My life never seemed smaller, or more insignificant than it did as I watched it shrinking away from the rear window of the train. A small harbor town, one of the half dozen that made up District Four. It seemed a sad little place without much color or even life to it through that window, and it was hard to imagine I had ever even set foot in such a dull, drab place. Yet I had. Behind me I wasn't just leaving a place. I was leaving people, family, friends, an entire life of good times and bad, an entire life that could prove to have been nothing but a waste. A waste of time, of space, a waste of laughter, mischief, tears, heart ache, and boys with curly blond hair and bright green eyes. I wish they had let me say goodbye, he knew I didn't mean it though, the cruel things I said to him.
I had to suppress a sob, remind myself that we were only fifteen, never going to last anyway, but still, it hurt. It was when the train slowed, my little town a blot on the horizon when the guilt hit me. I'd been thinking only of myself since leaving the voting room, myself and Elton, a boy I'd likely never see again. Maybe, I rationalized, that was my brain's way of protecting me from the ugly truth of what happened in there. If I failed my sister Simi was going to die.
Older than me by two years and twins with our sister Aberdeen, "Dee Dee" she was my best friend. My stomach knotted rather fiercely at the thought, It hurt, the guilt, the pressure, the dreadful expectation, it was all just so overwhelming. I hadn't realized we'd come to a full stop yet when the door of the train slid open again. The male representative of my District stepping through. He was tall with shiny copper hair, a nervous look to his eyes and a long legged gate. We regarded one another for a long moment, our absentee escort popping his bald rainbow fish tattooed head out of a small plush room I'd caught only a glance of, before disappearing once more.
"Hey," he said rubbing the back of his neck nervously, eyes red rimmed as though he'd been crying. I didn't reply, I was watching him, sizing him up, trying to figure out his game. He on the other hand was already moving towards me, an affable smile on his face. I stood defensively. "My name's Gregor, Gregor Aqua," the boy explained thrusting out his hand for me to shake. "And you are?"
My situation dawned on me more clearly than ever seeing my first of many adversaries, I felt the heavy mantle of purpose and the responsibility of success settling about my shoulders. I couldn't fail, and I couldn't take any chances, it wasn't an option either. "Not your friend!" I responded sharply as I pushed past him.
The contact jarred the both of us, while I'd caught him off guard and knocked him back a pace he was taller than I was, and more sturdily built. Listing to the side slightly I continued down the car and into one that ajoined it. I hadn't really explored even though there was nothing and no one from preventing me from doing so, and as a result I didn't really know where I was going. In the end however, I found a table laid out with a variety of sumptuous smelling foods, many steeped in what appeared to be savory sauses.
Taking a plate from a stack nearby I gave myself a balanced portion of everything available. And why shouldn't I have? If I was going to die I wanted it to be having lived as much as possible before hand, and although my mother was an incredible cook I doubted anyone in any district could match this type of flair, the was Capitol food.
From the dining area I poked around a bit until discovering a bedroom. It had a relatively simple layout, until I entered, then everything seemed to shimmer. Whether the room was meant for Gregor or myself no longer mattered, it was mine now.
Forgetting my food for a while I experimented with the room a bit and found that nearly everything was adjustable to my own preferences at my command. The light dimmed and brightened, I could play music or create artificial sounds, waves, wind, animal calls, and even turn the window into a type of living painting reflecting many natural settings or works of Capitol artwork I'm sure they find lovely but hurt my eyes to look at with their harsh and extreme use of contrast. In the end I "freshened" my air with a seaside misting and left the marvelous panel beside the door alone. Sitting on a bed which was adjustable as well, I instead focused entirely on my meal.
After eating, which felt like a choir despite how good everything tasted, I tried to think of something productive to do. With some minor experimenting and a few rounds of trial and error I discovered that the window could also be used to watch televised broadcasts, talk shows, designers making clothes, and individuals flaunting all of their gaudy possessions each more self absorbed than the last. The shows all had something else in common, something distinct that sparked the match of interest and kindled my determination, everyone was talking about the Games.
Tracing my fingers across the little glass and metallic pad that I discovered could be dismounted from the wall it flipped through images the way you flip through the pages of a book. Finally I found what I was looking for, highlights from the previous Hunger Games. I didn't know where to start, what year to begin with, but then I found my gaze lingering on the face I knew as Katniss Everdeen. I felt contempt and loathing course through me at the image of the battered girl. The video of her public disgrace and execution was aired every year before the Games. It was her fault that we were forced to choose among our most beloved who would die. My disdain for her almost made it so that I was happy that made her regret the phrase "girl on fire." Almost, but not quite. I couldn't think of a worse way to die.
Flicking the image of Everdeen away I continued to look through the archive, before choosing a video at random and tapping it.
A boy with dark skin, missing the lower half of his right arm was crouched low, moving in a diagonal direction through a standing of strange reed like trees. He was cut above the brow, his vision obscured by blood. I recognized him. This was Threader Jarvis, Eight's only victor, winner of the 78th. Everyone and discounted him, because he'd lost the arm in the Year of Sorrows when bombs fell from the sky like rain. He was brutal.
Next I watch a girl from one struggling as she rolled end over end with a boy whose district I didn't know but wasn't inclined to discover, down a steep embankment. At the bottom they were both out of breath but somehow, the girl, short red hair flying out in odd angles managed to grab a stick. It wasn't a clean death. The improvised weapon kept breaking off in the tissues of his stomach, but in the end he was dead and she wasn't. It all seemed deceptively simple.
One after the other, after the other, tributes wound up dead, some bleeding, some drowning, some screaming, some crying, some by mutts, some by apparent accidents, or most commonly by each other's hands, but one way or another they were all just dead. I'd been watching the Games for years, but I'd never before tried to actively discover the best ways to kill fellow human beings.
When I'd been watching for what felt like hours I shut everything down. It was a bit of a shock when I had, and the window returned to its former state of clarity, and a world I scarcely recognized at dusk blurred past me. I felt exhausted, and spent. Closing my eyes I leaned forward and rested my head upon the cool sleek glass. It was a reassuring feeling, my skin slowly warming the shear panel that separated me from the rest of the world. Thoughts of the Games and my part in it slowly seeped away. Many vivid and beautiful memories slowly came flooding back to me, memories of home, and safety. Somehow, despite everything, I smiled and allowed my mind to flow down whatever avenues it would.
There was nothing in the whole world better than being home during a storm. Sitting in the window, almost like I was now, and the torrents of rain and wind ripped over the coast in their way to make landfall. i felt, honestly sorry for the people of other districts who had never experienced the seas rages and beauty, seen white lightning tear across a black clouded sky from an upstairs window. Simi was always the one to watch such things with me, Dee Dee being the responsible one and wait down stairs with mom and dad, just in case.
Concentrating I could still picture it, the black foreboding clouds rolling over the ocean, lighting striking the turbulent and rage imbedded sea, dark blue and merciless to any ship caught out in the squall. The press of the clouds, the crush of the waves, and suddenly the space between sea and sky would seem to exist no longer. I loved those days, waiting, watching, and then finally able to breathe as the peak of my anticipation was reached with the first pitter, patter of rain striking against the window panes. Simi and I would sit there for ages engulfed in the splendor of it all, and the whole house would be quiet as if in reverence of nature itself.
Then mom or Dee would bring us something to eat after a while, my favorite was leak soup with fish balls. Dad would come up, lounge there with us, occasionally pointing out a little schooner in the swell and joke that if he'd had a boy that was where he would be just then. He never meant it though, he loved us more than anything, except for maybe mom. It was probably why things had turned out the way they did in the voting room.
The peace I'd found in my memories was shattered by that solitary thought. I could no longer hear the crash of the waves, only the tears of my mother, the strong parent, the one who was strict, kept us on our schedules, made sure our chores were done, and insisted we train, though unlike Career Districts our options were limited but it is a wonder what one can gain in terms of strength from hauling in a net, or spearing a fish. I could not longer hear the crackle-boom of lightning, only the shouting of my father, and the shrieking in vain of my sisters and I, followed by the threatening tones of armed Peace-Keepers as everything devolved into fighting.
I was crying now, crying, and shaking. I'd only just made it to the little trash bin when all that lovely Capitol food came rushing back up in acidic, half digested mouthfuls. I couldn't think of it anymore, I physically could not. I'd been forcing my mind away from it since it had happened but somehow it kept finding me. Throwing myself back onto the bed I buried myself in the blankets and pillows trying to make the world go away. I needed my storm, to lose myself in its might, and then I would be alright. My foot hit something smooth, and hard. It was the panel. Maybe, I thought, I could have my storm after all.
[[Author's Note: I have just realized that I am incredibly stupid. I completely forgot to have character physical descriptions as part of the tribute submission form. Some of you caught it and added it yourselves others didn't, but if everyone who submitted could shoot me a quick physical description so that when tributes see one another I can accurately describe them that would be incredible and much appreciated. Also the appearance of Gregor Aqua may be subject to change. I have contacted his creator regarding his looks but haven't heard anything back yet, so I sort of winged it. Sorry if this causes any sort of confusion or upset, and as always thank you for your support, patience, tributes, and for reading! :)]]