Arko Bleau (16), District Thirteen Male-POV
It had been three months. Only about ninety days. Just two thousand one hundred and sixty hours. Only one hundred twenty nine thousand six hundred minutes had passed. And exactly seven million seven hundred seventy six thousand seconds had gone by since I had last been on the rocky shores of my home country. All of that time couldn't simply be expressed that way, while being able to expect someone to even fathom the way that I felt. How I missed the smog covered skies, the lights, the people, the television previews; even the Jammy Dodgers would have been such a delight!
"Well, Arko, let me tell you something. I'll allow you to return home…For a price, of course. To Volunteer for my Hunger Games, and naturally, become the British Victor. Wouldn't that be something?"
All of my chums, the ones that I would play with from dawn until dusk once each fortnight, they were all gone. Really, I was the one that was gone, but from my own perspective, it was as if they abandoned me. That they put me into exile, left to drift down from my native ground, to this miserable excuse of a country. There was no version of parliament, no kings and no queens; it was a barbaric land, filled with riches of course, but with no identifiable form of government.
It was ruled by a dictator, who called himself to be the President, yet we all knew that no one would willingly pick him. Only the deluded sacks that waltz around, calling themselves human beings, fellow homeo sapiens, would ever cast him down on their ballot. I knew this much, from years spent in the mansions of governors and the likes, including that of my own father. A faithful ambassador to our Queen, Liz 10, who enjoyed knowing the many expanses of her kingdom, to allow our people to prosper.
In the words of one of our famous icons, a Sir Doctor of Torchwood Estate, "Only Britain is Great."
Blimey, I had to agree with that bloke, one of the finest men to ever appear in television. He's still on the air, dancing around with a girl named Kathy, while saving the universe from total corruption. I found it highly amusing, especially since it was aired live in Panem; it was a high demand in District Four, for some ironic reason. Probably the home of the science fiction fans, who would have been delighted to meet me; no one tells a story better than an Englishman.
Of course, that's if you could separate us from our tea. I would love a cuppa each morning, if that could at all be possible. Peppermint happened to be my favorite, though I'd lost interest in lavender, as that's the flavor of choice for President Gremlin. He pops in about once a month, to remind me of what I have to do to get us back home. After all, they couldn't exactly let us leave, without a reason for us to stay; Britain could easily wipe out Panem. Naturally, their so called President didn't want that to happen, keeping us practically prisoners in the worst District of all.
Unfortunately, my time here in Panem has already began to change me, so I'm not exactly the same person I was before. I developed a cocky manner, not unlike the handful of kids aspiring to be Careers in the silly festivities; really, they should just try our own Olympic Games. Less death, and all around, a lot more fun; unless you lose, though we don't tend to have that problem. We're brilliant at anything, and as some of the more fanatical people may say, wicked. And though I was one of those athletes, I wasn't all into competition, not as much as my brother Damon; he can't stand not achieving his victory. Thus in order to look like a proper candidate, a guaranteed Volunteer who can win these horrible events, I had to become more like him.
This is going to haunt me one day; even Isobelle would agree, if she knew that I really wasn't like this. Because one day, when I'm back at home, sitting in a flat that Father purchased for me, a lorry is going to go by with a truckload of children on it. I'll be an old person, or I'll feel that way, and I'll sneer at them in spite; I'll detest them, even if I'd never met them. That's a rather frightening idea, that even I wouldn't want to wish upon someone; though, it probably already happened to Damon and Father. Mother and I were the sensible ones in the family, which people could go to for help and ideas; strangely enough, people only went to her, though.
Well, that was probably because they thought I was an old sod, too. A git with a capital g who couldn't mind his own business….Yeah, I suppose it's rather evident that I'm not all too fond of my twin, who would be able to pretend to be me if we were identical. Fortunately, the matter of hair color saved me from that particular peril; while mine was chocolate brown, his was a shock of white. We both had narrow blue eyes, though I liked to believe that mine were a little more friendly looking than his; wishful thinking, maybe?
It didn't matter though, as long as I got back to my beloved country. I didn't intend to make an Odysseus out of myself, faced with several challenges, only to make one mistake and repeat it all over again. However, I couldn't help but be nervous that this President Gremlin character wasn't going to keep true to his word; after all, he said he would only visit us once, but has come a total of three times so far. Three times too many, if you ask me; we didn't mean for our boat to venture into Panem's daring shores. I mean really, no one could ever want to come here, so it didn't make any sense that we would come here willingly.
Father had been sent on a mission, you see, to try and acquire more land for Liz 10. There had been an exploration sent her a while ago, something about how it seemed to be a promising land mass a couple thousand kilometers bellow. I daresay that there must have been an error in the calculations for us to have landed here, as there was nothing to be found desirable about this mass of land. Seriously, it wasn't that far away from a previous bombing either; I'd spotted it off of our ship, with some dead trees littering around. A couple of tombstones were sticking out, with a name etched into one that I couldn't quite make out; I saw a large fiery symbol though, so it must have been someone important.
In fact, I later found out, meaning today, that it had been one of the arena locations. Everything had been caved in, but due to people wanting to tour it, they ended up restoring the area. It was a gruesome idea, reminding me of the Romans that I had to study in my history call; I was rather glad when we moved on to more pleasant subjects of study. It wasn't like the tiny school they had here in District Thirteen was much better; especially, since they recently announced that the Head Mentors, or whatever they were called, from some of the top Districts had accepted District Thirteen into the Careers.
I really wasn't interested in knowing how to kill someone in cold blood; that was more Damon's forte.
Cylana Ellis (15), District Thirteen Female-POV
Unlike most of the girls, I didn't pull a dress out of my closet for this occasion; I really didn't have the money to do so. All around me, girls in things that looked appropriate for a prom, or the single Church that stood in shambles a couple blocks away. I must have seemed out of place, but hey, that's how it usually was for me; it gave me a much needed air of mystery. I had some secrets that I didn't want just anyone to know about it, and Isobelle Parks already had found out about it when I did some work for her father's business.
I didn't trust that girl as far as I could throw her. After all, she hanged out with the Bleau Twins, who had a reputation for being snobs with an accent akin to that of the Capitol. I wasn't one to pay attention to the gossip mill, yet as I had a job as a flower delivery girl—it paid more than most would think—I often ended up hearing things like this anyways. The juicy news that spread through the District like wildfire; most people expected that Arko and Damon were spies. Given that I could be in some massive trouble if anyone found out my secret, I didn't like the idea that Isobelle knew about it; I wasn't even sure how she had found out.
"Er…Miss?" a timid voice called out, as I felt someone tug on the sleeve of my shirt.
I couldn't help but wince slightly; Dad would be a little bit disappointed if my clothing was damaged. Especially if he knew that I was going to Volunteer today; that way we could each have a better life, out of poverty, and closer to our roots. Thankfully though, the vivid blue and white checker board pattern of my button up wasn't messed up at all; my jeans must have been a lost cause, though. The ever present layer of dust and filth that covered District Thirteen had set on them a while ago, changing the blue color to a solid black over the years.
When I got to the Capitol, if people did scorn me for it, I'd just tell them they could go and clean up our District first. Then I might be able to look more presentable to them, with long brown hair, and dark eyes of a similar shade; people told me I appeared rather pretty. Part of me couldn't help but wonder if the famous Clark Hallen would agree, as a way to calm my hammering heart; even if I have been training for this, there would be no way to be certain that I would win. I'd just have to try my best and trust my luck.
"Yes?" I asked, turning around to a small girl, probably around twelve, with adorable blonde pigtails.
Her blue eyes were watering—not a very good sign, "C-C-Could you help me? I d-don't know where to go…"
My heart softened, as I tried not to think about how little girls like here would be inside of this arena. It was easier to think of them as Wednesday Vespers; little suicidal maniacs that were probably better off dead. That's practically my attitude towards most of the Tributes, but after watching the Hunger Games of Cypress Junos, I knew that I ought to be careful. It was a lame victory, yet I still wouldn't want to be killed by not checking my food for poison; that would feel so idiotic in the afterlife. Well, I wouldn't be alive, so it really wouldn't matter much…But that was beside the point; I didn't like the idea that I would be taken out by the means that I plan to use against others. That was like if a cheater cheated on another cheater; it was complete and utter nonsense.
"Sure, sweetheart, you're going to go up to one of the tables. We're already in line, so just go up when it's your turn. They'll prick your finger—it doesn't hurt at all, I promise," I began, rushing my words, as I saw one of the ladies giving me the evil eye, as I was supposed to be up there already, "Then just step forward into that little roped off area, and you'll be fine."
"Thank you, Miss," the little girl sniffled, before dashing off to another open table.
From the look my lady was giving me, she didn't have the patience to wait for me any longer. Neither did the Escort; practically everyone was already standing in their proper areas. I smiled sheepishly, before walking forward, my heart heavy with my secret; I knew that Isobelle was going to Volunteer. I'm positive that she planned on it; after all, she kept on mentioning the Hunger Games lately. It was surefire, and if she was in the Capitol, I knew that she would expose me like a bug to be dissected.
"You people really should understand that we're on a schedule!" the lady chastised, grabbing my finger harshly, and practically jabbing the needle into it.
I tried to smile nicely at her, as she crushed my finger down onto the pristine white paper, smearing my blood everywhere. When she found out that I'm the Tribute, I'm almost positive that she's going to regret this; they want to have Tributes be in top physical condition. And even the major paper cut that she just dealt me would qualify as hindering my prowess in the games; I couldn't help but be a bit amused right now.
"I'll make sure to keep that in mind, I promised, gliding forward to my place among the fifteen year olds.
A couple of the Peacekeepers shot me a nasty look, as I quickly realized that I had been the last person. Oops. Normally, they'd pull you aside later, and personally escort you to the very next Reaping; I'd never have to attend one as a potential Tribute again though, so it would be a mute point. However, upon eying Isobelle's determined stature, a sleek panther being a grand comparison, I was reminded that it wasn't all too certain. I'd have to beat that girl to the stage; I wasn't all too worried about it, though, as I had ended up near the aisle, while she was stuck in a sea of girls in bulky gowns.
Chloha West stood on the stage, grinning widely out at us all, "Hello, welcome, welcome, welcome….This does promise to be a fabulous Reaping, for District Thirteen has joined the ranks of the mighty Careers! As of such, we must recognize our illustrious leader, President Gremlin, when watching a short video before the selection. Thank you!"
Just like most years, it was the dull retelling of the Dark Days, and from that, Panem was formed. It briefly showed some footage of the old Hunger Games—always the moment in which it started or it ended—before flashing forward to the rebellion. The era of the Mockingjay; it focused a lot on Katniss Everdeen, who had long since been killed, in this very District. I didn't really feel a need to pay attention to it; after all, it was the same one they played every year, with the changing of the face of the current Victor. Maya Eberhart stared at us, a fake smile on her face; I'd been rooting for her last year, I do admit, because she reminded me of myself. People tend to be centered that way when finding a favorite.
"That was touching!" Chloha commented, jerking me back to reality, as she plucked a slip out of the pale Reaping bowl, "Anyways, without further ado, our female Tribute will be…"
"I VOLUNTEER!" I shouted out boldly, making a wild dash to the stage, certain that Isobelle would challenge me for my spot at any moment.
I clambered onto the stage, broadly shaking Chloha's hand, before taking the female Tribute's spot. My mind hadn't even registered yet that Isobelle had made no move at all, no sign of defeat in her wide eyes; she must not have planned on Volunteering. This, well, it wasn't exactly what I expected to hear; so naturally, I found myself in a bit of a panic.
Breathing in, I tuned out on who was picked to be the male Tribute; all I did was scan the crowd frantically. Vaguely, I was aware of one of the Bleau boys Volunteering—another horrible sign. It was the brown haired one, who I think was named Arko; I couldn't have been certain though. It just goes to show that I shouldn't trust myself, after all, I had just Volunteered for the Hunger Games. I'd thrown away my life, practically, without a need or cause…How brilliantof me to do so!
Chloha smiled knowingly at the both of us, as if she agreed…