A/N: This is the start of part two! I would like to thank anyone who has reviewed or even viewed this at all! It helps me to keep going on this story. copyright Suzanne Collins, and I don't own anything. Please review!
The Final Unit
Part 2: Consolation
Chapter 10: Volunteer
The rays of the emerging sun were just barely peeking through the expanse of the night when Zarrah awoke with a jolt and a cold sweat. She reminded herself weakly that her nightmares weren't real. Yet she couldn't shake off that feeling that there was some truth to them.
She shakenly rose from the covers of her bed, and silently treaded the floor to the shower, examining her scars closely. When Zarrah reluctantly moved out of the warm water that fell like a summer rain, she wrapped a towel around herself. Pausing infront of her closet, she chose a long sleeved shirt and a slightly worn charcoal gray sweather. Pulling it over her head, Zarrah grabbed a pair of dark jeans and slipped them on, her bare feet feeling the cold of the hardwood. She threw on a pair of socks, and then weaved her fingers in her hair, creating a long braid and tying it off at the end. Zarrah traveled to her desk, hoisting her backpack over her shoulder and clutching her sketchbook in her hand.
She rises with the sun, ignoring the dark circles underneath her eyes, heading downstairs.
Chase looks at her from the stove, his grey eyes questioning, but he doesn't prod. Zarrah's grateful for her brother's restraint. He pushes a plate over to her, a cheesebun straight out of the oven, and pours her some hot chocolate. She sips from her mug, silently appraising Chase for his cooking skills.
He has dad in him, that's for sure. Then again, she also has her father in her. She has her art, her way with words. CHarming, they say, yet right now... it's gone to her. Zarrah can't speak, when they walk to school, they just truded sliently, the only sounds are the sounds of their feet hitting the uneven pavement, and the birds singing.
They stop at the steps, Chase watching as Cassandra and her group glare at his sister silently, but she doesn't back down. The fire in her blue eyes is electric, and in that moment, he pictures his mother standing- fighting back- her braid over her shoulder and fists clenched.
Finally Cassandra breaks the silent stare off and Chase grips his sister's hand, dragging her into the building. WHen they separate, he notices the haunted look in her eyes, and tries to smile. SHe grimaces back, saying goodbye to him softly but ruffling his long locks of blonde hair, and treads to he class, clutching her sketchbook like a lifeline.
She watches her parents today.
It's not like it was going to be easy in the first place, but she wishes that they told her something... anything really.
She can't blame them though. If they still can't bring themselves to talk about it, even if she lives with them, then they're scarred beyond what she knows besides the patchwork on her father's chest, or why he has a prosetic, or why mom's hair can't grow back on a place on her scalp.
It terrifies her, what the games where like. But watching your parents? Zarrah knows it's going to be way worse than usual. She won't be able to ask any questions to her parents. She has to take notes. drawings, notes about the arena, tributes, and more. She's already written a list of what she knows about her parents. There's a reason why the class is watching these games slowly all day today. They will have to analyze.
When she takes her seat in the middle of the semicircle of desks surrounding a huge screen, her hands are shaking slightly. She methodically opens her sketchbook and the black notebook, two pencils already on her desk. Quietly, she hums the meadow song to calm herself, and surprisingly, it works.
By the time class starts, Jason sits to her left, Brandon to her right. Ms. Holden stands in front of the screen, getting their attention. For some reason the class is slient.
She clears her throat then speaks, Today is kind of different. We'll be stopping periodically to discuss these Games and why their were different. Today is also the games that truely started the rebellion. If you need to leave, for any reason, then do so. I won't blame you. Her eyes softed at that. She moves out of the way of the screen and touches a button on the remote.
The screen boots up to life, and we see a mob full of Capitolites screaming and cheering at the top of their lungs. Ceasar Flickerman's stage lights up, and the brass instruments play their usual tune. His wild laughter is comical because of his midnight blue hair and matching lips and suit that has twinkling stars. He reclines in his chair, smiling all too widely at a groomed middle aged man with sliky black hair, and impressive facial hair.
Secenca Crane, Head Gamemaker for these Games! So, Secenca, will you tell us about the arena? Anything to go off of besides last years?
Well, Ceasar, last year was the ruined city. Our new victor fared quite well in there. As for this year, I can't tell you much, but it will present the tributes with quite a challenge.
HAHAHAHA Thank you Seneca Crane! See you all for the Reaping tomorrow!
The screen pulls out for a second to have some heavy scripted writing appear: 74th Hunger Games.
Females First! A garish male escort form one, wearing a bright fushia suit announces as he pulls a name out of the reaping bowl.
Shatter Lively! A 15 year old kid with lone blonde hair and peircing blue eyes is stopped in her presession to the stage by another girl who stepps in front, clearing yelling I volunteer.
Looking at her closely, I notice taht she at least has to be 17, with bright emerald green eyes and really long blonde hair. She looks alot like Cassandra.
Gimmer is her name.
Marvel is the male tribute's, not looking like the sharpest knife in the drawer. I wonder how the parents of these children can even name their children like that. Diamond, Silver, Ruby, Shatter, Cashmere, and now Marvel and Glimmer. It never changes, does it?
DIstrict 2 has a monterous 18 year old looking for a fight, and a sly calculating short girl for tributes. There names are Cato and Clove.
The reapings pass by slowly. I remember a red headed girl that looks like a fox that's reaped for District 5. District 11 has a twelve year old float up to the stage, looking like a little bird. Rue is her name. I draw her calmly after I see the tallest tribute so far, Thresh, take the stage beside her.
District 12 is next. I watch the small crowd of the people and can't see that much through the sea of black and blonde haired children. Effie looks ultra pink when she chirps Ladies First to the silent crowd.
She slowly plucks the name of the childs life to be torn apart and teeder to the microphone.
She says the name with her captol accent, unforgiving in the consequences.
Primrose Everdeen!
My eyes start to swell up with tears in recognition. That's my aunt.
My dead aunt that my mother stays up in her room for two days out of every year.
The crowd begins to shuffle as I see her. She walks with her head held high, her dirty blonde hair in two braids and her blue eyes are wide in fear. Her tunic is tucked out looking like a duck tail. She looks twelve. On the screen a girl pushes out behind Prim, pushing the Peacekeepers off of her. One braid, seam trademark silver eyes, wearing a worn blue dress that falls to her knees.
I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute! That's moms voice. That's mom.
No! Katniss! You can't- Prim breaks down before her sister, and Katniss- no mom- struggles to calm her down. A tall guy from the 18 year old's section lifts Prim on his shoulder, who's sobbing uncontrolablly. MOm and the boy share a look, and then she's escorted- no- forced unto the stage.
What's your name, darling.
Katniss Everdeen
I bet that Prim is your sister.
Yes.
After that whole volunteering procress is over, I'm still reeling over seeing Prim, my aunt for the first time, and also my mother when she was young.
Effie goes up to the mircophone again, and reads another name that shocks me to my core.
Peeta Mellark!
I gasp as the camera flips to a shot of his shocked face, and then eveyone is staring at me.
My parents were tributes.
Haymitch was a total drunk.
Prim was reaped.
And why do I keep on going back to the boy that lifted an emotional Prim away from his sister? I look at Jason and immediately notice the similarity. Their hair is alike, and although Jason is taller, it seems that...
Well, shit. That boy is Jason's father.