A/N Here it is, folks! So I said this chapter would be about the night before the beginning of the Games. And it is! Hopefully, it will tell you even more about these characters just so that everyone reading this becomes familiar with all of them. Please send a review, whether you submitted a character or not, to tell me how you liked this idea!
Here we go!
One-Ani
Anastasia, called Ani by most everyone, flicks the television set off.
It's way past her bedtime. She knows that. And she's genuinely a good girl, really. It's just that she can't go to sleep.
So she sits on the couch, staring at the black screen.
The couch is itchy.
Of course it is. Everything in this house is uncomfortable. Ani doesn't know if it's the material, or if it's just not her house. Lititia likes everything all packed together and stuffy. Sure, Ani doesn't mind Lititia. She's nice. But not nice like Kaja. Ani just wants Kaja to come back.
Rosemarie, Ani's twin sister, sits across from her on the couch.
"Kaja looked so pretty, didn't she Ani?"
And Ani nods. Because Kaja did look pretty. Her dress was so blue and shimmery.
"She wasn't happy, though Rosie. When she's with us, she can be pretty and happy."
Rosie shifts her position. In her hand, she clutches her favorite bear. Lititia let her go back to the house and get it. But she and Ani have been here at Lititia's for days now. Feels like years.
"She's only unhappy cause she's not with us." Rosie says firmly.
Then, their new caretaker walks into the room, sipping tea like she always does. Like nothing is off at all. But Ani knows better. She's seen it in the way people look at her. She saw how hard her sister was crying when she had to get on that train. She sees how sad all the children look on the screen. Something bad is happening. Ani is a smart girl, for her seven years.
Whatever sort of Game this is, it certainly isn't a fun one.
"You girls best go to bed now." Sighs the old woman.
Rosie obeys. Ani has never been very obedient.
She crosses her arms firmly. "What happens tomorrow?"
Lititia purses her lips. "The Games begin tomorrow, Ani. Early in the morning. I'll bet you won't even see them anyway. You aren't allowed to see them. Kaja would make sure of that and so will I. No watching the television tomorrow at all, am I clear?"
Ani nods. But she wants to know more.
One-Velvet Lockheart
In the deep blue darkness just setting in on the mining part of the district, a girl of fourteen named Velvet walks.
The street lights have just been turned on and she takes a moment to look at their pretty gold glow. They seem so warm and inviting.
It's a very nice night. A warm breeze curls its way through the streets. Puddles left over from the day's rain catch the glistening light of the lamps.
But Velvet is crying.
Velvet isn't roaming around the streets of her district past nine o' clock at night because she's sad, though.
Nor is she angry. She was angry with her father for not even bothering to watch Adonis's interview. Said he'd wait until the action began. She's not angry anymore, though. Anger takes too much energy, anyway.
She's walking because she's confused.
Velvet always walks when she needs to figure something out. She knows this path well, with its dingy storefront sings and loose cobblestones. Shopkeepers stand in the porches, having a smoke or locking up for the night.
She doubts she'll ever figure this out, though.
The question on her mind now is who is Kaja Thomas?
Velvet doesn't know much about her brother, but she can see that the two know each other. More than that. They exchanged glances all the time when the television showed the tributes' training. They would run to each other and whisper things when either thought their allies weren't looking. Once, she saw her brother squeeze the girl's hand.
It was beyond strange.
Even more strange, though, was her brother's interview.
The eye-rolls. The sarcasm practically dripping from his voice.
She could practically hear the trainers back at the Center shouting to each other now.
Adonis, what do you think you're doing?
Maybe they would ask Velvet. But Velvet didn't know.
Okay, she did know one thing for sure.
Kaja is the one responsible.
It is true to say that Katherine Jasmine Thomas came out of nowhere. She wasn't a well-known trainee, who everyone was sure would get sent anyway. With that spark of rebellion in her brown eyes, that would be impossible. The girl is younger than Adonis, but leading what is clearly an anti-Career alliance.
And Velvet knows she should be angry with this girl.
Corrupting her brother like that? Why, it's just terrible. Not to mention, it could be very, very bad for the both of them.
It's dangerous. If those Gamemakers know which of the tributes are harboring rebellious thoughts, Adonis could be eliminated with the bush of a button.
It would all be so easy.
Mostly, though, Velvet should hate this Kaja girl because her views about the Capital are wrong as well as dangerous.
The Capital is generous, right? They can give fame and money. Wealth. Safety.
Honor.
There is one thing that Velvet doesn't understand. Why can they only give those things by killing over twenty children in the process?
Children like her Adonis, with families and friends back home who love them more than those people with their hideous clothes could ever know.
Yes, Velvet knows she should hate Kaja.
Here's the thing, though.
She really doesn't.
Two-Brion
Across the entire continent, in a small house by a stone quarry, a young man named Brion Parker puts the finishing touches on a chest of drawers.
He sighs in satisfaction. The chest has been varnished to perfection.
Almost subconsciously, he prepares for his younger sister to enter his room. To sneer at him and laugh at what a waste of time carpentry is.
That is something Shimmer has been doing for years now. She would whisk into the room with her nose in the air, as if the place had a foul smell. Her feet would just only brush the floor, like it was crawling with ants. Which is wasn't. Brion has always kept it clean. Shimmer always smelled of heavy lavender perfume and he had come to dread the smell.
Now, he sniffs the air, testing for it.
It is gone.
The absence of it makes a barrage of emotions hit Brion.
He's pleased that he no longer has to deal with it. He can build and paint and polish to his heart's content.
But this is his little sister.
And isn't a young man like himself supposed to protect his little sister? As Brion thinks about that, he realizes that he never really has protected her. Soon as he was old enough to start, she was already fending for herself. In fact, Shimmer would be mortified if he ever made any attempt at protection.
Brion sits limply on his stool. Outside the small house's windows, stars hang low.
What if his only sister never comes home?
It kills him to think that they haven't been on good terms for such a long time. Years now, he realizes.
He tried. He really did. Tried to reach out to her. To have her care about him as much as he cared about her.
To no avail.
Brion feels more alone than he ever has before.
But Shimmer doesn't. And this he knows before.
He shuts his eyes and imagines what she's doing now.
Hah! Not missing him, for sure. She's probably enjoying ever minute of her stay in the Capital. She's sighing in contentment after finishing a delicious meal and basking in the attention of others during her interview. Shimmer could have insisted to keep the dress on. That sounds like her.
And now, she's drifting off to a comfortable and dreamless sleep. Not remotely scared about tomorrow.
Brion is.
He's terrified.
Because what if his sister is wrong?
Two-Nazri
A black-haired, olive-skinned girl sits, hugging her knees to her chest.
Nazri feels her bony knees digging in. The couch she's sitting on is threadbare and sagging in the center.
But she doesn't care.
She's too deep in thought.
The television in front of her has been shut off for a long time now.
Nazri wonders if its odd that she's been sitting in front of a television with nothing on it for over an hour now.
It's best she stays down here anyway. Her father's gone and drunk himself into a stupor and has just fallen asleep upstairs. Best to not wake him. Does he know that Nazri's boyfriend is in the Games this year? Is that why he spent three hours at the bar? Because he's so sad?
No, that's not right. She shakes her head. Nazri doesn't need to give a reason for her father's alcoholism. She's stopped trying long ago.
Julian used to get so angry when she tried to give excuses.
He's just not the same with my mother gone.
His father used to drink a lot too.
His mother beat him.
It's just in the family blood.
"Damn it, Nazri!" Julian would shout. "Those aren't even real excuses. Your dad's awful and that's it. Forget him. You've got me right here."
That was the most angry he'd ever gotten with her.
He's always been such a calm person. Nazri supposes that should work in his favor in the Games, but most Careers are more aggressive. Julian's more of a mediator. He puts up an incredible fight with those daggers, though. He uses them sparingly and calculatingly, which the others might not understand
Nazri misses his laugh. Julian was conservative with his laughter, only sparing it for when the moment was exactly right.
It makes her so happy to see that grin! The way his dark eyes lit up and met her own glittering black ones. She always buried her head in his shoulder when she laughed and he put his arm around her.
They fit together into each other perfectly.
Those times they kissed. She misses those more than anything.
He was so gentle with her.
The walks they took together, hopping from cobblestone to cobblestone, him ranting about his lated unlucky streak. He seemed to be having one of those all the time. The way he put his fingers into hers and Nazri locked onto them.
Maybe she should have locked on harder.
All those moments. All those seconds spent together. Minutes, hours and days that she is remembering now.
Will there ever be any more of those?
With every minute that passes, Nazri doubts that more and more.
Three-Karin
Karin holds a picture of her daughter.
It's a little grainy. A photograph the school takes of the children every year, something about the government keeping tabs on everyone. Karin never understood why they needed identification photos for little kids, but she never said anything. Besides, the families got to keep a picture if they paid.
Karin always paid.
Her daughter is such a pretty little thing, with her dimples and flyaway blond hair. Aya smiled so widely for the camera.
She wipes a stray tear. She's been crying on and off for days now. It's not something she's proud of, but she can't help it. Her only daughter. Gone. Just like that.
It never felt like this, though.
It used to be, when she went out to the market and to work, a few people stared. They knew she had a sick child and saw her only as "the mother of the sick kid." But it had always been bare able. Maybe once a week or so someone would say "Sorry about the girl. Hope she feels better." Or something of the sort.
Now though, now it's hell.
Everyone knows her as the mother of the girl who was reaped. Everyone. Word travels like lightning.
Karin fingers the picture of her little girl lightly.
Aya's illness has made her a little more fragile than most mothers. She knew her child wouldn't make it.
She just refused to acknowledge it.
Aya's death seemed so far off. Nothing to cry over now. It was an impossible thought. The mere idea of the child having a shorter life than her mother seemed just so irrational. How could it happen? That wasn't the way death was supposed to be. And so, the thought of Aya's passing often left Karin's mind completely.
This was different.
Now, Karin Brow has no choice but to stare her daughter's death right in the face.
Because this can't be ignored.
It's a terrible kind of wake-up call. Like icy water thrown on the face.
Suddenly, she feels her fingers tighten around the picture and make a small tear.
Then another. And another.
And before she even wakes from her trance, the picture of smiling Aya is in shreds.
What does it matter? She's already gone.
Karin snaps awake.
What has she done? What if Ross were to walk into the room and see her like this?
She stares at the shredded picture.
Maybe Ross can glue it together come tomorrow. They'll pick up the scattered, torn and sad pieces and fit them together into one content picture.
If only everything were so simple.
Three-Clarisse
In a cold, gray building in the center of the large district, Clarisse Waters sits sketching.
One line blurs into the next. Each stroke of her hand brings something new to the page.
Outside, a steady drizzle has started and Clarisse is glad for the warmth and dryness of her room. Yes, she's in an overcrowded orphanage. Her stomach is grumbling in hunger after that last measly meal of stew with just one piece of beef in it. But life could always be worse.
She could be Jace Ignis.
The thought makes little goosebumps appear on her arms.
Tomorrow is the big day. The Bloodbath.
Scratching the pencil to the paper, Clarisse racks her brain for all her knowledge about Jace in this year's Games.
He's decided to be a Career. Jace has chosen maces as his weapon, which she thinks are the scariest ones there. He looks a little intimidating with his muscular build. His score was…an eight or something? Jace looked nice in the interview. And he was talking about a girl she is pretty sure was herself.
Clarisse's stomach does a jump.
The picture she is drawing is of the interview, with all the glittering lights and Cassius looking over it all like an emperor.
Behind her, she feels someone looking over her shoulder at it.
It's Pixel, the annoying fifteen year old who sleeps in the bed next to hers.
"Is that a picture of the interviewing place? It's really good, Clarey. Is it because you miss Jace? He was talking about you, Clarey! He was!" Pixel rambles excitedly.
But Clarisse only rolls her eyes at the girl. Doesn't she get it? Clarisse doesn't even know Jace.
"Pixie," Clarisse starts, since they're using nicknames anyway, "I don't even know Jace that well. He's just been all over me since we were kids. I don't know why, really I don't. He's always talking about me like we're some couple or something. But we're not! I can't help that he's kind of a creep who is always staring at me."
Pixel jolts back, clearly surprised by her words.
Clarisse is confused for a second.
Then it hits her.
Jace is in the Games. Jace is going to die.
And it's just wrong to speak ill of the dead, right?
Immediately, she wants to draw back her words. She wishes she could just grab her eraser and erase all the harsh lines and the ugly picture she's just created. A few strokes, that's all it would take. Then it would all be gone. Right? It's that simple.
If only, if only.
Clarisse stares at the picture.
In it, Cassius is staring at an empty chair, as if waiting for the next tribute to come on stage.
But Clarisse has changed her mind.
Slowly and with sure strokes of her hand, she begins to add Jace Ignis to the picture.
Four-Victor
Victor stares at the bottle in front of him.
Whiskey. The local bar's very best. Victor figured he could splurge a little, now that Violet isn't here. The stuff he bought will go down burning. And that's just what he wants.
Under the loose and rotting floorboards, the water sloshes. It laps up on the stilts of the old shack, making the sort of soothing sound that used to send him and Violet to sleep peacefully every night. Now it sounds like it's taunting him. He can almost hear words in its swishing sounds.
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
An endless repetition of the words from the small waves.
Victor tightens his grip on the wooden table. My fault.
But really, what could he have done to save his baby sister? His little light? He couldn't have volunteered for her. He's too old and they didn't allow volunteers this year. He couldn't have kept her home with him in his safety, thought he would have wanted to.
She would be safe from everything if he could be with her.
She would fit so perfectly in that rooted out space beneath the floor. He could slide a threadbare blanket over her or something…but no. That's impossible. He couldn't keep her all wrapped up, hidden in his arms. They would come and break down the door.
And he couldn't stop her from stabbing Maybelle Jessup's hand. The thing that started it all.
It's the old Callo fire, he thinks bitterly. Nothing he can do about it.
How can it be that just a few days ago Violet was right here? She was sitting on the floorboards, carving her name into them with that little pocketknife Dad gave her for her first Reaping. And she was right there, on the little dock outside the house! She was peering into the murky water, looking for hints of turtles beneath. Together, she and Victor would make a mean turtle soup.
Smiling, smirking, grinning, laughing Violet. His little Violet.
He can almost feel her right here in his lap. Squirming and pretending to get away, but secretly loving every minute of it, just like she did when she was little.
Victor can feel his arms around her, embracing her and the little fire that she carried inside her wherever she went.
He wants to feel just one more second of that flame. Just a little more!
Because it's so cold here.
So cold.
He stares at the bottle of whiskey. No. It's all wrong.
This is not how to carry Violet's little fire in him. All wrong. Not how to remember someone, especially someone as perfect as her.
With a gasp, he heaves the thing up and throws it at the wall.
It shatters into a million pieces.
Four-Jacob
Jacob Wade lies on his bad and stares at the ceiling.
It's a bunk bed. Markus slept on the bottom.
It feels odd without him there. Like Jacob is just kind of floating there, somehow. It's like…like Markus was grounding him there or something.
Now there's no one there to keep him from falling out of the air.
Across the room in a ramshackle sort of crib, baby Kan sleeps, snoring softly. Jacob lies there and watches his little chest fall for a while, before turning to look at his other younger brother, Kai. Kai coughs softy and whimpers. He looks a little flushed, like he has a fever.
Jacob considers calling for his mother, but then forgets it. Kai's had fevers before.
And honestly, Jacob doesn't care.
He doesn't care about much of anything lately. He just sort of lies around, thinking of Markus.
Is this how it feels to be really, truly sad? He wonders.
Not just sort of sad. But the kind of sadness that makes him ache all over. A dull, throbbing ache that makes it hard to move, even if he wanted to. It feels like his head is full of cotton and his eyes are always watering up with fresh tears, even before the last ones have completely dried off his face.
Because Jacob knows what happens to the kids who go to the Games.
They don't come back.
He tosses and turns for a while, but then thinks better of it.
He wants to sleep in Markus's bed tonight.
So he scrambles down from his own narrow bed and down to Markus's.
It still smells like him. A little bit of sweat, with salt from the sea and the tang of freshly caught fish, all mixed with the oatmeal they'd fixed together that morning a week ago.
Like it's frozen in time.
Jacob curls up with the blankets surrounding him and finally begins to drift off to sleep.
It feels like his brother is right there next to him.
Five-Tesla
In a small apartment under a haze of light pollution, nine year old Tesla Nikolina braids her mother's hair.
Lately, her mother has been looking even paler than usual. She wears a tight-lipped frown all the time now. Her hair falls limply down because she never bothers to brush it.
So Tesla has decided to braid it.
It's something Katerina taught her how to do. One of the few times her older sister ever spent time with her. That was two years ago. Katerina was strange even then, but not so much as now. She had enough patience then to guide her little sister's hand through her hair, giving interactions on where to place the strands.
Tesla thinks back to that blissful time. Nothing was scary then.
Everything made sense.
But now nothing makes any sense at all to poor young Tesla, so left out of things.
Why has her sister just left? She's been gone for a whole week now. That doesn't seem right. Tesla can't think of any kind of game that would take this long just to prepare for. The people on the television say it hasn't even started yet. So what sort of game is The Twenty Fifth Annual Hunger Games? Why won't anyone tell her?
Tesla chews on her own hair while she ponders over it. It's a bad habit that Katerina happens to have too.
Hunger. That part is clear. Maybe the contestants aren't allowed to eat. And when they can't stand it anymore, they press a huge button and get sent home in shame. The winner gets money and fame! That part Tesla knows for sure, because Katerina's been going on about it nonstop for months now.
Oh yes, that seems right.
Tesla braids her mother's hair, now content with her answer.
Katerina says she will win. She's said those words so many, many times. And not even to Tesla, or Tesla's six year old sister- Maxi, or even their own mother.
Words spoken in the dead of night that Tesla only happened to hear by chance. Katerina whispering them into her mirror or her pillow. Saying them to a girl she used to walk home from school with.
Before the girl got too scared of her and Katerina stopped going to school at all.
That was her and Tesla's secret.
Tesla only stumbled on it six months ago, when she was running away. Well, not really running away. She'd had a rough day in school, to say the least. The teacher had called her out three times for doing nothing at all and a group of kids at lunch has made fun of her for having a "crazy" sister who spent all her time muttering to herself.
"She's not crazy!" Tesla had shouted.
Was she?
Anyway, Tesla had run away from that terrible place, right back home to find Katerina alone in the house, spinning a butterfly knife. Already, one was stuck in the wall.
The two made a silent agreement never to speak about that again.
But now, little Tesla wonders why she didn't think anything of her sister sitting alone and playing with knives. That's just how she is, Tesla thought. A little odd, that's all. A little scary sometimes yes that's it.
Not crazy. Oh no. Not Katerina.
Five-Elsie
Elsie curls up in anticipation.
Her mother slowly bends down and gives her a single kiss, parting her hair slightly.
Elsie still sighs with happiness, just like she did when she was younger.
But everything is wrong.
Jimmy is gone. Not in the bed across from hers, reading by flashlight. Not making shadow animals on the wall, making Elsie laugh all night long. He's not in the kitchen, having a discussion with their father, or staying late at the lab to finish a project.
"Mommy." Elsie whispers. She hasn't called her mother that in a long time.
Her mother turns around, one hand poised on the door, ready to close it. She looks very, very tired. And old, Elsie realizes. Her mother looks old. Dad looked old today too, when he insisted on going to bed right after Jimmy came on the television.
"Yes Elsie?" She says softly.
"Will it hurt a lot, do you think?" The question feels strange, falling out of Elsie's mouth like that. She's been holding it in for a while.
Her mother walks slowly back to where Elsie lies with her limp arm dangling off the side of the bed. She sits down heavily beside her, stroking the arm that Elsie can't feel at all. "I don't know." She finally answers. "We can hope it will be fast. He'll be brave no matter what, you know. You will too, I bet."
"I'm not the brave one!" Elsie insists. "Jimmy is. I'd be crying so hard on that T.V is I was him. I'd be missing you and Dad so much."
"Jimmy's being brave for us, you know." Her mother says. "That's just how he is."
"Hey Mom?"
"Yes, Elsie?"
"Jimmy's looking up at the same sky we are right now. That's pretty amazing, right? Like we're kind of together right now, even though we aren't."
"Yes. It is amazing." The woman says slowly. "Let's hope for his sake, the sky is really beautiful tonight wherever he is."
Six-Alessandria
It is just another night in Anna's house.
It's no more quiet than usual, a fact Alessandria finds a little unusual.
Her daughter was always a quiet child. Used to retreat to her room and spend all day there, the mouse of a girl. What did she do up there? Maybe Alessandria doesn't want to know.
The girl on the television is not Anna. It is, but not at the same time. A rather puzzling sort of riddle, the likes of which she would laugh at before. Of course that young woman is her child! How could she not be?
But yet, everything seems different somehow. Like all the bad, black things swirling around in that disturbed little girl have been accentuated. They've taken a fragile little thing and turned her completely and utterly insane. No longer her little girl, for sure.
Then again, she never was.
It isn't fair to say that Alessandria ever cared for the little thing. Sometimes, she found herself genuinely loving the girl. How can a mother ever not love her child? It is impossible. It's just that this particular mother didn't want to dirty her hands with the thing, that's all.
What had she done wrong with the girl? Maybe yes, she did feel a swell of pride to note that her daughter was not a weakling. She was breaking all the bonds her district had put on her.
She did not like to see her own child so unstable.
What could have happened? Such a lovely little baby, that Anna was. With her black, black hair and high cheekbones. She was every bit as beautiful and striking as her own mother.
As time went on though, her mother began to find other things to occupy her time again. The baby was left to nannies and caretakers and eventually and far to early, all alone.
But Alessandria doesn't think of this.
It wasn't her fault. Nothing ever is.
She brushes past her daughter's room. The canopy bed, draped in red is still standing tall. A mirror has a long, thin crack running through it.
Why have I never noticed that? Wonders the mother.
Of course. Because she hasn't looked in this room for a long, long time.
Who knows? Maybe Anna will come back to fill the room again. They can all move to an even bigger house in that empty Victors Village. The very idea makes the woman's heart soar.
Now, perhaps, she can finally be proud of Anna Corinna.
Six-Wayne
Even though the dusty old street lamps have long since been turned on, Wayne still pushes a dingy rag over a truck.
Warm air breezes in through the streets. Late May breeze. Wayne is thankful the bitter cold so common here is gone by now.
But warm air coming has always meant one thing.
Time for the Games to begin.
He shudders a little. There's been a lot more work for him at the shop recently. Some trouble out in an outskirt of Six, way north of where the center is and where Wayne makes his living. Riots or something. Not too big. They never are. But large enough to need several dozen Peacekeepers who are also in need of transport.
Wayne chews on his cigarette. It isn't lit. He just forgot.
It's been tough with Jake gone. Nobody to talk to. He would talk to Chevy, except that she hasn't come in for a few days. He doesn't blame her. Doesn't care either. He'll pay her just the same as always.
He watched the interviews on the old set above the tool station. Required to, really.
Jake wasn't bleary eyed like he used to be, but he sure looked tired.
Withdrawal. Everyone here has been through that before.
Wayne sighs in pity for the guy.
It must be awful to die.
He doesn't like to think about these things. After all, he was a kid once too. A few years ago really. He's seen classmates and friends be separated and torn from their families. Awful stuff. It never changes or gets any easier to bear, even as the years go on.
Because, as chance would have it, eventually someone you know and care about will get taken.
The car's been spotless for a while now. But Wayne keeps pushing that rag across it.
Jake has a sister, didn't he? A little thing. Bridget? Birdie?
Ah, right. Bridie.
Bridie's dead. Wayne knows that. Killed by the drunken uncle with one swing into a table or something. Jake strangled the guy right after. Murder doesn't look good on records. But lucky for Jake, Wayne heard enough of the true story from a neighbor that he still hired him.
There was always more to that Jake Rittler than met the eye.
Maybe there is a silver lining.
The phrase Wayne remembers from long ago. Silver lining. He likes the sound of it. Even sounds kind of pleasant.
Nothing silver or pleasant about dying, though. No, not at all.
Unless you're Jake Rittler.
Seven-Aven
Another cross-country journey would take you to the very western-most point in the nation.
A huge forest of gigantic trees. Greenery draped everywhere and small log cabins nestled between it all.
In one such cabin, a young man with a tired face sits carving a piece of wood.
He uses the light coming from the moon through his window. A small candle burns lightly.
Aven remembers the way his little sister looked whenever he made her something. The way her little face would light up with joy. India liked birds best. She has a whole shelf of them in her room. Cardinals died bright red and bluebirds a soothing deep blue. Sparrows and chickadees. Ready to take flight.
Just like India.
She can't fly away from where she is now, though.
She's trapped in that hellhole.
Aven angrily clutches at the bird. It will never see its recipient. She'll be dead by morning.
Just then, the person he least wants to see walks into the little room.
"What do you want, Bay?" Aven growls.
Bay retreats silently, holding up his hands. "Only wanted to see where you were, that's all. I just wanted to check up on you." He rubs his hair sheepishly. "You know, to see if you're okay after…uh, after all of this." He rambles on. "I know she was real special to you so I just wanted to make sure. That's all."
Aven only shakes his head. "No Bay. You don't care. You don't give a damn that your little sister is gonna die!
"W-What?" Bay stutters. "Calm down Aven, You're not making any sense."
He looks as his brother slowly raises himself out of the chair, shaking with rage. The unfinished carving clatters to the ground. "You know it's true, Bay. She was nothing but a burden to you, You're glad she's gone! Now you don't have to put up with her. You're no better than the rest of those monsters!"
Bay's face crumbles.
Because even though his brother isn't completely true at all, there is a base for his belief.
Bay knows full well that he was never the brother he should have been to her.
Brother falls on brother, tears brimming at both their eyes. They are too upset to use angry words. They're tired and beyond all that.
Besides, fighting won't bring her back to them.
Strange, it seems one only begins to feel true guilt when that person is dead.
The bird carving lies silent on the floor, forever missing its wing.
Seven-Esther
Esther plucks at the sheet.
She doesn't know that it's a pleasant night outside tonight. She doesn't know that there is just a hint of summer in the air, riding on the breeze. Nor can she see the stars that hang so low in Seven, or the way the leaves on the trees are shaking under the full moon.
No, Esther has no idea what it's like outside.
After all, she hasn't been outside at night for over a year.
Hasn't been outside at all, really. The people here won't let her. What did she do? She wonders that over and over again. What can anyone do to deserve being locked away in tiny white walls forever?
Forever seems to describe it well enough. How old was she when she got here? Nine? Ten? It doesn't matter.
Raen used to tell her she could be any age she wanted. Even an adult, if she wanted to skip The Really Bad Thing entirely. But that wouldn't make sense at all. What many people don't know is that Esther is an incredibly smart girl. Incredibly.
Raen knew. Raen knew a lot of things most people didn't.
What nobody knows (besides maybe some government file on her that they make for all the psychos here) is that she is only sixteen years old. Just barely even.
But that doesn't matter. Nothing does, really.
Esther knows she should be grateful they took the restraints off. Yes, that time she really did deserve them. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to try to stab someone.
Funny how that works. She thinks. That it can be perfectly okay for a young girl like her to stab another person, under the circumstances. All that it takes is to have your name be read off a little slip of paper. And then, murder is not only acceptable. It's encouraged.
She laughs bitterly to herself. Maybe she'd fare far better than Raen would. The kind of psycho she is. What personality is she now? Who knows? Raen just sees ghosts. Why they locked him away in this place, she'll never know.
This place if for people like her.
And honestly, Esther has never met anyone as insane as herself.
Sad that most people here don't even realize they're completely insane. That was how she was, so many years ago when she was first brought here. Thought she would go home any minute and go back to playing with her dolls and climbing trees. Hah!
Slowly, she came to terms with her "state" as the nurses here called it.
Raen never really did.
The fate he's about to meet is not for him.
No. Esther realizes. This is all wrong.
This was a fate meant for her.
At least he got out of this place.
Eight-Mimi
Mimi massages her sore fingers after a long day.
No different from the rest, this day was. Only, she got to leave the factory earlier by two whole hours. The air almost felt like a celebration, but with everyone trying to suppress their happy moods around Mimi.
She didn't mind.
It used to be, that on the interview day, she and Keira would walk home from work together, chatting about all the tributes that year. That's what they had done last year and the year before that. Both were lucky enough to work at the same factory. And they would talk and tap about who they thought would win.
Everyone else was silent.
Mimi and Keira were alone in their conversations of the Games.
They never seemed to realize what a taboo it was to everyone else.
To them, it was an event on television. A scary one nonetheless, that made lots of kids cry. However, the winner got fame and fortune. And that prospect drew them right in. Any place seems better than this one, after all. But it had never touched either of them.
Until now.
She buries her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid?
This is her fault. She's sure of it. Her fault for letting her best and only friend believe all that crazy talk they were always going on about.
How great the Capital was. How much they hated the place they were living. That maybe someday Keira would win the Games and bring them both money. And they would never have to work again. That it would all be a dream come true.
That together, they would make their tormentors pay.
Is this what Keira wanted then?
Because now, Mimi feels more alone than ever.
This empty loneliness and terrible sadness is horrible. Her friend could be gone tomorrow. Imagine. Mimi shuts her eyes and tries to picture it. Never seeing Keira's sly grin or shining eyes again.
Never hearing that happy laugh.
She was right here in this room, just a little more than a week ago.
And she was so alive.
The Keira on the screen was too, of course.
But that wasn't Mimi's Keira.
She would never get her best friend back.
Eight-Elorica
She sits completely still.
All around Elorica, peach-colored walls corner her.
Next to her, a small crib. She rocks it with her hand, humming a little song to herself. There is no baby in the crib. It doesn't matter.
She's only trying to distract herself.
How could she think it would work?
It doesn't.
The picture of Casper on that screen will remain in her head. The way he sat up, forcing himself to look proud and at ease, even though she knew he was crumbling. Elorica knows her husband well enough by now. And she knows herself well enough to know that she can't possibly distract herself from thoughts of him.
But he would hate to see her like this.
So she forces herself to go through the motions. For him. It's easier when she thinks of it like that.
She gets up and fixes herself a mug of tea. It warms her up, inside and out. The motions are so familiar. After all, she and Casper have tea every night. It's her favorite time of the day.
He's exhausted from a long day at his work, but manages to talk to her long into the night all the same. That is just the person he is.
Sometimes they would talk about their wishes. Not so much wishes, but more of fantasies. They were fantasies because of their impossibility. Getting away from this whole place was one of them. Somehow things turning out so that their daughter wouldn't have to start working at the factories when she was still young. Having enough food. And most of all, just being safe.
All impossibilities.
Because it is utterly impossible to get away from Eight or the nation.
There's nowhere to go and noway to get there.
Star will have to be a child worker. How else could they not starve? Especially if Casper never returns home. And he can't possibly, can he?
And there is never enough food. Never.
Most of all, there is noway to feel safe.
Safety is a feeling no one in any of the districts will ever have. Not with the children suddenly disappearing. Here one day and gone the next, just like that. Empty desks in the school that no one talks about. Empty spots in lines, places left unfilled at factories. Beds forever to remain un-slept in.
Families torn apart.
A tear falls into the cup. How could she have been so naive?
Fantasies, all of them.
To think she once thought they were safe. That everything would be okay.
The curtains around her are all shut. The blinds on the window have been drawn for the past week. She hasn't gone outside at night yet at all.
Because the last thing Elorica wants to see now is a sky full of stars.
Nine-Jon Kingly
He stares into the room.
Perfectly clean and well-kept. Just as it was. Such a neat girl, Thorn is.
Her bed is still made so perfectly that he's sure he can bounce a coin on it. The pillows march across and the desk is organized.
Still, something isn't right.
A thin layer of dust has begun to accumulate over her things. The painting she did of a field at sunset, set in a frame now slightly grimy. A mirror covered in spots. Jon picks up a bracelet off the desk, rubbing his finger along the polished stone. Not so polished now.
The dust is the first sign that his daughter is gone.
Can't be for long, though. No, Jon refuses to admit otherwise. His daughter is coming home. It's only as if she's taken a little…vacation. Seeing the Capital! Yes, that's where she is. Sleeping in an ornate, silky bed and dining on delicacies.
He's heard the weather is wonderful there this time of year.
Sixteen is too young to die. It's not even a word in his vocabulary. Children don't die. It's not the way of things.
Well, some will have to. Cruel, how things work. There's nothing he can do. But his daughter isn't one of them.
Her name will be remembered for doing something other than dying, if he can help it.
She will be remembered for surviving.
He sits down on the stiff bed and looks around.
The walls are a soft golden color and the floor is wooden. It is sparsely furnished for a mayor's daughter, the mirror being the only sign of ornateness and wealth. To just anyone, it seems an unremarkable room.
Not to him.
For, upon closer observance, there are several very odd things in the place.
Or, rather, underneath it.
One old floorboard is slightly out of place. If Jon looks closely enough, he can see a little space under it. Like a cellar, only much, much smaller. It's about two feet deep and four feet wide. Mothballs collect in the space and he grazes his hand on one. He knows what's under there. He's seen it several times.
Weapons.
Daggers of all sizes. There are ones that seem as bony and angular as Thorn herself. Others are thick and sure to get the job done. Curved, dainty ones designed to inflict pain with their sharpness. A belt of throwing knives is shoved in the back of the space. As if Thorn was almost ashamed of it all.
Jon thinks she probably is.
To just anyone, this would be highly unnerving and probably pretty disturbing.
To Jon, it is how he will get his daughter back.
Because sixteen is too young to just be gone.
Nine- Zea James
The little hut has never seemed darker.
Zea busies her fingers by sewing up a tear in her husband's shirt. He sleeps quietly on a blanket on the ground next to her. The low fire has been burned down to glowing embers.
A warm breeze makes the grain outside the window shift.
The fire is only lit to keep away insects and other pests. Zea has lit one every night for as long as she can remember. To protect her boys.
It was only habit that drove her to light this one.
She weakly tried to convince her husband otherwise. She'd said it was because she was going to fix herself some tea. She wanted to keep the mosquitos away too, of course. The rats could come and chew up all their bread. She needed light to see the shirt she was working on.
He didn't care. He knew.
In the corner of the tiny shack they called home, another makeshift bed stood. The covers were rumpled and the sheets were torn.
The bed where her sons slept.
Zea knew that Tosh's death had been her fault.
It wasn't just guilt. So many people thought it was. They gave her pats on her back and sympathetic looks. They would smiles oh so softly and sadly at her, as if she was a small child who knew nothing at all.
"It wasn't your fault." They would say. "It's just survivor's guilt, that's all. And as his mother, of course you think you are responsible. But that is wrong, Zea!"
No, you are wrong. Is what Zea would think.
Guilt. Of course she felt that. But it wasn't only the sadness and depression that came with losing a child. Oh, it was so much more than that. It was a knowing. One that had forced its way up from way deep down inside her, roaring like an animal and begging to be heard.
This was no silent suspicion that came silently and slowly creeping up on her.
It was a searing pain flooding every inch of her.
Because her son was gone. And it was her fault.
How quiet the house had seemed then. Everything had seemed so quiet.
And she thought it couldn't possibly get any more silent.
Now it is.
Once again, it is her fault.
She let him go.
Ten-Sam
The straw itches at Sam's back.
He wonders how Howl could stand being up here. What a discomfort. How could she have slept?
Then he laughs to himself softly. She's a tough kid. Tough as leather, that's right. Didn't let no one forget that easily, that's for sure.
Sam doesn't know why he's up here. He's never gone into the silo before. It just seemed like he was invading the girl's privacy. Howl, he knows, was a very private girl. Inside and out, that's right. She kept her secrets all locked up and Sam had no business finding them out.
Wait a minute. Sam bolts up out of his deep in thought trance.
Why was he thinking about her in the past tense?
She's still alive. Not here, that's all. Sleeping in a place that's pretty darn comfier than this hard wood and straw covered nest of hers.
He runs a finger through his wild hair. Tomorrow. That he doesn't know about.
Sam cringes. Pictures run through his head at the speed of light. Little kids in pools of blood, younger even than Howl. Running through trees trying to escape what's only sure to happen to them anyways. Screaming at the top of their lungs for someone, anyone, to come to save them. To help them.
No one ever does.
Why is that? That the kids always cry out for help before that happens? It's like they expect someone to come crashing out of the trees, right on their side.
They don't have anyone on their side.
Now wait. Sam scrunches his eyebrows. Howl does. She has someone on her side. That other kid from the district, Oak.
An ally. He isn't so sure about that, though. Trust takes so long to form and can break in a second.
For Howl, that could mean a very, very painful second.
She's a smart girl. Sam knows it. He's always telling she's smart, right? Quick-thinking as a jackrabbit, that's what he used to tell her. And she would laugh and laugh like he'd said the funniest thing in the world, even though it was true. Sam loved to see her laugh.
She was his little sister, that girl was.
He hopes with every ounce in him that this Oak boy takes good care of her.
And that Howl takes care of herself.
Here, in the silo, he feels close to her. Her smell and the whole air about her is everywhere. Like she was only here a moment ago.
Howl will come back. Even though, deep down, Sam knows that it's impossible, he still tells himself this.
She'll be right here soon enough.
Besides, more than anything he doesn't want to speak in the past about her again.
Ten-Agnes
Agnes knows she shouldn't be here.
It's the middle of the night. She's in her nightgown and she can only see the lights of her house.
Here on the hill that Oak takes the sheep to though, everything seems better. So much more peaceful.
She can finally be away from all the yelling and crying at home. Poor Lara just finished with another bout of terrible crying over how her big brother isn't here to whisper little stories at night. Dale, even though at nine he holds himself to old to cry, is sobbing away into his pillow. Agnes couldn't sleep no matter how hard she tried. And Dale's crying set off little Remus, who at four has no idea what's going on, only that something is really wrong.
And Agnes's father and Grandpa Angus and Oak's father are still shouting so loud that the windows are breaking.
So over the past few days, little Agnes has come to learn that everyone has different ways of dealing with a son, grandson, brother, cousin and friend's coming death.
Some rant and rave about it, like Boris (Oak's oldest brother) and Uncle and Grandpa. They shout about how unfair it all is, that a boy as young as Oak was chosen. That everything about anything is unfair.
Then people like her mother and aunt just use each other for comfort, crying as silently as possible into old scraps of fabric and each other.
Her cousin, seventeen year old Benjamin, just shut himself off completely.
Agnes though, prefers to do her grieving alone.
Thinking. As she prefers to call it.
And this place, Oak and her favorite hide out, is the perfect spot to be alone.
Once, four weeks ago when the weather was warming, Oak took her out here at night. They laid on their backs and looked at the sky and laughed about their enormous family. they were so happy to be away from it all! And Agnes is pretty sure Oak would have been even happier completely alone, but he let her stay anyway.
The night is just the same as that one, which is why Agnes has come here.
She folds her knees up at her chest and watches the shape of the grass move in the dark. The moon is full tonight, and very bright. Lights from the houses in their little valley twinkle and glow, making it all look so peaceful.
Like everything is going to be okay.
And Agnes starts to cry softly because she knows it isn't.
She's mad at those little houses, with the perfect, happy families inside them, just coming in after another day of work. Sleeping or talking or even laughing. Families still grateful that their children aren't where Oak is now.
Maybe they are even happy he is gone.
All because of an accident.
Agnes buries her face in her hands. Their is nothing so terrible as the feeling of loneliness.
Eleven-Velvet
Velvet's heart is beating so quickly, it's a wonder it doesn't beat right out of her chest.
Which is why she's here in the first place.
She's come up to the roof of the huge building all the tributes are staying in. Her mentor told her it would be a good idea. A Capital mentor. Velvet's proud of that fact, as she's sure one from her own district would be useless.
She's taken an elevator up here and the breeze greets her instantly. The lights from all the buildings form a haze that hangs low in the sky, making it look bright even though it must be past ten already.
See? This was a good idea. She sighs and crosses her arms. It's good to have some peace and quiet to think about strategy.
For Velvet, that means deciding exactly when to kill whoever has made her list.
Velvet leans against a railing overlooking the busy street below and ponders The List. She's probably the only one who made one, though she wouldn't put Shimmer or even Katerina past it. The List has kept her mind working and sane these past few days. It's something to think about, all right.
Contrary to what many may think, The List is no product of insanity or hatred. Velvet doesn't hate any of these kids. She barely even knows them, right?
It's just a blueprint. One that must be carried through, whether she likes it or not.
She has always been a very careful, methodical person.
To her, this is merely an execution of a well thought out plan.
For outer-Career threats, she's planning on getting rid of Casper first. It'll be a cause for tears as the young man has built up quite the sob story, but Velvet knows she won't think much of it. That's just the way it is. That small girl with a bit of a surprising score, Howleen (what a weird name) will be next. And while she's at it, her lover and ally too.
The Careers will be easiest of all. A little slit with her dagger.
Shimmer will be first.
Velvet is lost in her morbid plans when suddenly, she hears faith voices.
She is not alone.
Velvet silently creeps up to the elevator and the wall around. Careful not to make herself hear, she peers around it to the other half of the roof, where a tiny garden stands.
And in that garden stand two figures, a boy and a girl.
Adonis and Kaja.
Thrusting her hand over her mouth, Velvet stifles a gasp. Well, look at that. Since when did the Death Games become all soft and love-y like this? For God's sake, those to can't have known each other for more than a week. It all seems so ridiculous.
Velvet isn't gasping just at the sight of them, though. She isn't a very easily surprised person at all.
She's gasping because she just saw the two kiss.
Eleven-Gav
Gav has no idea what's happening beyond hid room's walls.
He has no clue of what's going on in that rooftop garden, with Adonis and Kaja exchanging words and fears and kissing because both know their time could be limited.
No, he's unaware of it all.
He has his own problems.
For one, he can't sleep. The reasons for this are quite obvious. Gav knows he should be asleep. How will he be able to run tomorrow if he's so tired his feet won't budge?
It feels like very worry he has, every pain, is lying right on top of him.
His mother. What is she doing now? How is she taking care of all those little guys without him? Azalea's probably trying to comfort Lily and Willy and Olive and Basil. He hates himself for fighting with her all the time the way he did. And he hates himself for the way he treated India. He still doesn't know why he said what he did.
And then there is Jezi. Even though she's his own age, he still feels like he has to take care of her. They're allies, even if it seems strange that he would ally with someone like her.
But Jezi is a good companion and whip-smart.
Gav just doesn't know if that's enough.
It won't be. It never is.
He thrusts his pillow over his head.
How many mistakes has he made? How many times has he messed things up?
Too many to even try to count.
India was so happy. So blissfuly unaware. Why did he have to take that away from her? At least then, she could die peacefully. As peacefully as it can get in that place, anyway. But he didn't give her even that dignity. Maybe he did it because he was jealous. Yes, that's it. Some part of him he didn't even know wanted that for himself.
Because in the end, sometime it's better to not know anything at all.
So this is it then.
Tomorrow is the day.
Gav squeezes his eyes shut. He can't imagine what it would feel like. Not even a little.
Dying.
It's just not possible. It can't happen.
Finally, he drifts off to sleep.
Twelve-Wagner
Wagner doesn't know a of things.
She doesn't like to admit that, but at six years old, she knows it's true. There are just so many things out there that she doesn't understand.
Like why her sister still hasn't come back.
They're sleeping in the concrete basement of an abandoned building. There are a lot of those around here in Twelve, Melleby says. She says that's a good thing because it means the girls have a place to sleep. Tonight, they're sleeping with a whole bunch of other kids.
Since Jezi's leaving, the girls have taken to going back to sleep with the boy Twig's group of pickpockets, thieves and runaways.
Mell says it's only for a little while. They lost the best pickpocket in the group, since Wagner is too little and Kelsie is definitely. Mel was never much of a their anyways.
Wagner isn't sure how she feels about this place. It smells bad and her tummy is rumbling, but at least Mel says they're safe.
Yes, rundown buildings make good places to sleep and not get rained on.
But to Wagner, they seem kinda sad.
All gray, with their paint peeling and everything falling and rotting. They sag and seem like they're frowning.
Jezi used to tease Wagner for her wild imagination, but to Wagner things seem simple.
The building is sad because it is alone.
Just like her.
Sure, she has Mel. But it isn't the same. She wants Jezi back. Jezi always braided her hair before bed, which Mel forgot to do. And Jezi used to make up stories with Mel to make Wagner and Kelsie laugh. Mel said she didn't want to make up stories tonight.
She doesn't feel like laughing anymore.
Whatever happened to Jezi, it must have been bad.
Wherever she is now, it must be really scary.
Wagner doesn't know a lot of things.
But there are certain things she can understand.
Like how right now, it doesn't look like her sister is coming back.