So, we're now at District 9! I'm sorry for the wait, but these tributes were super hard for me to write. Really tough. And I'm sorry if it seems a bit rushed at the end, I wanted to finish before my mom kicked me off the computer. So this is my Valentine's Day gift to you 3
I actually decided to jump around POVs a bit and do some POVs that weren't from the tributes. Partly because I felt like it, partly because the actual tributes were so tough to write and partly to change things up so you guys aren't reading the same thing over and over again. Let me know what you think of it, and if it's too confusing and I should never do it again or if you like it :)
Without further ado, here are the D9 tributes, thanks to booksandmusic97 and TeamGlimmer!
Imogen Torrini's POV
It's nice to be up in the early mornings at our house. Normally I always sleep in but I should really do this more often. Though our house is considerably larger than most in District 9, when you have five younger siblings running around it can tend to get a bit hectic. But with everyone still asleep, the sun just peeking over the horizon and painting the sky all different shades of pink, purple and orange, light reflecting off of the millions of drops of dew that settled over the district like a blanket during the night, it's really quite beautiful.
Still, I didn't wake up this early to admire the view. It's Rachel's 5th birthday today and I wanted to make her favourite breakfast.
I always try to focus on the present whenever my daughter's birthday rolls around, which might be why I tend to go a little overboard for it. Focusing on the present makes it much easier to forget the past and the truly awful circumstances of Rachel's birth.
I sigh and stare out the window as I mix together the pancake batter. Maybe it would be best if my younger siblings were awake and running around the house; it might make it easier to stay in the present. But no matter how hard I focus my brain keeps returning to those four months and, more importantly, that one night.
Thankfully a knock at the door stops the details from flooding my mind. I briefly wonder who might be at the door but of course it could only be one person: Noah.
"Hey," he says softly, giving me a kiss as I let him in.
"Hi," I whisper back, letting my forehead rest against his. Noah and I have been friends for as long as I can remember, ever since his mother, who works as our maid, had to take him with her to work with her. I never thought there could possibly be anything romantic between us because of Rachel but Noah was there for me, helping me every day as I took two slow years to recover. And afterwards, I don't know, our friendship just became more. And I couldn't be happier.
"Anyone else up?"
"Not yet. Want to help me make pancakes?"
"Sure." Noah follows me into the kitchen as I begin pouring the batter onto the fryer in the shape of Rs and 5s for Rachel. She always thought it was magic how I could get the pancakes to look like that.
Of course Noah "helps" me cook by sitting on the table and watching. "So, big number 5 for Rachel today, huh?"
"Yes," I say, smiling fondly at the thought of my daughter. But I can see that there are other things on Noah's mind then just her birthday. "What?"
He stops fiddling immediately with whatever he had in his coat pocket. "What?"
"What were you . . . never mind." I shake my head and return to cooking. If he wants to tell me, he'll tell me.
Sure enough, he clears his throat to speak. "Imogen, I was, uh, thinking . . ."
"That's never a good sign," I say with a smile. He grins back but he's not really thinking about the joke; his mind is elsewhere this morning. "Thinking about what?"
He gives me a long look, as though thinking something over, two parts of his brain warring over one idea. Finally he shakes his head. "Never mind?"
"Seriously, what?"
He opens his mouth and hesitates, but seems to think better about it. "Why don't I tell you after the reapings?" He gets up and embraces me. "It's your last one."
"Don't think you're getting out of this that easily," I say, tapping him on the nose with the spoon and getting a few drops of pancake batter on him. "I won't forget until you tell me."
"Of course you won't." He smiles and I just lean in for another kiss as sounds from upstairs indicate the awakening of my family. Soon enough Karmin and Enid are tromping down the stairs, chatting to each other about some teacher at school, closely followed by Jack and my father, who carries the twins Matt and Martinez with him. Lastly comes my mother, helping an ecstatic Rachel down into the kitchen.
"Mommy!" Rachel shouts, running over to me. I laugh and pick her up, giving her a big kiss on the cheek.
"And how's my five year-old girl?"
"I feel really old! Like Karmin and Enid and Grandma!" She smiles widely and catches sight of breakfast. "Magic pancakes!"
I laugh and shoo her off to her spot at the breakfast table as everyone else takes their seats. Noah helps to set the table as he and my father discuss the weapons business that District 9 is famous for. Everyone's gotten so used to having Noah here for meals that he now has a permanent spot at the dining table. They laugh and chat about events in the district, the looming Reaping ceremony having no effect on the cheery mood here in our house. And why would it? None of us have ever had to take tessera; our father makes more than enough money as head of one of the major weaponry companies in the district. We've never had anything to worry about. And we never will.
Carlisle McAwny's POV
The first thing I register is an itchy, uncomfortable blanket. I can feel cold, hard floor beneath me, meaning I'm at home. But when I sit up, I realise it's quite the opposite.
Dozens of children are sleeping around me and for a moment I wonder if I'm dreaming. Although I guess if I am, that doesn't really mean anything. The line between dreams and reality, hallucinations and real life, was blurred for me a long time ago.
So if it is a dream, I might as well go with it. Slowly I rise from my position on the floor and wander through the maze of sleeping children over to a window. Where am I? The room seems familiar and as I stare through the glass pane I feel as if I've seen this view before as well.
"Hey." That voice, I know that voice. I turn to see my little brother, Damon, standing behind me and letting out a big yawn, his black hair the exact shade as mine standing up all on one side, messy from sleep.
"Hi," I say back as he joins me at the window.
Damon looks at me, as though assessing my health. "How are you feeling today?" he asks slowly.
Physically, fine, as always. I've never gotten sick in my entire fourteen years of existence. But I know that's not what Damon is asking. With me, it's not a question of how I feel physically, but more of a mental problem.
Many people have different reactions when they're thrown into bad situations. Some grow angry and destructive, others become sad and live their lives in a permanent state of misery. My response, however, was quite different. Not content with what was going on around me, I turned inwards, relying on my brain to create a new world for me, a better world. It helps me to deal with the stress but others seem to be a bit nervous when they're around me, constantly whispering the word "crazy" over and over again to their neighbours.
But occasionally I can crawl out of my own little world and back to what most people would call "reality." So far, today seems to be one of those days.
"Good," I finally answer back. Damon keeps looking at me, not sure whether or not to believe it, but after a moment he just sighs and accepts the answer. My poor brother, he's only a year younger than me but he's become my personal caregiver. I'd like to help him, I really would. But lately I've been finding it harder and harder to slip away from the grasps of the hallucinations that take over my brain. Maybe today I can help him with something, do something to repay him for taking care of me.
"Where are we?" I ask.
"The District Orphanage," he replies. "Don't you remember last night?"
Last night. A whirlwind of images and memories come back to me, blurring together and making it almost impossible to glean any sort of information from them. A thick, sour smell coating our house. A bottle being lobbed through the air, crashing against the wall close to my head. Damon, scared, hurriedly pulling me out of the house.
I try to sort through the images, attempting to make sense of them. Luckily today it seems easier than most days. Our father was drunk, again. Damon got us out of there like he always does whenever our father gets too violent. And then we came here, the last step in our consistent routine.
Looking around now I begin to recognise the various sleeping faces throughout the room. Chance, who I consider as my best friend, a sarcastic, but likable boy. Reta, a slightly slow but nevertheless chirpy girl. And there are more that I know, that I've seen before on the nights Damon has brought us here.
I'm just trying to remember the name of a skinny red-head when all of a sudden a piercing whistle cuts through the air. Ms Peasenburg, who runs the orphanage, is standing at the door and clapping to try and wake everyone up. I watch as groggily the room begins to come alive with the sounds of groans as kids are forced to get up. Close by, Chance and Reta are slowly getting out of bed before making their ways towards us.
"I swear she wakes us up earlier each morning," Chance says with a yawn.
Damon points at the clock. "Actually we got to sleep in later this morning. Reapings are today, remember?"
Chance makes a face. "Right. Guess we'd all better dress ourselves up for the Capitol."
The words bounce around in my skull. Reapings. Capitol. Words that should make sense to me but have lost their meanings after spending so much time in my own world. But I can feel the waves of emotions that come with them. Sadness, I think. And worry. Not knowing what else to do, I give Chance a hug, as I think that's the customary thing to do when someone is scared or sad. He gives me an odd look for a second before awkwardly patting me on the back. This sort of thing tends to happen a lot; no matter how hard I try I can't seem to grasp the social customs that other people exchange with ease.
"We should be heading home," Damon says, grabbing me by the arm and gently leading me to the door. Normally we stay at the orphanage for as long as we can until our father either comes and begs or threatens us to come home. But there's something special about today, some reason we're supposed to leave early. It has something to do with these "Reapings." I just wish I could remember what. "We'll see you guys in the square."
Chance and Reta wave goodbye as I allow Damon to lead me out of the building and down the road to home. Always following him, always needing his help. It's been this way for so long now that I can't even remember when it first began. I really should repay him, one day. One day.
Imogen's POV
The streets are already crowded as the ten of us make our way to the square, soon joined by my other friends Kina and Laleh. But once we reach the center of our district we all have to split up: my mother, father and Noah taking Rachel, the twins and Karmin to wait with most of the crowd while Enid, Jack, Laleh, Kina and I head to our respective sections.
"Good luck," Noah whispers in my ear.
"Don't need it," I say, smiling back at him.
"Am I going with Daddy?" Rachel asks.
The two of us can't help but grin and her question. For the longest time Rachel has always called Noah "Daddy" and I've never felt the need to dissuade her from the notion. At times I wonder if it makes him uncomfortable and think that maybe I should correct her, but I haven't the heart to try and explain what a monster her real father is.
As I wait with all the other eighteen year-olds, I can't help but look for his face in the crowd, though I'm terrified of what might happen if I found it. Sub-consciously I move closer to Laleh, hoping to feel the sort of reassurance only a close friend can give. She smiles and clasps my hand. I know both of us are thinking the same thing. Our last reaping, our last year of eligibility. Just one more.
The ceremony passes quickly and soon it's time for our escort to choose the girls names. She reaches a long finger-nailed hand into the bowl and grasps a slip and Laleh and I look at each other, smiling, unlike the rest. This is it. She'll read the name and we'll be free of this yearly worry, though neither of us really have anything to worry about. One more slip and we'll have our freedom.
"Imogen Torrini!"
My grin freezes on my face as the name is called, a name I expected to not recognise, to be someone who at most I barely knew. It's as though my entire body is tensing up for a fight, like it's already in those dreaded Games. I swallow hard and begin to make my way up to the stage. I can do this, I can do this.
And then I hear one long, drawn out scream. "Mommy!"
Rachel Torrini's POV
Mommy never told me what the holiday was for. Grandma doesn't say either. But she holds me up high in her arms so I can see the funny coloured lady who comes every year. She always shouts out names. To play a Game, Mommy says. That's all she ever tells me. It's for people who are playing a Game.
I like games. I play them with my best friend Sammy all the time. I thought Sammy liked to play games. But when Sammy's sister's name was called to play the Game, Sammy wasn't happy. She was very, very sad. And so were her Mommy and Daddy. I don't see Sammy's sister anymore.
When the funny lady called out Mommy's name I was scared. Mommy likes to play games too, but I don't think she likes the Game. And her name is getting called and she has to go play. But she has a choice, right? You can always quit the Game if you want to. There's a little boy named Poiran who always quits if he's losing. It's not very fair. But Mommy can quit. She doesn't have to play.
But I can see Mommy walking up to the funny coloured lady. Why doesn't she stop? Why can't she quit? Suddenly I am very scared, scared for Mommy. I don't want her to leave me and go play a Game. Sammy's sister never came back from her Game. What if Mommy has so much fun that she forgets about me?
"Mommy!" I cry out. She can't forget about me. It's my birthday and birthday girls always get a wish. I wish Mommy would come back. I want her to come back right now.
And now Grandma is crying and hugging me and I don't know why and I'm scared. Why is Grandma sad? Grandma is never sad. She's always smiling and giving me presents. Why is everyone so sad? And why can't Mommy come back? Why does she have to play the Game?
Why does she have to leave me?
Noah Maggio's POV
One reaping. That was it. One more reaping. That was all that separated the two of us and a life of happiness together. One last reaping.
I look at the ring in my hands, fighting the sobs that are trying to force their ways through my throat. This morning I was going to do it. Maybe I should have done it. But I chickened out. It had to be perfect. So after the reaping, I thought. Then we'll be happy and together. And safe.
As her family files out of the room where she sits, eyes red from teary goodbyes, the Peacekeepers gesture to me to come in. I am the last one.
I hesitate as I walk in. Seeing her sitting there, looking so young and vulnerable, nearly breaks me. But I have to be strong, for her. I have to be strong, just like I was during those two awful years where I had to help her through what she'd experienced. The fired employee looking for a way to get back at her father. Following her home every day. Finally escalating to kidnapping. For four months I lived in fear that I'd never see her again, that I'd lost my chance, that she was gone. But then she escaped, thanks to the carelessness of her kidnapper. I thought she was finally safe back with me. Until she found out about the baby.
Imogen Torrini is the strongest woman I know. She can get through anything the world throws at her, anything at all. That's why she will make it through the Games and return home.
So when she runs to me and I catch her up in my arms, I only hold it for a few seconds before getting down on one knee. She stares at me in shock as I take out the ring.
"Imogen Torrini, I have loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you. There is no one else I would rather be with in the world than you. Every time we're apart I feel as though my life is empty without your presence. I have loved you, do love you and will love you with all my heart. Imogen, will you marry me?"
I can see the tears brimming in her eyes and she throws her arms around me. "Oh Noah," she whispers, crying and yet smiling. "Yes. Yes, yes, yes."
For a moment she is blissfully happy, but then the memories of where we are and what she has to do come back to her and she lets out a small sob. I take in my arms and gaze into her eyes.
"Imogen, you can do this. You can win the Games. You've practiced with weapons, you're smart, you're strategic, you have everything it takes to win."
"Noah, I-I don't think I can . . ."
"You can. Remember, you're not alone." I clasp my hand over hers and squeeze the ring into it. "I'll be cheering for you all the way."
She lets out a small laugh and nods. I pull her in tight and hold on to her, never wanting to let go, never wanting this moment to end. Of course the Peacekeepers come eventually and tell me that our time is up, but I want to argue with them, to shout that nothing they could ever do will take me away from Imogen. But I know it's no use.
Although, the best part of parting is the thought of be reunited again. And I know that I will be with Imogen again. She will win the Games.
Carlisle's POV
Waves of colour wash over me, huge barrages of sounds hitting my ears with a pounding force. But I don't register any of it. Faces swim before my eyes; my brother, Chance, Reta. But I can't contact them, reach out to them in any way. They might as well be dead to me.
I go over the day in my mind, trying to make sense of it all. We got back to our house, luckily our father was passed out on his dilapidated bed so we could get ready for the Reapings in peace. I followed Damon to the square, like always. At that point we had to separate, him going with the thirteen year-olds and I with the fourteen year-olds. Without him I began to slip away, crawling back into my own little world, away from these "Games" that everyone was worried about.
But one thought held me to the present, like a lifeline to the real world. My promise to repay Damon. I had to do it, he'd taken care of me for so long, I had to show him once that I could help him.
And then I heard it, called out across the square. "Damon McAwny." At first I didn't know what it meant. But then I remembered. It had to do with the Games. It was a bad thing, a very bad thing for his name to be called.
It was as though someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on my head. Never, in living memory, could I remember feeling so . . . normal. So involved in the real world, so in the present. And I remembered the rules of these Games, or, more specifically, the rule to volunteer.
So I stepped forwards, calmly stating that I volunteered. I could hear my brother shouting by I tuned it out. That was a first. Normally I have to work to tune in to what my brother is saying.
All throughout the ceremony, I'd never felt so alive. But now that I was in the "Justice Building" as they called it, I could feel myself slipping away. It's become sort of a reflex, a defence mechanism I use if I'm ever in a dangerous situation. After I remembered what the Games meant exactly, I guess my brain just shut out the real world. If I can't register it, it doesn't exist. But it makes me sad. I'd have liked to say goodbye to my brother.
They lead me slowly out the door, to a train, they say. But I don't really care. I'm leaving them, leaving this world behind, soon I won't hear them at all. But what matters is that for a few moments, I was truly awake. And those few moments had been the ones that counted most.