through my facade, and he certainly looks strong enough to last a while once we get into the arena. Once he ends up getting killed, I'll just put on my innocent face again and persuade someone else to team up with me. It'll be a piece of cake.
But as I watch Griffin's face I realise that he's not playing the slightest bit of attention to me, which clenches my jaw because I'm trying to look all scared and stuff so that he'll want to protect me. Instead, his eyes are glued onto the girl sitting in District 2's chariot. I glance over, not the slightest bit interested in what I see there. I mean sure, she looks fairly muscular but she's certainly not what I'd call pretty. Plus, she doesn't look very friendly; I didn't think guys liked girls who went round glaring all the time. Matthieu certainly hates it whenever I give him a menacing look. Although, I can't deny that it's very effective in getting him to shut up.
I roll my eyes as I watch Griffin's face – he's clearly a lost cause then. I need someone to focus entirely on me, not on some moody blonde haired girl who looks perfectly ready to stab the boy in the chariot with her.
I scan the other tributes, and my eyes land back on the muscle mass from District 4. Stupid and strong; he looks like the perfect combination to me.
I blow a kiss in the direction of the crowd, and am greeted by an ear-splitting eruption of, "Aaaaaw," and I have to work hard to suppress an eye roll and keep my true feelings hidden from the crowd. I try to simply look gratified by their response, rather than seething with anger over the death of my brother and the fact that they're throwing me into an arena with these idiots.
I sigh as I watch their ecstatic faces. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only sane person left in the world.
We've now met all of the tributes! :) Start thinking about who your favourites are...
