Presenting District VIII, brought to you by LemonRaven Incorporated.
^What she said ^-^ Enjoy~~~
Leafia-Ann Sisk wasn't loud and quirky on Reaping Day.
Even though those qualities were her most prominent – along with 'weird', 'hyper', 'chatterbox' – today she was surrounded. The tall walls of buildings surrounding the street (District Eight was too crammed full of factories to have a square) and the thousands of other kids surrounding her like some giant line-up made her voice shrivel up and hide.
Her already small, skinny frame made her even shyer. She couldn't even stand with Tate, her only friend. He would make her feel better. They would be giggling together at the escort's new dress, which today was a beige number that seemed to be made of moth's wings, although it bore an extraordinary resemblance to bird excrement.
Leafia-Ann snorted.
As the escort trotted across the stage, Leafy's heart started beating. She didn't know why. It freaked her out a little, but she told herself it was just normal Reaping nerves. This was only her second, but her first didn't really count since she had a flu and practically sleepwalked through the whole event. The escort's high-pitched voice twittered quickly along like a bird, scratching through Leafia-Ann's inner ear, although the meaning was lost to her. She dipped her long, cream-painted fingernails into the glass bowl. Leafia-Ann was in the middle of starting to fell sorry for the poor kid that was about to be picked, when-
"Leafia-Ann Sisk!"
The name rang out through the street, silencing all other thoughts. Then, all heads slowly turned towards Leafy.
Leafia-Ann's heart rate sky-rocketed.
Her name.
Her name.
The escort had called her name.
How? Her name was only in their two times! Two tiny slips of paper, right at the bottom of the reaping bowl. Her head spun around and around. She couldn't go to the Capitol, she wasn't important, she wasn't insignificant enough to be reaped. She had a life! Here! Her name. Her name. Leafia-Ann's thoughts swirled around her head like a chaotic hurricane.
Then time started again.
The escort called her name, louder and more insistently with a frown on her face. Whispers, giggles, gasps and the odd shriek ran through the crowd around her, like a school of fish surrounding Leafia-Ann. She glimpsed the with uniforms of Peacekeepers pushing through the crowd, coming to grab her and deliver her to her death. She heard the scream of her best friend, Tate, just before she felt the blood run out of her cheeks, and then the world fell into darkness.
"…."
The escort, Nymph, let out a faint "Oh!" as she saw the tiny girl crumpling down onto the asphalt. Two Peacekeepers took her by her limp, stick-like arms and half-carried, half-dragged her up to the stage. Nymph pulled a chair from the back of the stage, and they dumped Leafia-Ann into its wooden frame.
"Uhmm.." Nymph seemed uncertain for a moment. She wasn't used to having an unconscious tribute to introduce, but the show must go on. So she put on a fake smile that made the teens in the square avert their eyes, and walked over to the next reaping bowl.
Micah Raybin looked like death itself.
He was tall, pale and skinny from lack of exercise. His hair was stringy and black, covering his ears. His gaze was like pure hate channeled through eyes that were the shade of charcoal and had bags under them from sleepless nights. Worst of all were the scars – one long, faded number going across his jawbone and countless across his wrist and lower arms.
No wonder people avoided him.
Every day was the same to him. The same struggle through the hell of Panem. He had tried numerous ways just to escape it. Slitting his wrist, attempts at hanging himself, trying to jump off the roofs of factories. His father, the reason he would leave this world, always called Peacekeepers to "save" him. Josepher Raybin, the man who had strangled his own wife while his three-year-old son watched, the man who tore apart all hope of a future for Micah, the man who spent his days drunk and in debt, seemed to think Micah shouldn't escape this hellhole.
Micah scowled as he remembered his father's lectures on how he had "a choice" and he "had people who loved him". Well, sorry Dad, but he had made his choice. And did Josepher Raybin love his son when he came home in a drunken rage, woke up in the morning with splitting headaches and decided to take it out on his kids, forced him to steal from others who were just as unfortunate to stem the torrent of debt?
He felt a small tug on his sleeve. Llili was his little sister, only twelve years old.
The thought of her would make his internal furnace of anger burn brighter than anything else. At the time of Annalizaline's -their mother's- death, she had only been a year old. Now, her skin was pale as snow, and her petal-blue eyes blinked in the sunlight, which she was unfamiliar to. Josepher had locked her in the attic of their run-down house for eleven years. She had never gone to school, never had a loving parent, never seen the light of day, except for small beams of golden sunlight slipping through cracks in the roof. She couldn't even speak properly, even though Micah had tried to teach her language. She was shy beyond belief, having only glimpsed other people through cracks in her attic prison. Everyone else stared at this strange child who had somehow sprung from nowhere. Llili clung close to Micah, burying her face in his side.
He walked along the street, briefly stopping to sign in. The peacekeeper at the desk seemed mildly annoyed when Llili was hesitant to mumble her name. Her voice sounded strange as it wrapped around the vowels. Her difficulty was obvious. Micah glared at the Peacekeeper.
'Why do you enforce this? You don't even care about anyone. Only your pay,' he thought. The peacekeeper pointed towards the girls' section, but Llili clung to Micah, terrified.
"Go," he said, raising his voice. "Move it." Llili didn't move a muscle. Micah studied the peacekeeper's face. The peacekeeper stood, pulling out a small handgun.
"Move! Now!" he yelled. Llili didn't even know what the gun did, but cowered at the man's voice.
"She comes with me," said Micah quietly.
The peacekeeper laughed. "Oh joy, I got a funny one on my shift. You move it too, clown." Micah promptly punched him in the face.
It was pretty weak, but it startled him. Other peacekeepers stood, unsure of what to do. The handgun fell from the peacekeeper's hand, and landed next to Micah. He kicked it, and it disappeared somewhere in the boys' section.
"She comes with me," Micah repeated. The peacekeeper wiped spittle off his cheek.
"Whatever. But I'm taking out some tesserae in your name, clown," said the peacekeeper. "Move it. Go to hell."
So Micah shuffled into the crowd, with Llili still clinging to his sleeve. He paid no notice to the angry peacekeeper's threat.
He didn't understand why people were afraid of being damned to Hell.
They were already living in it.
The world spun back into focus. Ugh. Her head felt so heavy. She moved it slightly, and her dark hair made noise against the sofa she was sat on. She held onto the sound like a lifeline, and rode it back to consciousness. Leafia-Ann opened her eyes.
"Ugggghhhhh, I feel like moldy cat vomit," she said, sitting up. She heard laughter, and turned towards it. She saw a tall boy, slightly older than her, with light hair and skin. Tate Race. His face looked relieved, but his eyes were red.
"What?" she asked. "It's a perfectly valid description of me right now!"
Which made Tate laugh even more.
"Why did I want you to wake up," sighed Tate, still smiling. "You just make even more noise."
They giggled for a while. Then Leafia-Ann remembered where she was. The room went quiet.
"Are my family going to come?" asked Leafy tentatively. Tate frowned.
"They already did, but you were asleep," he said, shrugging. Leafia-Ann sighed and hugged Tate with her bony arms. Tears found her pretty quickly, as the thoughts of her family swirled around her head. Her mother, often stern and unfair towards Leafy, rarely smiling. Her father, goofy and laughing. Her sister, whom she had experienced countless quarrels with. Was she never to see them again? All the times she had wished for a different family came to her head, and she sobbed with guilt. She would give anything for her family now.
"I'm going to die," said Leafia-Ann Sisk after a long silence. Tate opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again.
"At least try," said Tate. Leafia-Ann laughed, but it came out cruel and sarcastic.
"What do you think I'm going to do in the arena?" She turned towards Tate, eyes angry and hopeless. "I can't lift a sword, I can't recognize plants, I can't tie a decent knot, and God only knows how I'm going to escape the Bloodbath."
Tate looked at her, studying her uncharacteristic aggressiveness.
"Try," he said simply. Leafy slumped defeated on the sofa. Tate rolled his eyes and swore. "I know you've never spent a day of your life near the wilderness-" Leafy opened her mouth to protest but realized he was right "-but you can go down fighting. Don't let these Games change you into someone else, Leafy." He looked her in the eyes. "Go down smiling. Because all this sadness doesn't suit you."
Leafia-Ann considered his words for a moment. Her lips seemed to be thinking of curving into a smile.
Peacekeeper steps sounded down the hallway. Panic took her again.
"Can I have a token?" she said quickly. Tate almost missed her words.
"Um, Traysee left this-"
"Can I have your bracelet?" asked Leafia-Ann. She eyed the strip of blue threads around his left wrist. Tate looked at her hesitantly.
"Dude, I've had this since-"
"Give it, Tate! Or I'll die and bring all the other tribute ghosts to haunt you."
Tate swore. "Whatever," he said, forcing the braided strip off his wrist. Leafy grabbed it and then grabbed him in a bone-crushing hug.
"Thanks, Tate. I'll always remember ya," she smiled.
"Me too, Leafy," he said, as the peacekeepers came to take her away. "Me too."
Micah was shuttled into the goodbyes room just in time. He punched the peacekeeper who had argued with him earlier on the shoulder.
"Don't let Josephor in," he said. The peacekeeper grunted. Micah guessed he'd felt guilty about pulling a gun on this year's volunteer.
He slumped on the couch. Llili entered, curling up on the sofa next to him like a cat. She wasn't crying, but she didn't understand why it was a sad day. Micah decided not to tell her. Ignorance was bliss, and knowledge of what Panem really was could do terrible things to a person.
He pondered his decision. No sudden reconsidering factors popped into his head. It was the right choice. If he won, he would live in the Victor's Village, and have enough money to buy Llili a proper life. If not, he escaped Panem.
Freedom was his, it was a win-win situation.
He tried to plan the weeks ahead. He loathed the Capitolites in their stupid bright coloured outfits and wigs and shoes and jewellery. Bright colours did a crappy job of describing life in Panem. That was why he dyed his hair the colour of night and nothingness. Now he fitted in perfectly.
He thought about his district partner. Leanna, he thought her name was. She didn't seem like a good ally.
He thought about the arena. He would try to fight in the Bloodbath, try picking off some of the bigger competitors before moving off on his own, trying to track down those who slipped through the Career's net. The thought that he had never even lifted a weapon before didn't cross his mind. He could learn, right? It wasn't like he had any other stuff to worry about. Not anymore.
Time passed quickly, and soon he was back in the corridor. He waved Llili goodbye, and caught a glimpse of his father, waiting outside. His glare made him want to escape the district more than ever now. So he punched the peacekeeper on the shoulder again.
"So, where's my ride?" asked Micah.
Whew! I'm really sorry for the two-week gap where I wrote pretty much nothing but seriously guys, I finished this in about two days. This is how committed I am to getting back on track :D
Next chapter should follow quickly (I mean it this time, ok!)
Happy reading! –Lemonquill
P.S. If you can, PLEASE drop a review, since I feel like I should be getting more :( I'm not trying to be greedy, I just need more feedback on my writing! The whole point of reviews is to provide feedback, so A) if you review my writing gets better, B) if you review I get motivated to write FASTER. Thanks!
C) if you don't review she and I will explode :(
P.S Did I mention reviewers have a higher chance of their tribute surviving? No? Oh well. . .