Vivian May, 16
There is a certain feeling of tension that wraps itself around my family home on the day of the reaping. Its tenacity can't quite be matched anywhere else in the district, or at least from my experience it's pretty much in a class of its own. We've been hit not once, but twice by the horror of the reaping. I wasn't even born the first time it happened, I was just a weak stirring in my mother's belly when the Capitol stole my father away from me. He was eighteen years old and fresh faced, with the same sparkling green eyes I have, according to my mother on the few occasions she felt comfortable talking about him. I have only the slightest feeling of loss for my father, after all, it's hard to miss something you've never even known.
The loss of my sister last year though, that pain is still pretty raw.
My mother stands at the stove, carefully pushing some bacon back and forth on the scratchy old frying pan that's been in our home since before I can even remember. Marilyn and Clara, my younger sisters are sitting at the table, both their faces resting on top of their overlapping arms. The sound of the bacon sizzling and my stepfather Curtis shuffling about in the hallway are the only sounds breaking through the uncomfortable silence that's had its hold on the house since dawn.
I'd really like to break it, to try and start up a conversation but I just don't know how. Ever since Elizabeth was reaped last year the sombre mood in our home has completely taken over, and it's even worse considering that one year ago to the day was the last time any of us ever saw her alive, at least in the flesh.
I can see her even now, sitting in the empty chair across from me, tugging on the sleeves of her tent of a dress to stay up above her wrists, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration. Then I can see her up on the stage, tears streaming down her porcelain face while I stood fixed to the ground, my voice unable to call out and save her…
"I've got to go." I shout out, finally unable to take the silence any longer. My mother looks up, her lower lip trembling slightly.
"But I'm cooking bacon…."
"I'll have something to eat at Paisley's," I start, making my way to the hallway; far enough away from my mother so she can't reach out and stop me leaving. "I completely forgot I had to meet her now."
"Meet her where?" My mother asks, obviously not believing a word I've just said. She and I both know all too well that Paisley is more than likely still curled up in bed, drooling all over her pillow.
"What does it matter?" I sigh and before she has a chance to say another word I'm out of the kitchen, pushing past a blinking Curtis and making my way through the front door.
The air somehow seems a little bit easier to breathe out in the street.
Airick Marloth, 15
My sister Calla runs out of the bakery, frantically moving this way and that to try and avoid the people milling about in the street. She's holding a small cardboard box out in front of her, the right side of which has been crushed slightly by her bony little fingers. As she gets within speaking range her face lights up, a toothy grin appearing on her ashen face.
"Wait till you see it Airick! It's a really good one!" She exclaims, jumping up and down in front of me. I quickly –but carefully- snatch the box out of her hands and pull her over to the other side of the road, away from the other people, who've started eyeing us and the box in my hands with both suspicion and undoubtable longing. Food is scarce for a lot of the people in 8 and a ten year old girl making a fuss over a box with the bakers stamp on it is an easy target for the desperate and starving.
"Shhh. You can't go saying things like that out loud. People might think you've got food in that box." I tell her, trying my best not to sound patronizing.
"But it's not food Airick!" She shouts at me, obviously confused. She's still so very much a child who doesn't understand how desperate the world around her is, even though almost every day our little family struggles to get by like the rest of the District.
I sigh and pat her gently on the head. "I know Calla, but I really can't be bothered getting hassled today, ok? Now show me, which one did you pick?"
Her eyes light up the instant the conversation moves back to the subject of what's in the box. Standing up on the tips of her toes she opens the top of the box up, her pinky finger getting caught in one of the holes that's been punched into it as she does so. As the sunlight chases the darkness out of the little container one little patch of shadow remains. If it wasn't for the saucer like pair of green eyes staring up at me I would have thought my mind was playing tricks.
The kitten mews softly at me and Calla giggles. "Isn't she adorable?"
"She's a lot cuter than you." I quip back, expecting her to whine at me about being a smarty pants like she always does, but she's too enthralled by the tiny creature to pick up on my little joke. "You're really lucky I'm letting you have this cat you know, we can't even really afford it."
"But after today you'll be able to apply for more grain and stuff, so we'll be ok." She says absentmindedly, brushing a thumb across the little cats head. Her oblivious little reminder that today is reaping day sticks in my gut like glue. This whole adventure to get hold of the cat had almost been enough to make me forget about the reaping and all the awful possibilities it presents.
"Yeah of course." I reply, before deciding to move the conversation back towards the cat. "What are you going to call her?"
"Well I'm thinking of calling her Isla, after mum, but don't tell dad, I want to surprise him myself." She shuffles her feet awkwardly as she says this, before looking up at me with worried eyes, "Do you think he'll like that?"
I falter for a moment at the mention of our father and then find myself feeling angry. Calla is so excited, so proud of the kitten. I can only imagine how upset she'll be when we get home and dad doesn't even have the decency to look up from the pants he's mending to look at it, to acknowledge something outside of his own little world.
It's going to be a lot like how I'll feel when he doesn't even wish me good luck on my way to the reaping.
I force a smile and squeeze her shoulder tightly. "Like it? He'll love it I'm sure."
Vivian May, 16
District 8 is apparently thought of in much the same light as District 1, which creates all the luxury items for the Capitolites. I can understand where the comparison comes from, we make the clothes that go with the beautiful trinkets and furs they drape across themselves, but that is literally all we have in common. While District 1 looks like a sweet little pocket of suburbia with quaint buildings here and there that deal with the actual money making side of things, 8 is primarily a higgledy piggledy collection of factories and run down houses all shoved into one small space. Even the town square and the Justice Building aren't immune to 8's ugliness. The whole square is bordered by large factories; with small stores with their doors shut tightly that lease the space to the square end of the buildings. At the back of the square, or perhaps the front, depending on what direction you're facing is the Justice Building. It's the only place in the town that always looks crisp and well cared for, but that's only because the Capitol hire staff specifically to try and keep it looking lovely, but the factories looming over it from all sides hinder that, casting it in constant shadows
On Reaping day they try to make the place look more appealing by draping banners across the walls and positioning a few lights at the foot of the Justice Building so it looks brighter. Today the lights are giving off a faint green tinge, obviously to try and match Amity, the Escort's hair. She's had it dyed a deep sea green, with tiny clips with buttons glued on the front holding the extravagant style in place.
"Now I'm sure you are all very excited about this year's games." She beams out at the crowd, her silver plated teeth made almost garish by the green lights, "Especially because the male tribute from 8 made it to the final four last year. Hopefully this year's tributes will either match his wonderful efforts or surpass them. 8's time is coming, I swear it!"
"Can you believe this woman going on about Edam like that?" Paisley huffs. Edam had been in our year at school and was well liked by almost everyone. We'd all watched with baited breath as he pushed on through the games, hoping beyond all hope that he'd make it back home. It almost made the loss of Elizabeth that little bit more bearable.
He'd died on the second last day, torn apart by a pack of carnivorous butterflies. I don't think anybody could feel excited about being a prospective tribute this year after watching that awful horror unfold.
"Now as is required, I'll choose our female tribute first." Amity grins, teetering across the stage awkwardly, apparently not all that confident in her gargantuan heels. It takes such a tediously long time for her to get to the bowl, each step so much smaller than necessary. She shoves her hand roughly into the bowl and pulls out a handful of slips, flicking them one by one back into the bowl like she's playing a game of 'he loves me, he loves me not' with a daisy until only one little white sheet of paper is left.
She picks up the pace on the walk back, no doubt eager to open it up and destroy someone's life forever.
"Calica Undermore," She reads out, her mouth so close to the microphone that her voice is projected in an eerie unsettling sort of way. A small girl with bright red hair starts sobbing hysterically in the thirteen year old section. A few moments pass and she makes no attempt at making her way onstage, so a pair of peacekeepers push their way through the crowd of terrified children and yank the tiny child out into the open, pushing her up the steps, her feet kicking wildly in the air as they do so.
"Oh now dear don't cry. You're very lucky, this is an unbelievable honor." Amity tells Calica, an awful smile spread across her face. The tiny girl just sobs in reply, burying her face against the front of her dress.
As the girl stands up ahead of me crying I can't help but be reminded of Elizabeth. If it wasn't for the games she would have been the same age as the girl up on stage today. She'd looked much the same, her face turned into a grimace from all the crying, her voice unable to get a single word out when Amity had asked her questions. This girl on stage no doubt will suffer the same fate as my sister. She'll never live to pass another birthday again.
It's almost like I'm watching last year's reaping unfold all over again, my sister now replaced with the little girl on the stage. My mind trails away for the shortest of moments, pushing thoughts hard and fast at me. This girl should grow up, get married, have a wonderful family, live her life out until her skin is wrinkled and sprinkled with age spots. Instead she's going to die so very young, without having experienced any of the good things this piteous excuse Panem offers up as a life has to offer.
My mouth opens and the words pour out without my minds permission. "No! Not her, I'll go!"
I snap it shut the second the words leave my mouth, clamping my hand over my mouth, terrified I'll say something more, however it's too late, I've already said enough.
Amity is staring at me with her head tilted to the side like a confused dog. "Beg your pardon sweetie, but did you just volunteer?"
I know exactly what I want to say, it's something along the lines of "Oh no so sorry, I don't want to volunteer, not really. I don't even know this girl!" but I know I can't do that, not now, because the little girl is looking at me with such desperation in her eyes. It reminds me of how Elizabeth looked on that stage but with one marked difference. There is something else in this girl's eye now that I just can't take away from her; the faintest trace of hope.
I think of how I failed my sister, of the awful guilt I've carried for the past year and suddenly I know what I've got to do, even if I know it can only mean pain.
"Yes," I reply, "I volunteer."
Airick Marloth, 15
I think almost every kid from the age of fifteen and above have their mouths hanging open as Vivian makes her way up onto the stage, her legs shaking with every step. She's something of a golden girl, that girl that all the boys want and all the girls clamor to be friends with. She's been in my history class for the past two years. I'd always marveled at how she always beat everyone in the pop quizzes, proving herself to be that much smarter than the airhead girls she spent her time with.
I can honestly say this is the dumbest thing I've ever seen her do, and it makes me sad. Like the rest of my class mates I like Vivian and I can't imagine how awful it will be to watch her on the telescreens, holding onto the false hope that she'll somehow make it back home alive.
"Well this is promising!" Amity exclaims, rubbing her hands together with glee. "A volunteer, from district 8, can you guys believe it? You must be very confident Miss…."
"Vivian May."
Amity's face somehow manages to go a whole shade paler. "May, oh my….you're not.."
"Yes, Elizabeth's sister." Vivian mumbles, clenching her teeth to no doubt stop herself from crying.
Amity is silent for a moment, apparently lost for words. True to form though she can't be quiet for more than a few seconds and she finds something to say.
"I am most sorry for your loss; she was a lovely young thing. I wish I could say more but unfortunately we are on a tight schedule." She pats Vivian awkwardly on the shoulder and then looks back out towards the crowd. "Time for the boys!"
She's much faster on her way across to the boys bowl than she was for the girls, having seemingly gained some confidence in the killer heels she's wearing. Her hand plucks a slip from the edge of the bowl and she moves just as fast back to the microphone, only stumbling slightly in her last few steps. Vivian makes no effort to steady her and as she regains her balance I'm sure Amity knows this.
"Well now, our male tribute is…" She undoes the tape on the slip, making the wait to hear the name all the more tedious. Every single boy in the crowd seems to be shivering with anticipation, wanting her to read the name out, but at the same time dreading that they'll hear her voice say their own name.
"Airick Marloth."
I don't cry. Crying isn't going to help me now. As calmly as I can I make my way from my section to the walk way in the middle, trying to keep a level head, trying to keep all the bad thoughts that are screaming at the back of my mind to stay where they are. At about the mid-way point one thought does push its way through.
What about Calla…She needs you….
I push the thought back, try and focus instead on making sure both legs keep making their way to the stage up ahead. Whether Calla needs me is irrelevant now. There is nothing I can do other than to try and win and to do that I need to keep calm.
That's of course a lot easier said than done, but somehow I manage it.
"How are you feeling?" Amity asks as I take my place beside her.
"Fine, I feel fine."
"Wonderful." She chirps, before looking out at the audience warily. "Now just to be sure, are there any volunteers today?"
No one says a thing. I didn't expect them to anyway. She probably wouldn't have asked, but seeing as Vivian has just offered herself up it makes sense that she'd ask just to make sure their wasn't another surprise package waiting in the crowd for the right moment. I glance over at Vivian. Her eyes are bloodshot and she's biting down hard on her lip, trying hard not to cry, though it seems like she might be fighting a losing battle.
When Amity announces that we're this year's tributes and asks us to shake hands it's like all Vivian's sadness is leaking into me through our intertwined hands. She's busy staring at her feet, her long dark hair hanging over her face. It feels like a silly thing to want to do, seeing as we're basically enemies now, but I don't want her to feel so bad, so I give her hand a quick squeeze. Her head tilts up and away from the hair and the now tear streaked eyes stare into my own. I must seem so cold, so impassive, with my stony expression and calm disposition. I don't want her to think I am like that, so I smile at her and whisper only loud enough for her to hear. "What you did today was really brave."
Her mouth twitches into the slightest of smiles.
This was a hard chapter to write, what with the very limited time I've had this past week (It as insane, just wow) but I'm glad I've finally been able to finish it.
Airick's first point of view should be partially credited to my cat, while I was writing I said to her "What should I write for him?"
She then proceeded to glare at me so I just thought eh, might as well put a cat in the chapter. I actually really enjoyed writing that part, just because it was a little different than usual. If you hated it, blame my unresponsive cat XD
Oh! I also put a Rocky Horror Picture Show reference in this chapter... it had to be done.
Well I don't know about you guys, but I'm excited that there are only 4 Reapings left!
Soon we'll have something different.
soon.
SOON.
