AN: So now we begin looking through the eyes of a very unique District Seven girl. (I've skipped chapter 11 and 12 first) Here's her through the reaping and the goodbyes! Please Review and give comments! :)
It took her about 10 tries to pronounce my name right. She started with "Seferes" which is the most common I must say, and I didn't go up, because that wasn't me. So she tried a few painful variations: The silent S "Phares" then "Separiz" and "Cyrus" by her sixth try at my name I realise she's calling me.
Owen Owen Owen. How many Owens can she reap? There's only four of us and this is the second time she's called. I'm technically fifteen this year, but my birthday hasn't rolled around yet, so I'm fourteen. That means three slips. Our family doesn't take tesserae we know the edible plants and there are plenty around, we get by alright, never needed to skew the odds. They were supposed to be in my favour, I have three slips. three slips. There are girls with fourty odd slips so why is she calling -
"Citrus Owen! Where are you dear? Come up now, Is it Citrus? Let me spell it, Miss Owens, S - P- H -" I get it. My name. You called my name lady, I'm coming, you can stop now. That's me, the Owen girl, the one with the name no one can seem to pronounce.
I force my feet to move. I'd love to be able to stand here, safe, but they'd drag me up anyway and I can see everyone getting impatient in the square, it's a hot day today, even for summer, and the long dresses and formal pants are very very hot. I'm wearing a simple black dress with slight floral patterns, it was Anya's and I just grew into it this year, It's absorbing heat and I feel like I'm melting. I can't breathe, but I'm not sure if it's because of the damn black dress or if it's because I'm tribute for the seventy third hunger games.
Right and left right and left… walking was never this hard. But then again, dying would definitely be harder. As I walk out of my section, I see the girls looking at me with pity, when I reach the aisle, I straighten my posture and press on the creases on my dress. Everyone is looking at me now. I swallow hard and try to ignore their stares, full of pity and sadness. I feel like I'm attending my own funeral… But then, maybe I am.
The walk to the stage is farther than I'd always thought it was, long enough for me to reflect on my rather short life and ponder heavily my imminent death. I hear Sprite crying in the background, but I try to ignore it. She's already eleven, what kind of eleven year old cries? But I hear her sobbing and choking, calling my name and begging someone to volunteer. "Please! Please! Please don't let her go! Someone please!" I don't see her, but i can visualize her puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, red from the sun and the crying. She would be in her pink blouse and white fluffy skirt, the set we picked out for her this morning. She doesn't have any slips yet, but she has to go for the reaping and she wanted me to choose her outfit, so she could be my lucky charm.
That did not turn out so well.
Smile, you have to smile.I'm always smiling, It's not hard, but when I try to urve my mouth upwards now it just doesn't work, it's like my face is frozen. I try to bare my teeth a little, and curve the two sides of my mouth upwards. smile, dammit. I hope it doesn't look too forced, I won't fool anyone in seven, but maybe the capitol would buy it. I hold the smile, or at least I try to, but it takes everything in me to not burst out for someone to help me, volunteer, anyone at all. One of the eighteens who should have been reaped maybe, those with almost fifty slips inside. But I hold it, until I reach the stage. I mount the steps slowly, looking down to make sure I don't miss a step, and that's when I realised I'm shaking. Badly. I'm not sure how my legs did it, but they manage to hold my weight up the five steps, and the escort, a lady wearing a brown wig and pink contacts gives me her hand.
I've never been so close to our escort, Donna, before. I've always seen her from afar, with the brown wig she dons to in attempt to look like a district sevener. This year is no different. She has her wig style in waves upwards, it looks so turgid, but so heavy, I wonder how her small head takes the weight. She has white skin. Literally white skin, which contrast greatly with the common olive tones district sevens sport. and heavy pink themed makeup. She's dressed in bright yellow, which basically reflects the bright sunlight, and my eyes take a while to adjust to her reflective appearance.
She gives me a smile, it's not forced, its actually real, and that's the most cruel thing about it. "Ah hello dear!" She tells me softly. Then she brings the mike to her mouth, "Any volunteers?" I look out hopefully at the square. Everyone was looking at me when I was walking up, but no one wants to catch my eye now. Girls look down and fidget with their fingers, It's clear no one is going to raise their hand. I wasn't expecting anyone to volunteer so It doesn't come as a surprise. Just didn't make sense to want to give your life up for a stranger.
She sees the usual quiet response and continues,"Well then! On to the boys." She walks over to the other bowl in her high heels, the clicks they make are deafening. She reaches deep into the bowl and swirls her hand around, making a big spectacle of it.
Just not Fleece, not fleece please. "And the male tribute, Bruce Redwood!" I'm ashamed of how relieved I feel, that Bruce is going to die instead of my brother. I'm sure Bruce has a brother too, maybe a sister, a wonderful pair of parents much like my own, people he likely will never see again. But since I'm dying soon, I allow myself the small happiness and relief I feel that she called his name.
As the crowd parts to let Bruce through, I see him from the stage. He's much taller than me, at least a head or so, though I know we're the same age. He's very toned from heavy lifting, and tanned from the hours working in the sun probably. He's wearing a checkered shirt and long black pants, and his face holds a pained expression. I feel you Bruce. I try to think of everything I can about Bruce, but I come out pretty blank. We're not friends, I don't remember speaking to him before. He's in my year at school, we have woodwork together, that's around it.
He finally reaches the stage and lumbers up the steps, I feel the stage shake slightly when he steps on, probably from the extra weight, and the boy does look like he could weight a little. The escort smiles and returns to the mikestand. "Any volunteers?" Bruce doesn't even look at the crowd, he knows there will be no volunteers. Seven has never had a volunteer, ever.
"And there you have it! The tributes of district seven, Bruce Redwood and…" She looks at me apprehensively. "Sprass, Sprass Owen" I tell her. She relaxes, and I do too. Correcting the pronunciation of my name is something I do all the time, and correcting her made me feel a little better, like I'm not going to die in a few weeks. "And Sphres Owen!" She annouces confidently, looking very satisfied with herself. She turns to us and tells us to "Shake hands!".
It's perhaps a little bit awkward, shaking hands with someone who has to die for you to come home. Never thought of it like that before, being reaped sure gives new perspectives. I wonder if he'll have to kill me. That would suck alot. I mean district partners don't really kill each other, unless you're a career I guess. I mean if I didn't win i sure hope Brude would. I'm sure any other kid from non-career districts would want that, a victor means extra rations for the district and better lives, even if it's just for a year.
I wouldn't kill Bruce, not if i didn't have to, and I really hope he wouldn't kill me too. Obviously if we get to the final two it'll be a different story, but what are the chances… the odds.. of that happening. I wonder how I'll die, if I do. I guess I think about it alot, how I'd like to die in the Hunger Games. I think I'd like it to be fast, at the hands of a tribute. I mean I'd rather not starve or freeze or BURN, please not burning. Forest fires are common here in the summer and they are not pretty. Not many deaths, but some jacks get licked a little by the flames and its just red and boiling and swelling and...ew.
Definitely not by mutts either though, that looks painful and it often involves running before and a world of pain before your cannon goes off. And I wouldn't want to be shipped back like that in pieces. Something clean would do, I hope i don't see it coming, and suddenly I'm in Heaven with Anya and we sip nice heaven juice and eat till we get too heavy for the clouds. Snap of the neck, that would be nice, I'll come back nicely, in one piece. The hell. "A snap of the neck would be nice." I'm not even thinking anymore. What kind of tribute plans her own death like, 5 minutes after she gets reaped? Me of course. haha. I realise I've been spacing out largely and the parade square is clearing.
The peacekeepers bring me to the justice building with Bruce, and stuff me in a room for my visitors. I've never been in this room before, It's probably the most lavish thing I've ever been in. The chair is soft and a very pretty shade of red, not like gross blood red but kind of softer, more subdued kinda red, like almost brown I guess? but not the kind of brown of the soil where it looks dirty but like softer like damp tree barks in the spring. And when you run your hands over it its like petting a soft animal, maybe a rabbit? but not quite as soft, perhaps a baby deer, that's more like it, definitely, it's nowhere as furry as a rabbit. The room is painted a lovely soft green as well, the kind that just relaxes you and makes you want to lean back into this soft, soft chair. And the light is some fancy dangling thingy, not our usually burning splint. But then again there isn't a need for light here cause sunlight streams through the windows. The curtains are up, some see through cloth things. and the door, its polished wood. In most houses the doors are just plain pieces of wood, chopped into a rectangle and messily hinged on, but this one is all nice and shiny and the polish is so heavy I can almost see myself inside.
This is an amazing room, I can't believe I'm actually here I mean… "Sphres! Sphres!" Sprite burst into the room crying, with my parents and my brother Fleece following closely behind her. Fleece is the saddest I've seen the rascal, mom's eyes are wet, and Dad as always is trying to pull himself together for us.
She throws herself into my arms in a big hug, much, much longer than usual. "Sphres you need to come back."
I do. I do want to come back very much. Seven is home. It's not perfect but it's home and I want to come back.
"You come back you promise?" She looks up at me with her watery eyes and her tear stained cheeks. She's twelve next year, and her first reaping will be terrifying, I just wish I could be there for her… with her. Going through it with her. I'd have four slips and she would have one, but It doesn't matter because she could have a thousand slips and if she was picked I'd just volunteer. We were always close, me and sprite, grew up together, playing in the woods, carving thick branches into human forms and giving them names, and stories.
When she was seven she climbed too high on a tree and was too scared to come down, almost like a cat. She was hugging it with all fours and shivering, but none of us could go up and get her, the branches were too thin and they'd break under the weight. So I shouted to her that's she's a magical fairy and she had the ability to go further than anyone else, even me, and she didn't have to be afraid because she's smart and magical, and she can get down, it was safe. It took a lot of coaxing, but eventually she calmed down and climbed down. Climbing is second nature here, no biggie, she could do it, she was just scared. Scared like she is now.
"Sprite listen, you're going to go further and soar higher than everyone else, even me okay? Remember that hmm? You be good to mom and dad ok, and you can have Mr Kiggles if you're good, and my pillow! It's going to be real nice you're… you're going to be alright." She's wanted Mr Kiggles for a long time, a wooden carving of a rabbit I did awhile back. I put it on my desk, just for show, it just sits there. I know she really likes it, but would never ask me for it. And my pillow, an empty sack I stuffed with lavender flowers so it'll smell nice. She has one too, it's full of daisies, but I know she likes lavenders better. I give a hopeful smile. "But I don't want Mr Kiggles and your pillow, I want you to promise you'll come home"
This is the first time I've taken the prospect of coming home… of winning the games, seriously. I mean I'm fourteen going fifteen, and how many of those win? But I am from seven. I know everything there is to know about survival. I'm not good with an axe, though I pretend I am, but I am familiar with the weapon, and I'm good with a knife, not bad I suppose. But I'm tiny, and everyone towers over me, the careers can and might snap me like a toothpick. I'm hopeless at hand to hand combat. I'm also really clumsy, so I might fall and explode before countdown. Yeah, my chances of coming home aren't very good right now.
"I'm sorry, I don't think I can do that." I can't let one of the last few things I say to her be a lie. And I honestly don't think I'll make it back. She frowns," So you're just going to give up and be like Anya?" I don't know why, but that stings. It's not even an insult on me but it stings a lot, coming from her at least. I think she sees the hurt on my face, and she lightened up, "She said she was going to come home, she promised, but she lied. And I hope you're lying about not coming home too."
Anya's been like a distant memory for me. It's not that I don't remember how we used to play, how she used to take care of us, how there used to be four of us instead of three. In fact, I remember everything. Her bright smile and her kind eyes, how she couldn't keep a harsh face for too long when scolding us, how she taught us how to carve, and how to track... I know how to track, tracking is useful in the Arena, when Anya was in the Arena she tracked alot. Ah yes - that's it, the only thing I don't remember about Anya is how she died.
I think I've spent the last seven year vigorously erasing the time she spent in the Arena. I think we all have. We wanted to keep her as a happy memory, a once upon a time fairy tale. Of course we watched the games, watch her make it to the final 8, and then watched her being strangled by the male from two. When she came back the bruises were gone, it was almost like she was sleeping. So peaceful, so perfect.
Anya Owen has been a dream for a long long time, and now she's suddenly real again.
"I don't think I can, I really don't want to" say it, Sphres Say it. I can't force the word out. I can't kill. "Sphres you listen, you do whatever you have to, you do whatever you can to come home. We love you, no matter what you do. We don't want to lose you. Just, please try. Try to come home". I know what dad is saying, he's saying it's ok. I can kill, they'll forgive mom and Spirte both nod, trying to affirm me. But it was never my family's approval I needed to kill. It's my own.
It was like that for Anya too. I saw her struggling to bring the knife down, even when she had them pinned. She'd never done it. Every Time, she would knock them out and run as fast she could as far as she could, right up till the day she died.
But I nod back anyway. Like hey thanks for giving me familial permission to kill I'll keep that in mind. "You take care alright. You take care and you fight. You know how to track, you know your way around survival and an axe. You're likable, you'll get lots of sponsors you'll… you'll be ok you know." At this point I know that my family is trying to comfort themselves more than me. But they've already lost one child to the games, they're just in denial that they'll be losing another.
"I'm sorry." This is the first time Fleece has spoken, and probably the nicest thing he's ever said to me. "Don't be." I say. I mean I guess he should be a little hes quite the lumberjackass but he's my brother. He's my lumberjackass. So he shouldn't be, we're family. I know he was hoping I wasn't going to get reaped, like I was hoping he wouldn't. He nods and stays silent.
The envelope me in a tight family hug, and I exhale the breath I've been holding for really long, I comes out in a sad, forlorned sigh. "Time's up, next visitor." The peacekeeper calls from outside. They began to cry as they leave, and I occurs to me that maybe I should be crying too. But I don't. I don't know why, I've never been the most emotional person perhaps. I don't cry a lot, I means its a little awkward. Ironic how I'm dying soon but I think crying is awkward. I mean It'd be totally justified, but I just don't do it you know? I've never cried, not even when Anya died, or when a branch came falling and hit me real hard on the head.
The door creaks open and familiar faces pop in. A few friends I barely know, the "I'm sorry you're dying I know we aren't so chummy but I'll say bye" kind of friends, not that I mind, it's a nice gesture. A few jacks who work with my father, tell me I'm a good kid, and wish me all the best. And of course those who weren't the kindest to me "I'm sorry I was a jerk to you but now you're dying and I feel bad so I'll be a jerk to someone else instead." JERKS. A few of my closer friends, we talk about the trees and classic gossip, they leave with sad smiles and good wishes.
Lastly, Maple and Sassha come in. We've been friends for very long, I'm not sure why, I can't even remember how we met, but I can't imagine life if we didn't. "You have a token raz?" Sphres is a little hard to swallow so most people call me Raz. Contrary to popular belief, I hate it, but it's ok when they do it. But wow I totally forgot that tokens were a thing.
"No." What else is there to say. They look at me, amused.
"Here. Maybe you'll want to take this." Maple hands me a little pine. The it smells like home. I stick it into my hair and it sticks easily. it's like how people put flowers in their hair, but instead it's, you know, a pine. These are common ins district seven, they're all over, once, a long time ago, we were laying down on the ground, and when we got up, our hair was full of pines, that's when we realised they made excellent hair accessories, sticking very very well. It's always been our little secret.
"And here, this too." Sassha holds out a pine, and sticks it on my hair for me. "One for luck, and one for strength Raz." Maple says with a sad smile. "And both to remind you of home." Sassha adds on. We sit there in comfortable, sad silence, until I can't take it anymore.
"Ah giving me a headstart on camouflage I see, very smart, I like it." I casually say, but the comment about the games causes the room to tense up, and for the first time in forever there's an uncomfortable silence. "Look Raz, We're sorry we didn't" Maple gets stuck but I know what she wants to say, I'm sorry we didn't volunteer to die in your place.
"it's alright, I wouldn't have let you anyway." That was a lie. I might have let them, but I wouldn't be happy about it, probably live my life in guilt and pain.
"You can come back you know." I almost laugh. I've just had this conversation with my family, reasoned it out with myself.
"I've thought about this. I can't. You have to be serious. A fourteen from seven isn't going to win anything." I say in all seriousness. I wasn't kidding, not this time.
"We are being serious. You can. Think about it. No one fights like you do and no one plays the game you play." I seriously consider this again. No one plays the game I play. I actually have no idea what game I play. But i get what she means. I'm different. I've always been. My mind might be sharper than my axe (because I don't sharpen that) and well I'm the only girl I know who's like me. I think different, no one can predict me.
I've spent an awful lot of time today intensely contemplating if I should hope to win. My ideas fluctuate from coming home victor to dying during chariot rides, but in the end I decide to approach it cautiously optimistic. Has a nice ring to it.
I might win, but I might not. But I'm not counting myself out just yet. I'm hoping.
It's almost like my friends see my contemplation and are satisfied at my response. I don't say anything but they go,"Good one girl. You know you got this." "Luck of a four leaf. Be safe". And then they're gone.
The room is silent again, and I'm alone. I think my angle for the games definitely has to be likable, It's something I need to play up. I'm not going to be able to pull anything else off. In training I'll need to concentrate on -
"Follow me tribute." A peacekeepers come and lead me to the car. Tribute he called me. I guess I don't have a name anymore. I'll be know by my district, as a tribute. I'll be the district seven female.
Bruce is there already, his eyes are a little wet, most likely from crying. He'll be the district seven male.
I give him a small smile. I feel like in the last 2 hours I've relived my life sufficiently, and I'm grateful that I've said goodbye to everyone who needed it. I never though 2 hours would be enough to say goodbye, but it was.
I look over at Bruce, I wonder if it was enough time for him. Maybe his family was huge, maybe he had a girl waiting for him, probably had friends, maybe some of mine were his too. Maybe I'll ask him on the train.
