Day Fourteen
Melanthe Hathaway, District 2, 16:
The Games were finally over.
District Two had been silent since the grand finale was broadcast all around Panem, and most people were locked away in their homes, anxiously watching the television in the hope that a news flash would come on and finally announce the Victor; was it the District Five girl or the boy from One? It was all a case of Career vs underdog. Outside the skies had twisted into a miserable grey colour, and sheets of rain pelted down into the deserted streets, resulting in what looked like a small flood.
Melanthe always loved the rain. Though it smashed into the cracked pavement wildly, it carried a undeniable kind of calm with it. The beat and melody of every pitter-patter was so therepeutic, and because everybody in District Two hated getting wet the streets were usually deserted.
That was even better. Melanthe hated people.
She always tried her best to be nice, or polite, or maybe even friendly, but it just wasn't her nature. She always felt the need to come up with a sarcastic comment or a vicious reply; people were so stupid, so it hardly mattered anyway. And, to make her mood even sourer, this day held a group of nasty memories with it.
The Hunger Games were something Melanthe always accepted because Panem had never known any differently, and since she lived in District Two if she was reaped there was always a volunteer- apart from when Katie was called up, that was just very unfortunate. And to top it off Melanthe had two victors in the family.
Her mother and her sister. Both great Victors- both dead in one way or another.
Melanthe's mother won many years ago, she was a strong independent Career who stormed into the Games and annihilated every tribute she came into contact with. Melanthe's sister won about five years ago- and since then the Hathaway name has become famous; whenever Melanthe crossed the street her dark hair and blue eyes were always recognised. People didn't like her very much because of her nasty attitude, but they respected her because of her heritage. Some were probably jealous- wouldn't it have been cool to be the daughter of a Hunger Games victor?
No, it wasn't.
Melanthe's sister Breviary came back from the Games as a broken woman. Biologically she still functioned but emotionally she ceased to live. Sometimes life would spark into her eyes, but Melanthe had accepted she was only a shell of what once was.
Her mother Cadia was always paranoid; winning the Games had put her on edge. She didn't want Breviary being cooped up in a mental asylum, so she told everybody her daughter had suffered from a stroke and died.
Not long after the Eighth Quell was announced Cadia was called forward and Melanthe never saw her again- she was stabbed by her fellow District Two tribute, Jynx Blackthorne- who happened to win. Melanthe wished she got a chance to have a moment with Jynx to tell her how many children she had orphaned- to express the pain she had kept inside since her mother died.
With all those angry thoughts in her head Melanthe grabbed the nearest umbrella and pulled the door open, the street ahead of her was obscured by a blanket of rain, though she could see the flickering orbs of the street-lamps ahead. She watched as lightning flashed for a couple of seconds and then groaned when she heard a cough behind her.
"Go back in Breviary," she growled. She didn't want to be harsh to her sister but mentally ill people tended to be extremely irritating. Breviary glanced at Melanthe without a word, but then howled in despair.
A voice boomed from the living room. "Melanthe- what is happening out there with Bre?"
Melanthe didn't answer- she knew that if she did it was bound to be rude. Her father, Vance, rolled his horrible obese body off the couch and waddled towards the commotion anyway. He set his eye on Breviary, who was sobbing into her evening gown, and his glance changed its direction so that he was glaring at Melanthe accusingly.
"What have you done?" He said, his voice verging on a shout. Melanthe was tempted to slam her umbrella into his stomach, but she stepped outside and pulled it out instead. The rain pounded mercilessly onto the umbrella, and her father called out into the night after her.
"What do you think you're doing?" He fumed. "You don't have a coat- you'll catch pneumonia or something! And you know what Breviary will do if she saw you leave- she'll bloody follow you- you know how the town reacted last time she got out! Stop and listen!"
Melanthe never did stop and listen. She didn't want to; she'd had enough of stopping and listening. This was such a heretical statement for a girl of her age, but her loopy sister and over controlling father didn't understand her. The only thing that stopped isolation taking over her was her twin brother, Pierce. He always listened to her, but he was currently at a friends house to watch the Games recaps and she didn't want to disturb him, so she went to the place where she felt most comfortable.
She skimmed through the small river that the raindrops had created. The occasional street-lamp that the low electricity supply had reached was flickering, but the grand houses of the Victors village were mostly illuminated by the moon, and it made them look scary and haunted. Most of the houses were empty because its victors had been called back and killed, but in some cases the family still lingered, like Melanthe.
Melanthe sighed and ploughed on, trudging through the grimy streets and to her friend Gabriel's house. He'd take her in for the night. Gabriel was a seventeen year old who Melanthe knew since she was young and he'd been the shoulder to cry on for many years.
Though something told Melanthe this year could be the last- she didn't know how to explain it, but as she stood at Gabriel's doorstep she felt an inevitable doom.
"Hey Nellie- is Gabriel in?"
Veronica Vesna, District 7, 16:
"All we can say is that the surviving tribute is in quite a critical condition, and-"
Without further thought Violet's hands grappled for the remote and made the light from the television fade into nothingness. Her spare hand quickly grabbed the dress she was making and she started sewing again. Sewing was much more beneficial for Violet- she preferred the aesthetic aspect to the Games, such as the chariots and the styling- and, if there were any, the handsome men that swaggered through the arena. Everyone was dead now though, so she didn't really fuss over who won or not.
Fashion wasn't just Violet's favourite aspect of the Games- it was her favourite aspect in every component of life. It was her way of expressing, releasing and living. And there was nothing funner than creating, wearing and (most of all) flaunting your beautiful creations. Even now she was sewing a pretty dress- it was red and luscious. She was going to hand it to one of the upper class people that would trade it for some make up with her- her stock of foundation and lipstick was draining fast, afterall.
Not that Violet was poor. Her family made more than enough- they had two florist shops, two herbal shops and three apothecaries. Violet's father Vladimir always told her how he had worked his bones off for his businesses, so she'd have to make money her own way if she wanted to spend a lot on something as trivial as fashion. Never one to ignore her father's wishes, Violet started sewing for a living- and she worked at her mother's flower shop part time, too.
"Veronica Violetta Vesna!" A chirpy voice called. Violet rolled her eyes and sighed- her mother had always called her by her full name- Violet detested it; she found it too formal, so she stuck to a much more simplistic nickname.
Her mother strolled into the parlour, which was the room where Violet had placed her sewing machine. Irene Vesna was a chirpy yet business obsessed woman. Violet had always loved her mother, Irene, yet she feared that their relationship was superficial and contrived in order to brighten the Vesna name. Irene's eyes met the machine and then Violet, and her lips creased.
"Making more clothes I see," she said, her voice lacking neither approval nor disapproval. Violet always feared her mother disapproved of her because her sewing ability was much better than her academic abilities.
"It's for the Mayor's daughter!" Violet smiled, hoping to get some form of acception. "I figured that his daughter needs clothes whilst her dad holds parties and makes speeches..."
Irene sighed, though Violet didn't know why. So what if she didn't know the ins and outs of science, literature, philosophy or politics- she was happy in her bubble of fashion.
"It was supposed to be your shift at the flower shop about an hour ago," Irene complained, strolling into the room with her regal purple cloak billowing behind her. "And Dot doesn't want to work any extra hours."
Violet switched off her sewing machine and gave a frustrated sigh. She had manners beaten into her though, and she wasn't prepared to lose them now. "Okay. Fine."
As Violet grabbed the keys, feeling annoyance sting her to the core, her mother noticed her expression and gave a rare, compassionate look.
"Ok missy- take all the girls along if you want to."
Violet cracked a smile and hugged her mother lightly. "Thanks, bye!"
She grabbed the nearest bag and decided she had to gussy up if she wanted to make an impression with her friends. She grabbed some lipstick and re-coated her lips until they were a clear crimson colour so that they co-ordinated with her hair perfectly. Violet wasn't very secure about her own body- she was quite plain looking, after all- but she did love her flaming red hair. Every time she found a brush she just had to comb through her hair until it fell down in fiery tresses.
After applying just about everything Violet felt she was ready, so she skipped out of her house. The weather was perfect; the sweltering heat from the summers sun was complimented by a cool breeze, and District Seven seemed to buzz with cheer because the Games were over for another year and there was this nice summers day to follow.
"Percy!" Violet shouted at a tall blonde girl who was standing with a group of giggling friends who- all but one- had some ice cream in their hands.
Percy Lion was Violet's 'bff,' so to speak. Though she was far from nice, she was everything Violet wanted to be: popular, beautiful and rich. She even had enough to provide her friends with ice cream. The one who had been left out was Isabella; Isabella wasn't truly popular because she was from a poor background, but Violet always made sure that she stuck around, because she truly trusted Isabella. Deep inside she'd call Isabella her best friend.
"Wow, it's so hot!" Violet exclaimed, fanning her delicate face. "Sometimes I wish the sun didn't spin around the earth!"
Isabella probably tried saying something smart, but Violet didn't listen- she analysed the girls around her, particularly what they were wearing. She noticed some of them from the gymnastic club she attended and one of them had a denim jacket that was to die for.
"We were just talking about the Hunger Games Violet," Percy said acridly, flipping her hair back. "I didn't like any of the finalists. One was a psycho and the other looks like a lesbian... Ew."
"Didn't you know the girl from our District who went this year Carmella?" Isabella asked one girl Violet vaguely recognised after the chorus of disgust from everyone else had subsided. "Didn't you bully her?"
The girl looked at Isabella, and there was a brief silence. Percy looked ready to murder someone and Violet instinctively twirled her hair around her finger nervously.
"Yeah, I knew her." Carmella replied, obviously keen to change the subject about a dead girl.
Violet was keen to change the subject to something less awkward. "So who wants to go to the flower shop? There are these gorgeous flowers that have been imported from some city- they'll be great fashion accessories!"
Aibileen Karpis, District 6, 15:
Thump, thump.
The beating of Abe's heart pounded in perfect sync with her gloved fists slamming into the punching bag that she had recently installed into her room. Behind her, her grandfather, Antonio, shouted words of encouragement at her, egging her to release more punches onto the bag.
"That's it- give 'em the old one two!" He said, his voice croaking with his apparent age. "Pretend it was that sonofabitch President! Be more aggressive!"
Abe followed her grandfathers instructions as always- he was a champion in his day, and Abe wanted to run down the exact same road. Only Antonio could guide her there, and who was a better coach than her grandfather? The only problem was that Antonio tended to be very grouchy, and Abe was in no position to argue.
Because she was mute.
Okay, so Abe had to admit it probably wasn't as crippling as being blind or deaf but it was equally frustrating. When you were mute it was hard to communicate with the people around you, and that always made things harder-
Like the bullies.
People who would mock and tease Abe always frustrated her. They thought they were better, just because they could talk. It was rude and downright disrespectful that they used the words they were blessed with for malicious whispers and hateful insults.
So after trying to be nice Abe used her fists to be malicious. She had gotten fed up of trying to be diplomatic- how could you be diplomatic if you couldn't talk? From that moment on her grandfather saw her 'potential' and harnessed her boxing abilities. Ade liked it- she had finally found a talent. With a hard somewhat masculine face she was no glamour model, and she was barely a genius either... Just the mute, useless Abe.
Though boxing didn't cure her voice it partially cured her inner angst. It provided her with a hobby, therapy and it kept any bullies away.
"Oh Abey!" Abe stopped boxing completely and cringed at the childish nickname. Abe's mother, Hettie, flounced into the room with a jug of orange juice. Abe's mother always gossiped and chatted- she tried to do anything to lighten up her dark life.
"Could've gotten me water. I need my teeth in tact while they last and the acid in that stuff ain't gonna help," Antonio grumbled as he grappled for the jug of orange juice and downed a large proportion of it. Hettie was one of his favourite people to complain to, and it really got her down.
"Abe dearie, I have a collection of these cute china cats that were on the market- some of them will brighten up your room," Hettie said, looking at Abe hopefully. Though Abe didn't collect china cats she considered doing it for her mother until Antonio rudely interjected.
"This girl is going into her first championship next month and she needs training!" He barked, his wrinkles growing more prominent. "If you wanted somebody to shop with her you could've produced me a grand-son to box with, now go!"
Hettie tried to swallow the hurt as she fled the room. Though Hettie irritated her, Abe felt truly sorry for her mother- she had heard stories saying that in her youth her mother was bright, pretty and intelligent. Now she was stuck with a depressed husband, a mute daughter and a controlling father in law. Through her bright character Abe knew she was miserable- she could sometimes hear her mother crying in the middle of the night.
"Why have you stopped?" Antonio snapped at Abe, bringing her out of her thought process. Abe had been entranced at her mother and grandfather's conversation, the way words seemed to roll out of somebodies mouth and packed its own individual meaning, its own punch, fascinated Abe. Abe explained the whole thing to her grandfather by moving her hands fluently in sign language.
'I was just thinking...'
Her grandfather squinted; he was trying to get used to how sign language worked to communicate better with his trainee. His eyes widened at her hand movements.
"A young lady like you shouldn't know that!" He scolded her, using that nasty tone he usually used. That alone set Abe off, and the warning signs she displayed before she hit somebody started: her fist and jaw simultaneously clenched. In order to stop herself throwing a right hook at her grandfather she shoved past him and hopped down the stairs.
Her mother was chatting to somebody at the front door, and her father was sitting on their tattered living room couch, reading the daily paper.
"You alright Abe?" He asked monotonously. Abe replied with a curt nod. He continued reading the paper, making the odd comment. "No Victor announced still... Bloody hell, dragging the drama..."
Abe wished she could comment on the Hunger Games and express her opinions like other people, to say how she loved all the fighting in it so freely. Her father, Benedict, looked up at Abe sympathetically. He was a quiet man, as if he were voluntarily mute. Like her mother Benedict didn't like the outcome of his life.
"I've got something for you..." He said, smiling meekly. He was always kind to Abe, and she could tell he felt sorry for her. He was always sympathetic. Abe watched as her father removed a large book entitled "Dr Reston Croft" - and she didn't need to speak to let him know how he felt, as her cheeks flashed a worrying burgundy colour; her father always knew that though she was hardly interested in science she loved reading about doctors. Abe liked to think that one day those doctors would cure her voice, and maybe one day she'd be able to thank her father for the books he bought.
If only.
Micah Miraude, District 8, 16:
Micah's eyes opened despite his comfortable dream, and he was immediately blinded by the cracks of dawn that seeped through the window and stung his eyes. Finally managing to adjust, he hauled himself up and glanced at his side- a girl around his age slept on the bed, naked and with make up smudged against her face.
She seemed prettier last night to Micah, though he may of had his beer googles on. Fearing waking up and facing any repercussions, Micah tiptoed past the vodka bottles and beer cans that littered the floor of the bedroom and he skilfully moved his way out of the apartment. Well, that wasn't good- although it was still a lady success after all. Any thrill, sexual or any other kind was great.
Even as Micah strolled out into the bland urban streets of District Eight he wanted to look for something. A girl to flirt with, a party to attend, something to climb up or (if he wasn't suffering from a hangover it would've been a certaincy) a dustbin to set fire to. Micah was a self proclaimed adrenaline junkie who loved new adventure. Why accept silver when you can go for the gold?
As Micah's eyes swept across the street he met the biggest thrills of all- his friends.
"Micah where the fuck did you go last night?" Kay, his friend shouted. Saying that Kay had a sailor mouth was a bit of an understatement- it was more unlikely that he would leave profanities out of every sentence he uttered. "You promised us beer!"
Micah shrugged at his friend and then started the boasting. "I found a little escapade."
"You always find one escapade or another," his friend Jericho smirked. Jericho may have been the most quiet of his friends, but Micah knew he was the most intelligent and therefore the most dangerous. Next to him, smoking god knows what, was Tagg- the burly eighteen year old who, discarding Micah, was the biggest rebel who always got his hands caught in the cookie jar.
"I'm just good with the ladies," Micah cockily answered, which resulted in a glare from Jericho that sent anybody uneasy.
"Is that the lady there?" Jericho laughed, jerking his thumb in the direction of a girl who was wandering the streets with an enraged expression and a towel wrapped her naked body. Micah's heart stopped when he realised that it was the lucky lady he had acquainted himself with the previous night. Cursing, Micah started sprinting off as quickly as he could, looking for that nearest cover, his feet pounding against the pavement whilst his friends shouted vulgar comments at the woman in question.
He finally settled on a dustbin closest to him, so he quickly dived into it and tried to ignore the repulsive stench that attacked his nostrils. There were more jeers outside, and when he was sure the coast was clear Micah finally pulled himself out of the bin whilst pushing a banana peel off his hair.
"Classy, dude, classy." Tagg laughed whilst taking another drag of the burning cigarette in his hand. Micah walked away and tried to ignore the eruption of heat on his cheeks- the only thing that scared him almost as much as closed spaces was angry women, and he had experienced a bit too much of both.
Still stung from his humiliating experience Micah twisted his keys into the lock of his apartment. Inside his mother, Rulen, was scrubbing their television set furiously. Ever since she had lost her job she tended to clean, since she had nothing better to do.
"The television?" Micah smirked as he lingered in the doorway.
"I wanted the screen to be sparkling clean as the victor was announced," his mother said sarcastically without taking her eyes off the television set. "Where were you last night?"
"Errr... Stayed over at Tagg's," Micah lied whilst moving over to the fridge to look for food and sighing when he found it was empty. "So where is dad?"
"Extra hours again," his mother replied blankly, spraying cleaning chemicals onto the television screen and scrubbing once again.
"This is getting ridiculous," Micah fumed. When he got annoyed he was very annoyed- he had a well known hot temper that often broke his charismatic approach. "First they get rid of you and now they make everybody work until they collapse."
"Don't blame the Dyes, they just lost their son." Rulen sighed, turning to her son with a serious expression. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."
Her words were affectionate, but the mood was broken when a tall figure shoved past Micah. It was his sister, Lucca, who was sensible, street smart and dangerously protective.
"Another one who's come home late!" Rulen complained as she saw her daughter rush into the room. She turned around, feather duster in hand, and Micah caught his sister slipping some money out of her coat and slide it under the couch. He had a couple of nasty theories regarding her bringing in a lot of money, but it made life comfier so he didn't plan to confront her anytime soon.
"I want you two to stay in tonight," Rulen sighed as she finished cleaning. "When your father is back I'm going to cook us all a nice dinner that we can eat on the couch."
Micah didn't reply, he just glanced out to the urban landscape, with tall buildings destroying any sign of nature- disregarding small specks of sunlight that flooded the streets.
With such a grim landscape and a cramped, three roomed apartment you'd think that he would have hated his life, but he was happy as he was, and he wasn't prepared to trade it for anything.
Karble Ive, District 3, 17:
The restaurant was bursting with life- and, best of all, important people. If there was anybody Karble wanted to associate himself with it would be the powerful people who would move him up the social ladder. He glanced across the room like a shark that had caught the aroma of the faintest trace of blood and eyed the city mayor who was currently wining and dining another beautiful blonde. With a cocky smirk on his face Karble walked into the kitchen.
"What did the Mayor order?" Karble asked his father, who was grilling some steak. His father and owner of the restaurant, Jonathon Ive, was a burly man who always had a joke and a booming laugh to follow.
"Caviar, of course." Jonathon smirked. When he saw his son didn't find the joke funny, he tried to make his manner more serious. "Nah- he's quite fond of carbonara. Do you want to hand it to him?"
Karble didn't answer, he just snatched the nearest plate of spaghetti carbonara from the counter, regardless of whether the sticky note above it said it was for the Mayor or not. Karble was ambitious, and he knew that to climb up the social ladder you had to be liked, and to be liked you had to schmooze from time to time. He cast a glance at a silver plate to ensure he was presentable. His dark hair had been nearly combed into a nice quiff, and it gave off a conditioned and perfect sheen- though Karble was still a unsatisfied. His prominent eyebrows seemed to be casting a shadow over his dark eyes, though his eyebrows always seemed to be thick and noticeable, and his forehead...
After convincing himself he was somewhat suitable Karble stumbled back out into the restaurant. He could barely make out the Mayor over the heavy flow of people coming in. His mother, accompanied with a lot of jewellery around her neck and fingers, was gossiping with a group of aging women.
Karble walked in his usual manner towards the Mayor's table. His walk was very forceful and energetic, and with the way his head jutted out, some would think he walked stupidly, but Karble felt like he walked prim and properly.
"Fancy seeing you here," Karble greeted the Mayor, placing the dish down. The Mayor looked tentative at first, but once he recognised the boy a large grin plagued his round face.
"Karble m'boy!" He snapped his fingers at the nearest waiter, obviously wanting champagne. "Cecilia dearest- this boy is the future Mayor Damon was telling you about! Ah, m'boy, you did me proud, very proud indeed. Your public speech about... About."
"It was about the rising crimes in the more urban areas," Karble said, turning to the attractive blonde and starting to jabber on. "They raise about three percent every year and I've theorised-"
"We've all heard it," the Mayor waved dismissively, taking a large gulp of freshly poured wine. "Yes, it was very, very impressive."
Karble smiled, and began boasting pompously. "Why yes- I've been guaranteed a place in the District Three senate, when I'm of age, of course. And the District treasu-"
"I ordered grilled salmon," the Mayor's date Cecilia told Karble in a husky voice. Her stone cold glare threw Karble off his tracks, and he found himself smiling gingerly.
"Err- yes, of course." Karble felt what could only be described as anger bubble in his brain. He wasn't used to adults throwing him off whilst he was discussing or debating. He grinned and walked slowly back to the kitchen, and a bitter side on him was tempted to tell the Mayor that flaunting attractive blonde women was not good whilst you were married.
It was best not to eliminate his schmoozing front, for now.
When he got to the door Karble could hear a faint sniffle. Turning around he managed to catch a glimpse of some short blonde hair and a red alice band and he instantly recognised his friend Micra Chapp. Karble and Micra were very close friends- she was a cheery, easy going girl, but behind that she was also ridiculously intelligent and- at times- very stroppy.
"Micra!" Karble shouted, suddenly concerned for his friend. He didn't really care about many people, as they were all pawns for his future career, but he was concerned about Micra, though she was probably only crying because her essay wasn't the best in the class.
Despite not being fit Karble did manage to get to Micra, and when he seized hold of her shoulder she turned around and glanced to him, her strong blue eyes leaking with tears.
"Want to come in?" He asked her. "To the kitchen I mean."
Without a word she followed him through the grand restaurant, her voice having to be lowered over the loudness of the chatting guests. "Darwin sure does know how to play with the women, doesn't he?"
Karble had to force himself not to smile. His other best friend Darwin was an athlete- though not as intelligent as Karble or Micra, Darwin was more suave and he always had a woman with him, which always got to Micra; Darwin and Micra had a very strange love/hate relationship, afterall.
"He's probably just boasting," Karble sighed as he opened the kitchen door as he lead Micra in. "You know what he's like-"
"No, I saw him kissing Mimika Holsworth." Micra looked disgusted. "Of all people- I thought he had better taste- he's just a liar, a player, and an absolute bas-"
Micra was cut off by Karble's father, who handed them both a glass of wine. He then turned to Karble and gave him a reassuring wink, which automatically humiliated Karble. His parents were always pestering him regarding his love life, which was nonexistant; Karble hated being reminded that he had failed in the romance aspect of his life, because he felt that- as a budding politician- he needed an attractive blonde at his side just like the mayor, to make him feel good. His parents were quite penalising and, to Karble's chagrin, always saw every girl he was with as a girlfriend.
"Thanks," Micra smiled and took a small sip of the wine (Karble decided to stay away from his glass- he didn't handle alcohol so well), all signs of tears and sadness vanished.
"So what do you think about the Hunger Games?" Karble asked. Though he knew it was politically wrong he could not deny that it was entertaining.
"Rayann to win," Micra said. "She helped Bethuny before she died- and well, you knew Beth didn't you? My mother knew hers and it was so sad... Her funeral is tomorrow-"
As the conversation dragged on Karble decided to forget sucking up to the Mayor for once, and- as much as he hated to admit it- there were some things that were better than politics and the government.
Cardinal Volke, District 9, 15:
Cardinal opened the door that lead right into his back garden, his hands tightly clasped around the girl's ankles. He glanced around the proximity suspiciously before dragging her into the dirt pile which was supposed to be his garden.
The victim was a girl in his school year- a cheerleader, Cardinal noted with disgust. Her once beautiful hair was unkempt, her whole face covered in the dirt and blood that he had dragged her through. She was most certainly dead- Cardinal smirked at the large gash that ran through her throat, and her lips had been carved into a famous chelsea grin so visciously that it defined her whole jaw; the girl was almost decapitated.
Cardinal was what somebody would call a 'serial killer,' because he killed for sport and he enjoyed every second of it. It had been something Cardinal had been used to his whole life. He had first killed at the age of five- his first victim being none other than his father, though that death had been accidental.
Cardinal was once a normal boy in a happy yet dysfunctional family. With his Peacekeeper father who firmly supported the President, his more rebellious mother and his older sister Kristina. Then it all broke when his mother and father had another political argument that turned physical.
Cardinal didn't have any empathy, but he'd never forget the hurt he felt when his father stabbed his mother brutally and then turned on him. Though the memory used to upset him now Cardinal always treasured the thought of driving his knife into his father's chest in self defence.
That's all it was then, self defence. But Cardinal remembered the power he felt when he was his father's corpse, laid still against a blood stained couch. He was dead and he couldn't harm Cardinal now- with that insatiable need to feel powerful again Cardinal kept his urges in until he was about twelve. And then, knife in hand, he killed again, and again, and again until his morality dissolved into nothingness.
So far Cardinal had murdered countless amounts of people, and the amount of missing people in District Nine was hitting the media hard, even by District Nine standards. Cardinal was never a suspect though; other people never suspected a polite, normal teenage boy.
Once the girl had been chopped up into pieces and buried Cardinal glanced up at the sky that was illuminated by new morning. He rushed into his house's grimy kitchen and ripped his clothes off, throwing the bloodstained materials into the kitchen sink and scrubbing the dirt off his hands just as his sister Kristina entered the room.
Kristina didn't know about his killing spree. Though she had seen him kill her own father in self defence she didn't know he had enlarged his murder instinct. She surmised that there was something wrong, Cardinal could tell from all the terrified glances she directed at him, but she still cared enough to make sure there was food for him to eat and a roof to shelter him.
"You're up early," she muttered, her eyes clouded by drowsiness.
Cardinal glanced in the nearest shiny surface for a reflection. His long, dark hair was tied back into a ponytail and his dark blue eyes looked slightly crazed, but there were no telltale signs that he had killed an chopped up a girl less than half an hour ago.
With a smirk Cardinal pushed past his sister and raced up the stairs to his room. All over his room there were small books packed, and sketches plastered around the room. If the Peacekeepers were to look in here they'd of discovered who killed all the missing people around town. Especially if they found the small, leather-bound black book that I possessed; in there was a detailed description of Cardinal's killings.
Once Cardinal had killed enough people to form a legacy he would show everyone the book. He wondered if he could kill a political figure so that he knew what it would feel like to transmogrify history by bringing a knife down on an important individual's throat.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knocking sound on the door; like a fox hearing a crackle of leaves, Cardinal glanced up suspiciously before he moved over to the door, only opening it ever so slightly to see his friend.
Mia Mallory was the only girl in school who didn't find Cardinal abnormal. With shy eyes and a nice smile to boost, she tended to stay away from people and follow Cardinal around because she found him more intriguing than intimidating.
"Coming out?" She asked. Cardinal blinked, quite shocked. He spoke to Mia a lot but he barely went out with her to social events. Mia went to step into the room, and feeling panic inflate in his chest he closed the door to shut her out. "Your sister let me in..."
"No," he mumbled, seeing her brown eye through the space he had left open. Mia confused Cardinal; he didn't know whether to kill her or trust her.
"There's nothing too bad you can hide in here," Mia sighed- that made Cardinal laugh, because he had an impressive collection of knives and torture devices on display.
Cardinal groaned and- as quick as possible- walked out into the corridor to talk to Mia. He slammed the door behind her and grinned, casting a dark shadow over the brightly painted house he inhabited
"Fine- what do you do when you 'go out?'" He asked, following her down the stairs.
"You know- have a laugh, go to grab a bite, just chill."
"I'm not one for 'chilling,'" Cardinal sighed, though Mia refused to acknowledge him- she found his social and philosophical beliefs quite depressing.
"Hunger Games eh?" She muttered as they walked into the sun lit street. "I'm vouching for Rayann- who are you supporting?"
"Maximotus," Cardinal grinned, trying his best not to seem malevolent. He wouldn't say it publicly, but he supported Maximotus because he related to him and agreed with his philisophical ideologies. Cardinal even morphed some of his murders after ones performed in the Hunger Games, and Maximotus had offered him a new source of inspiration.
"Typical, supporting the psycho," Mia stuck her tongue out at Cardinal, making Cardinal pause for a second. Why was she so casual around a mass murderer? Not that she knew... "You may as well volunteer,"
Cardinal had once considered volunteering. He would have the opportunity to kill a group of runts running for their lives, and to top it off it would all be legal. The only disadvantage is that he might die, and he wanted to plague his hometown some more until there was a massive media reaction. But if he did enter maybe he could make history, maybe he could win...
Maybe it was up to fate to decide.
Avalynn Hiebler, District 5, 16:
"Avalynn, could you please wrap the cheese and put it in the fridge" Avalynn turned to her mother and gave her a blank stare which her mother returned. In the Hielber household staring at people blankly wasn't rare; they were all quite similar and all very weird.
"Why?" Avalynn asked.
Avalynn's mother, Mary, simply smiled at her daughter. Avalynn's mother always encouraged her to be inquisitive; As well renowned scientists, Avalynn's parents always encouraged her to be question the world around her. That was the art and beauty in science- to question, to theorise and to discover.
"Well if you wrap it up and put it somewhere cool the chances of any microbes contaminating it are reduced drastically," Avalynn's mother said, matter of factly. With the question answered nicely, Avalynn hopped off her stool and slipped the last bits of the wrapped cheese into the fridge. When she was satisfied with the answer, Avalynn did follow orders- though the only authority she truly trusted was the authority that belonged to her parents.
"The new experiment will commence today," Avalynn recognised the slightly monotone voice of her father.
"Commence today," she mumbled to herself as she closed the fridge door. She always liked to repeat what others said, just so that she could confirm them. In school her peers found it annoying but her parents had adapted to it.
Mick and Mary, her parents, were immensely proud of their daughter. Though she was abnormal they found her remarkably intelligent and mature. They were in their early sixties and they were both old and hardworking when they had their daughter. Ava always expected that was the reason why she was superiorly more mature than anybody else her age- even as an infant she was expected to act as an adult was.
Her parents appreciated her more now, because she was more sophisticated, and to make it better she understood the laws of science and maths properly.
"Should we do it now?" Avalynn's mother asked, smiling warmly at her daughter. Avalynn smiled back- the only person she'd ever consider smiling at would be her parents, because most people either irritated or bored her.
"We are prepared," Mick replied blankly, pouring a glass of water and taking a sip. "The growth hormones are ready and the test subject has reached full maturity."
Avalynn glanced up, curious as to what her parents were doing. Her family lived in a small apartment with walls of stainless steal and drab furniture to accompany it- the only real room which her family, including her, liked spending time in was the large laboratory that they had installed- her family didn't like to stray far from science, and it was much more convenient when their work was only a room away from home.
"Want to come Ava?" Her father asked her, adoration seeping into his otherwise bland tone. "We think we've discovered something that the Capitol will appreciate; it'll make the Hunger Games much more interesting."
"I'd love to," Avalynn smiled, following her parents into the laboratory. The room was filled with all sorts- machines, chemicals, animals scurrying around in cages and all sorts of complex equations only her family's intellectual minds could grasp.
"Bring out the test subject," her mother ordered, and as she readied her safety equipment. With a flourish her father whipped away a white piece of cloth which revealed a small rat scurrying around the cage, desperately trying to escape.
Avalynn didn't really care much about the ethical ties of science and animals. Her parents alone were responsible for the lives of hundreds of rats and mice, but she knew it was for the development of the greater good. The only animal- and friend- that Avalynn had was a rat she had 'saved' as a child called Eunice, who resided in her room.
"This is a machine we've created, and we think the Hunger Games Gamemakers would be very interested in purchasing it." Avalynn's mother smiled quirkily.
"The concept is to mutate the cells of animals- in particular the mutts we all adore," her father explained, slipping some gloves onto his hands. "We have discovered a way to make cells instantaneously expand, making the mutt bigger- this time the Gamemakers don't have to stuff their mutts with growth hormones."
"They just do it our way," Ava's mother interjected whilst she put the rat cage into the small machine. Her family were all so similiar- even Avalynn had a tendancy to finish her parent's sentences sometimes. "Basically we've used radiation to our advantage-"
"You're ionising the cells," Avalynn said matter of factly, and in the background she could hear the machine hum and rattle.
"Exactly," her father grinned almost manically, his face finally showing emotion as he witnessed science be bent to his will- it was his favourite thing in the world. "The cells will mutate and produce excess growth hormones. What takes days for Gamemakers to achieve takes us seconds."
Almost on cue the machine froze as his father stopped explaining. Avalynn's mother strolled over to the machine and slid the cage which once held a miniscule rat, and by the look of it the rodent had swollen, and it was the size of a small dog.
"We're going to work on reducing the swelling," Avalynn's father gave a coy smile. "We think that the test subject has engorged, a painful process but it's going to be enough to feed us for at least another six months."
Avalynn's parents were well respected scientists, so there was always food on the table. One day she was going to conduct great experiments, find more ways to impress the Capitol...
Maybe even become the Head Gamemaker, if that was possible. It seemed far fetched but Jynx Blackthorne had managed to stroll in from District Two and become the interviewer- and if Avalynn stepped up her game and made groundbreaking discoveries...
She was a scientific prodigy after all, and she knew that whether she was saving lives or taking them she had a promising future ahead of her.
Whew, that was a struggle. And I still have about 6-7 others to write.
To those who are confused these are some of next years tributes, I felt the need to put them into this story so you can get a feel of them living their lives normally before they have to fight for them. If you've submitted me your tribute and they haven't been in this chapter the next chapter will have them in :)
And yes, they're a year younger than what you put in the tribute form because this is a year before the 203rd Games...
And this was written in 3rd person, just to introduce some neutrality to the new tributes... I'm still generally sticking to first person, just clarifying.
~Toxic
Question: I love the tributes, all of them, but what do you think? And if your tribute was featured did I write them well?
