I enjoyed writing this chapter and this isn't a sad chappie unlike all my others. Somewhat…….peculiar. But I hope you all enjoy this! And don't forget to review! I update fast for all of you.
The escort is sitting monstrously at a tiny metal chair as if it could not carry her weight, her scowling grin almost terrifying. It was no question that a District, that of this was not to her liking. The mosque-like building was covered in debris and festered mud. Moss and clambering vines had grown from its ancient age and the stage itself was made from rags and cloth, almost the same pattern of what the people was wearing. She stands up in a syncopated manner, tottering as if she could not carry her haunches.
"Let's start with the boys." She says, the reaping ball in her grasp. She takes a hand towards the glass, taking any scribbled piece of paper she felt from her fingertips. The crowd looks at her in unleashing intensity, each having a peculiar glance that only District 4 people naturally have. Her hand withdraws and a voice fills the area. "Yahur Almora!"
A small boy from the 14-section begins to take a step towards the tiny stage, his expression, almost in constant disarray, shaking terribly beneath a mammoth blissful-looking smile from his face. "Momma, look! I got reaped! I got reaped!" he shoots his hands towards the stoic air, waving tumultuously. His frayed clothes flares as he starts leaping and skipping almost like that of a penguin. But with his rounded body and large, rounded eyes and small figure, he is a penguin.
"Child, what are you doing?" the escort's arms crosses. But she did not know, unlike everybody else from the crowd, that the boy was mentally-deranged. A result of the District's experiment and a fruit from the harmful technology brought by the Capitol, the pitiful boy had just ended up with his mother, saving themselves from starvation. "I'm coming, Hunger Games!" Yahur sings, he climbs the small stairway, his eyes, unreadable and a slight grin from his freckled face.
He fleets from the crowd and to the monstrous lady, who had drawn her hands towards him for a shake. The boy accepts her hand and as soon as she starts facing the crowd, a certain dampness irritates her meaty skin. "What on earth?" The crowd starts to whip tiny laughs which now storms to unruly laughter as the escort jumps in surprise shock from the boy wrapped in her long rust-colored hair. And is apparently, eating her hair.
The escort erupts into unintelligent curses, pulling her hair back from the slimy mouth of Yahur. "I'm hungry." He says, embracing her hair from his baring teeth as peacemakers try to restrain the deranged boy who in turn, is smiling for the umpteenth time. When they finally hampered the boy between him and the devastated lady, she announces, her voice decked in an unblissfully piercing tone, "Yahur Almora as male tribute!"
The crowd, still in an abyss of constant laughter, finally silence themselves. And look as the lady, with an annoyed scowl from her face, reaps into the ball, giving emphasis from her devastation. "The girl's turn."
Hannah Vigoss looks at the ball with unwavering concentration. She did not want to end up like her best friend who never returned from the games three years ago. Her best friend whom she watched from her television and did not know what to do to save her. She ached to see her crimson blood in the spear of a murderous, psychopathic career. This as one of the reasons she lived a life in three years as a recluse. Lonely and confined in her cold, stony room, she thought of herself as empty.
She glances at the man near to a bale of blocks, her father. Another reason for her confinement, he was abusing, molesting her as if she was not his child. But of course, this was better than to end up in a community home. She looks back to the stage as the woman reads the piece of paper. "Hannah Vigoss!"
She, in shock, stumbles to the hard cement, catching everyone's eyes to hers. She gets up, walking unsteadily as she tries to climb the raged steps of the stairway. Strangely, she did not feel distress but a flicker at her chest, flying like a phoenix, as if she was free. She feels fire, almost to her veins. She stares at the air, what is she feeling? Why was it so peculiar to her?
The escort takes her hand and she announces to the crowd, "Hannah Vigoss as female tribute." She glances to her father who is immediately scowling and it finally hits her. By the games she is free, by it she will be worthy of leaving her father, to take vengeance for her best friend. The air is unlikely warm as she inhales the scent.
Freedom is indeed beautiful.
What do you think of the character? Will they make it far?