UPDATE:
And here's District Two, part three. Nothing much to say, but I think that Malificent is the youngest tribute in this years Games.
Sometime I'll start working on and posting a HG parody fic, but I'm not sure when I'll put that story up on my profile. I also think I have a poll up on my profile, and encourage everyone to vote. It's on how many tributes should die in these Games's bloodbath, because I really can't decide.
This updates tributes are Malificent Deviousa (Stardust Terrastar) and Trin Maplegrove (WizardWay)
~Megalor9
Malificent Angelica Deviousa, age 14, District Two
"Can't you just put me on the train already?" I whine.
"No, it's regulation that you're given time to bid farewell to your family and friends," The Peacekeeper answers with a calm, monotone voice.
"But... I don't want to say goodbye to them! I already said that this morning, before I volunteered!" I keep whining, dragging my feet as my arm is led into the Justice Building.
"Look, it's regulation that tributes are given time to bid farewell to their family and friends. That's literally what my manual says," The Peacekeeper retorts, keeping the same tone. He's just reading lines from his workbook, really.
"But I don't want to! They're cruel, vicious people!" I keep whining, though this does nothing to stop him. The Peacekeeper is just too strong for me. That's my only downfall, I'm not as strong as most people I fight.
"You have to go in the Justice Building. That's final," he says as he finds a closet and pushes me into it. "Wait here for your family."
Of all the rooms I could've gone in, it has to be a closet? Why? I mean, I know that since there are eight tributes, new Justice Building rooms would have to be used, but I thought they'd just build new rooms for us to be in. Not a closet.
Hardly rich at all, then. I've always assumed the mayor could do whatever he wanted to.
But why do I have to say goodbye to my family? I don't need either of my parents for the Games. They care for me, but I accepted it emptily, and showed no such empathy back to them. Because they're too naive for me, they don't come to realize what world we're living in. We're living in Panem, and in Panem, it's all about the blood.
I've been fascinated by the red substance ever since I was four years old, when I had accidentally ran over the family pet with the cart I was pushing. I swear killing Blossom-flower was an accident, but it happened, and as soon as I saw blood, I was changed. Now, I'm like a warrior. I've wanted to enter the Games because it'll give me a chance to kill some people. Spill some blood. I've done that a couple of times, at the training centers, I've been kicked out for 'not playing nice with the other children'. Actually, killing some of them. But my parents have always saved me from being put in a jail or mental prison. I probably should belong there.
I've kept the fact of the car 'accident' undercover forever. I just wanted to try and drive a car, and ended up running over some people. Fact is, I don't think I even cared that I killed both my sisters, because they got all the attention. The best part of that accident was that no one suspected me, a small, innocent face, and instead sued my father for bad driving. That's just my excuse to get out of most things, be a sweet innocent girl.
And my body shape accents that further. Even at fourteen, I still have that younger girl quality to my face, the overall roundness, lack of sleep marks, and that particular sadness in my eyes. It's great, and everyone buys it. I could get away with killing easily, which I've done about a dozen times. I'm also really slim, too, and they think that I'm poor and need help.
When someone knocks on the door and asks "Is this Malificent's room?" in a sweet voice, I know it's over for my patience. It's of course my mother, coming to say goodbye. I don't want to see her. She'll just break down. I hate her. Why couldn't she be in front of the car 'accident'?
Without any answer to her question, my mother walks into the door, slowly closing it. Then she breaks down and runs over to me, and grasps me into a tight hug.
I don't return the hug. I stand there and pretend to not notice her.
"Oh, Mal, why'd it have to be you? If your sisters were alive still... They would've volunteered for you," my mother starts her rant. But I'm pretty sure if my sisters were still alive, they'd want to kill me. "I'm so sorry, but I know you'll do good, b-b-b-cause you're from this family. And the Deviousa are always strong. Your father had it in you, and I know y-you've inherited it from him, right?"
"Of course," I say as sarcastically as I can. I really am not in the mood for a sob story right now. Now I tune out the next minutes of sobbing and crying, for it's really too much to describe. The questions my mother starts ranting, asking rhetorical questions to herself, and gripping tightly to my hand and nearly crushing the old wooden chair that I helped her into.
"You know, your grandfather w-w-was a victor, my father, that is. He won a long time ago... I can't remember when. Then I married your father-"
Yes, stuff like this is what I have to listen to for the next three minutes. It's near torture for my ears. I'm surprised I'm not deaf right now. But somehow the rants seem to relate to my father a lot. I'm sure she misses him, after he slowly drifted away into the local jail. After the 'accident' in which he was sued for bad driving, my father slowly began to drink more, hang out with the wrong crowd, and ended himself up in the District Two jail.
"And you'll try hard, I know it in my heart- it's a mother's instinct, you know, to feel their child's thoughts- And I can sense you're going to win the Games, right? So, can you take this with you?" I see my mother finishing her rant, and holding out her hand, and accidentally dropping it. I see a flash of gold. It's a coin, I realize, after picking up the gold disk. The words on it say Malificent, with a fancy Capitol symbol on it. "I-I have one of these for each of my children. This is yours. I was going to save it until you came of age, but now... you might not come of age. Oh, what am I saying, of course you'll come home to me. This coin will give you luck, because it's helped me all these years."
"Um..." Is all I say. But I try to imagine my poor mother, with coins that are engraved with each of her children's names. That must break her every day, to see her deceased children's names in front of her.
"Thank-" Are the last words I hear from my mother before Peacekeeper hands come from the door and pull her out, keeping me from her forever.
At least that's over with. I can keep this wonderful coin with my name on it. Maybe I could buy something in town with the coin.
I have no intention of winning. That's just an added bonus, really. I'm focused on the killing, because that's what I'm built for.
Trin Maplegrove, age 18, District Two
There's really nothing left for my life. the best method of self-suicide I could think of was volunteering for the Hunger Games, and that's probably the easiest, too. Why keep up with society, who think I'm a complete weirdo. I can't stand living like this anymore. So to the Capitol it is.
I stand waiting in a bland room for Ry. He's the only one left who can visit me. My father is always at work, barely supporting my family. My small family of two people, me and my father. I never see him, but the bills are always paid, so I know he's still living. My whole house is run-down, and the roof needs serious repairing. It smells like the sewer and dust, but I wouldn't trade it for any other place in the entire world. There are still places I remember, the one dent in the wall where I had crashed into when I was younger. The time where I had spilled paint on the bathroom floor when I was ten, when my father and I were giving the last coat of paint to the house I ever remember.
I've had countless bullying incidents, and I'm always the victim. I'm not the most muscular person in the District. And by the time I was twelve, when our school started to have training sessions, I was definitely not the biggest. People soon heard of the living conditions I was in, and started to pick on me. My social life has been a living hell, really.
The main offender is El, who has particularly made it her life's goal to torture me. She's rich, and basically gets anything she wants. Her mother was a victor. She's even related to the mayor.
And my so called nice 'classmates' have installed a fear in me, that will never be cured. They've basically given me depression, one that I cannot cure. I am still surprised I haven't killed myself by now. Someone's always found me, someone's almost always helped me. I'm glad for it, but I'm still going into the Hunger Games. There's nothing left for me, so why not just enter and get my death over with?
Part of me still nags at me, telling me to actually try to win. It tells me that I should prove them all wrong, and that death is actually unnecessary. If I won, then I would automatically gain the respect I need to stay alive. I counter myself with the fact that I'm definetly not as strong as that one other boy, Cyrus Fitz, the extremely buff one that volunteered just before me.
Cyrus had basically the whole population of District Two cheering for him, chanting that he would be the victor. I had nothing. When I stepped up on the stage, nothing was heard. I could hear a pin drop, if a pin was even dropped at the time.
Rye enters my room, slamming the door behind him, in the most peaceful way someone could slam a door. "So, you volunteered?"
"No, I'm just standing in the Justice Building for fun. What else do you think I did?" I say with sharpness. I'm just not in a good mood now.
"Calm down. Think of something else. That's your therapy, remember? Calm down, don't think about the Hunger Games or your life... just picture a forest or something," Rye says soothingly. This is what you want in a friend. Rye knows pretty much everything about me, what my symptoms are when I'm extremely pissed off.
"That's the point!I can barely get a good picture of a forest, because I have to work so much, and the Capitol keeps us all cooped up in the Districts! We don't need the Capitol!" I find myself ranting, quiet loudly. Who cares if they've got video cameras monitoring us. All of a sudden, the whole idea of the Hunger Games, and the Capitol and Districts seems unjust. I need a rebellion, that's what. A rebellion would help everything.
"Are you in your rebellious mood again? Please, the Capitol could squish any thoughts of rebellion. That's the whole point of the Quarter Quell, the one that you volunteered. To take away any hope of rebellion, because there'll be so much bloodshed."
"True, but there still needs to be a rebellion. I'm serious about this!"
"You know the Capitol is probably listening to this whole conversation, right?" Rye says.
"Of course. I knew that. Does it matter? In a few days I'll be dead, and they'll be happy again," I say back.
"Look, just take this, I'm pretty sure it can help you with your... you know... depression and all. And anger. It's a stress ball," he says, tossing a blue foam thing to me. I catch it in midair and immediately squeeze it, feeling the rubber against my hand.
"Stress balls? Really? I thought I was past this stage," I say, in an almost joking manner.
"Was that almost a joke? You said it too seriously, man," Rye says, with a small laugh.
This is why I enjoy Rye's company. I've completely forgot about being angry at the Capitol and the Games. He's completely calmed me down.
"I'm pretty sure once I leave you, I'll go insane on the other tributes," I say, trying to make another joke.
"Just one last word, Trin, one more. Try. Don't just step off your plate and take the coward's way of death. At least try to come back to District Two."
What he's asking me is tremendously difficult. I knew when I volunteered I was going to die. And better to just step off my plate early. But... I feel like I've cheated him, somehow. He's always done stuff to for me, and I don't think I've returned the favor. Plus, half of me wants to try and win.
"Of course I'll try. I might just succeed."
Good chapter, yes? and I know all the goodbye chapters are turning out short for me, I don't know why... It's harder to write goodbyes than it is to write reapings. Let me know what you think of these characters in reviews, please, and thank you.
Remember, I do have the poll up on my profile. Please check it out, and vote. Also, I will put up my parody HG fic on my profile around the time of this update, so review that too.
'Till next update, whenever that is,
~Megalor9
